“Garlic? Even less efficacious than it would be against some breathing ruffian — surely useful, if at all, only against the more fastidious and less determined. Mirrors? Useful to detect and identify us by our lack of any reflection; but with no application as weapons, except as they might be used to concentrate our great bane, natural sunlight. The older and tougher among us can bear some sun, you know, at least the cloudy, tempered sun of the high latitudes.
“Fire? By daylight, through which period we are compelled to retain whatever form we had at dawn — and moreover are likely to be resting in lethargic trance — yes by daylight, fire can be effective, whereas by night we easily avoid it.
“Ordinary bullets, blades of metal, clubs of stone, all can cause us momentary pain and superficial injury, but do us virtually no real damage at all. Any trifling harm inflicted soon disappears. Silver bullets are only advocated by those who confuse us with werewolves, or certain other creatures of the night.
“The best practical defence is doubtless to remain in your own house, admitting no one suspicious. No vampire may enter a true dwelling unless invited — but once invited, he or she may return at any time.
“And, if we consider the offensive means that ordinary breathing folk can hope to use successfully against us, almost the whole truth is contained in one short and simple word.”
By now we were strolling again. My companion was of course impervious to the chilling effects of wind and rain, but I was shivering. Taking note of this, Dracula gestured as we were passing the door of a decent appearing tavern, and gratefully I preceded him in. We were seated in a dim, snug corner with mugs of Irish coffee before us — his of course remained untouched throughout our stay — before he spoke again.
“That one word,” he said, “is wood. Ah, wood, that oh-so-nearly-magical stuff, that once was living and now is not. Ah, wood … and that leads me to the story that I wish to tell.”
It was (Dracula continued) almost a century ago, and in another great city, one grimier and in some ways grander than this one, that I made acquaintance — never mind now exactly how — with a certain professional investigator, a consulting detective whose name was then even better known than my own. We were an oddly matched pair, yet on good terms; he understood my nature better than most breathing folk have ever been able to do. Still I was greatly surprised one day when I received a message from him saying that he wished my help in a professional consultation. Naturally my curiosity was much aroused, and I agreed.
My friend the detective and I traveled down by train from London to a certain country estate in Kent. The house was a great gloomy pile, built during Elizabethan times. Its owner, besides being a man of considerable wealth, was something of an antiquarian, and also much interested in what he still called natural philosophy. It was not he, however, who had invited us to the estate, but his only child. She was a grown woman, and married for a year. And it was she-whose real name I cannot tell you even now, for at the time I swore that it would never pass my lips — she who conducted us on our arrival, with urgent speed, into a closed room for a private consultation. The room was large, and mostly lined with books, with new electric lights in its far corners, and on the huge desk an old-fashioned oil lamp, whose rays fell on a collection of curious items evidently brought together from the ends of the earth. I saw a whale’s tooth, a monkey’s skull, along with other items I did not immediately recognize. A small table at some distance from the desk held a microscope and various specimens. Along with their burden of books, the room’s many shelves held stuffed birds and animals.
“And now, your ladyship” began my friend the detective, “we are at your service. You may speak as freely before Dr. Corday here” —he glanced in my direction— “as before myself.”
The lady, whose considerable beauty was obviously being worn away by some overwhelming fear or worry, now appeared on the verge of collapse. “Very well.” She drew a deep, exhausted breath. “I must be brief, for my father and my husband will both soon return, and I must save them, if I can…
“The incident that haunts me, that has driven me to the brink of madness, occurred almost exactly a year ago, and in this very room. I must confess to you that before I was married, or even knew Richard well, I was acquainted with a man, named Hayden. I have outlined to you already, sir, how that came to be—”
“You have indeed, your ladyship.” My companion gave an impatient nod. “Since our time is short, we had better concentrate on what happened between you and Hayden in this very room, as you say it was. That is the aspect of the case in which I most value Dr. Corday’s consultation.”
“You are right.” Our hostess paused again to collect herself, then plunged on. “I had not seen Hayden for many months. I was beginning to manage to forget him, when almost on the very eve of my wedding, he appeared here unexpectedly. I was alone in the house except for a few servants, my father being engaged on some last-minute business in London having to do with the arrangements.
“Hayden, of course, knew that I was alone. And his purpose in coming was an evil one. He had brought with him some letters — they were foolish letters indeed — that I had written him in an earlier day. The letters contained … certain things that could have ruined me, had Hayden given them, as he threatened to do, to my prospective husband. I protested my innocence. He admitted it, but read from the letters certain phrases, words I had almost forgotten, that suggested otherwise. Hayden would destroy me, he swore, unless — unless ‘Here and now in this very room’ was how he put it — I should — should—”
For a moment the lady could not continue. My friend and I exchanged glances, of sympathy and determination, in a silent pledge that we would do everything possible to assist her. It must be hard for folk with experience only of the late twentieth century to grasp what a threat such letters could represent, to understand what impact the mere suggestion of a premarital affair could have had at that time and place, on one in her position. It would have been regarded by all her contemporaries as the literal ruin of the young lady’s life.
“I was innocent,” she repeated, when she was able to resume at last. “I swear to you both that I was. Yet that man had some devilish power, influence … I had broken free of it before, and as he faced me in this room I swore to myself that I would never allow it to gain the faintest hold on me again.
“‘Sooner or later you will have me’, the villain said, sneering at me. ‘I have now been invited into your fine house, you see.’ Those were his words, and I have puzzled over them; alas, a greater and more horrible puzzle was to come.
“I retreated to the desk — I stood here in front of it, like this. Hayden was just there, and he advanced upon me. I cried at him to stay away. My hand, behind me on the desk, closed on a piece of stone — much like this one.” With that her ladyship raised what would now be called a geode from among the curios collected on the huge desk. “I raised it — like this — and warned him again to stop.
“Hayden only smiled at me — no, sneered — as if the idea that I might refuse him, even resist him, were a childish fantasy that only a childish creature like myself — a mere woman — could entertain. He sneered at me, I say! His handsome face was hideously transformed, and it seemed to me that even his teeth were … were … and he came on toward me, his hands reaching out.”