Karen Essex: Dracula in Love

I did not see how I could refuse. I took Kate’s place in the chair and, sitting very still and very glum, allowed myself to be photographed.

“I understand from other clients of yours that you allowed them to witness the development process,” Jacob said. “May we be afforded that privilege?”

“My pleasure,” Godfrey said, “if you can spare the time.”

We entered a small darkroom, foul with the odor of the chemicals of Godfrey’s trade. The room was stuffy and lit with a single lantern, its glass darkened with red-black paint. “It only takes a minute or two to develop the negative plates,” Godfrey said as he brushed both sides of the plate with a little camel-haired brush to remove the dust. “High-contrast pictures must be developed quickly, and in these cases, the contrast between the living subject and the spirit provides a veritable chiaroscuro of dark and light.” He placed the first negative in a pan and mixed a solution that smelled like ammonia in a large cup. After stirring it like a sorcerer with a glass rod, Godfrey poured the solution over the negative and swished the dish from side to side.

“Remarkable!” he said. “Mother, come look at this.”

Madam Gummler lowered her head over the dish. “Why look, there is the little babe,” she exclaimed. “There is your Simon, come to see his dear mother.”

The three of us looked over her shoulder. On the plate, as if it had come straight out of the ether, a wispy image of a bundle appeared lying in Kate’s lap. The face was indistinguishable, but the image did look like a baby swaddled in a pretty lace blanket.

Kate looked at the image, and then looked at Jacob.

Madam Gummler asked Kate if she needed to sit down, or if she thought she might faint, as was usual with women who make communication with their deceased children. Kate answered without emotion. “Will we be able to take a finished photograph with us when we leave?”

“Why yes,” Godfrey said. “Though I would prefer if you left it with us to dry. We could send it tomorrow.”

“No, we are set to leave for the country tomorrow to visit our relations. We must take the photograph with us,” Kate said.

I was surprised at Kate’s restraint in not exposing her true mission, but I supposed that she had to carry the ruse straight through to obtain her evidence. I began to have difficulty breathing, what with the acrid chemical odors and the heat in the tiny, cramped room generated by five bodies and no ventilation. I said as much, and Madam Gummler offered to make tea for us in the parlor while her husband developed the other negative and made prints of the pictures.

“You must be very excited,” Madam Gummler said to Kate as she poured tea for us.

“You have no idea how very much,” Kate said.

“Perhaps your photograph will show you who is trying to contact you, dear,” the woman said to me. “Sometimes the spirits are shy, but this is someone of power. I felt him here,” she said, pointing to her heart.

Kate snickered, and I was afraid that she was about to give us away, but she busied her mouth with sipping tea. After seeing the image of Kate’s nonexistent dead baby, we all knew that the Gummlers were running a fraudulent operation, but I was still curious about what Madam Gummler was saying. I wanted to question her, but I also did not want to alert Kate as to my recent disturbing incident. Not inquisitive, disparaging Kate.

Jacob walked over to the fireplace, which was not lit, it being summertime, and stared into it as if flames were there keeping his attention. Madam Gummler took a Spanish shawl from the back of one of her chairs and draped it over Kate’s shoulders. “It’s best to keep the body warm when one goes into shock from having contact with the dead.”

I wished she would have put the thing around me. I felt a draft sweep through the room and past my face, though no one else seemed to notice it. My body, which had been so hot in the darkroom, now felt as if a piece of ice were slithering down my spine. I wrapped my hands around the warm teacup and brought it to my stomach. It did not help the inexplicable coldness that was sweeping over me, and my hands started to shake. I put the cup down, hoping that no one would notice.

Madam Gummler was about to offer more tea, when Godfrey entered the room. He spoke to his wife. “Mother, I need your assistance.”

She excused herself and followed her husband back to the darkroom. Kate looked at me. “Are you well, Mina? You look positively stricken.”

“I’m just a bit cold,” I said.

“Do not worry. We will soon be out of here,” she said.

“Quiet, darling,” Jacob said. “The spirits might be listening.” They both giggled. I did not know if he called her darling because he was pretending to be her husband, or if they were, in fact, lovers and Kate had declined to tell me.

The Gummlers entered the room slowly, Madam Gummler leading her husband as if the two were in a solemn procession. Each held a still-damp print with two fingers.

“We have a rather startling surprise,” Madam Gummler said. Godfrey went to give me the photograph, but his wife snapped at him. “One at a time, dear.”

She gave one of the photographs to Kate. Jacob and I rose to look at it.

“There he is, little Simon, so lovely in his mother’s arms,” Mrs. Gummler said.

“What do you think of little Simon, Mr. Reed?” she asked, handing the photograph to him.

“I think we have everything we require,” Jacob said.

“Require for what purpose?” Godfrey asked. His eyes, already hooded by heavy lids, narrowed into suspicious little gashes.

“We are journalists and colleagues, sir. We are not married, and neither of us has a child, either alive or dead.”

“We told you our story before we arrived,” Kate said in the familiar tone she had used with the tenement landlords. “You tampered with the plate before taking the photograph. You have deceived many people and defrauded them of money, but it won’t continue.”

Rather than succumb to humiliation or back down, Madam Gummler replied calmly. “Journalists, you say? Who came here with a lie? I ask you, who are the real frauds here? I submit it is the two of you.”

Godfrey looked at me. “The real question is, who is this woman?”

“Me?” I put my hand to my chest. What did I have to do with anything?

“She is our apprentice,” Kate said.

“I suspect she is more than that,” Madam Gummler said. “I think she must be a sorcerer’s apprentice.” She held the photograph out to me. “Do you know this person?”

I looked at the image of myself sitting in the chair looking placid, uninterested, and a little bit afraid. Behind me, however, stood a man in elegant evening clothes. He wore a tall hat and a cape and carried a walking stick, which he held beneath the knob, exposing the golden dragon’s head atop it. Unlike the picture of the swaddled babe in the first photograph, his body was not a swirling and indistinguishable mass of ghostly light but nearly as fully formed as my own. His deep-set, haunted eyes stared directly at me. Long hair flowed about his shoulders. I did not have time to scrutinize the image because I recognized him instantly. As soon as I did, the icy feeling again crawled up my spine, all the way through my head and into my eyes. Blackness welled up, obscuring my vision, and I felt my body go weak. Before I could break my fall, I hit the floor and lost consciousness.

When I came to, Kate was insisting that Madam Gummler call a physician, whereas Jacob was insisting that they take me away from the place as soon as possible. I sided with Jacob, who went outside and found us a hansom cab. Madam Gummler handed me the photograph of-what could I call him?-the spirit of my mysterious savior-but her husband wanted to keep it to study.