The funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that
Lucy and her mother might be buried together. I attended to all the
ghastly formalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his
staff was afflicted, or blessed, with something of his own
obsequious suavity. Even the woman who performed the last offices
for the dead remarked to me, in a confidential,
brother-professional way, when she had come out from the death
chamber,
"She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege
to attend on her. It's not too much to say that she will do credit
to our establishment!"
I noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was
possible from the disordered state of things in the household.
There were no relatives at hand, and as Arthur had to be back the
next day to attend at his father's funeral, we were unable to
notify any one who should have been bidden. Under the
circumstances, Van Helsing and I took it upon ourselves to examine
papers, etc. He insisted upon looking over Lucy's papers himself. I
asked him why, for I feared that he, being a foreigner, might not
be quite aware of English legal requirements, and so might in
ignorance make some unnecessary trouble.
He answered me, "I know, I know. You forget that I am a lawyer
as well as a doctor. But this is not altogether for the law. You
knew that, when you avoided the coroner. I have more than him to
avoid. There may be papers more, such as this."
As he spoke he took from his pocket book the memorandum which
had been in Lucy's breast, and which she had torn in her sleep.
"When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late
Mrs. Westenra, seal all her papers, and write him tonight. For me,
I watch here in the room and in Miss Lucy's old room all night, and
I myself search for what may be. It is not well that her very
thoughts go into the hands of strangers."
I went on with my part of the work, and in another half hour had
found the name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor and hadfound the name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor and had
written to him. All the poor lady's papers were in order. Explicit
directions regarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly
sealed the letter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into
the room, saying,
"Can I help you friend John? I am free, and if I may, my service
is to you."
"Have you got what you looked for?" I asked.
To which he replied, "I did not look for any specific thing. I
only hoped to find, and find I have, all that there was, only some
letters and a few memoranda, and a diary new begun. But I have them
here, and we shall for the present say nothing of them. I shall see
that poor lad tomorrow evening, and, with his sanction, I shall use
some."
When we had finished the work in hand, he said to me, "And now,
friend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both you and I,
and rest to recuperate. Tomorrow we shall have much to do, but for
the tonight there is no need of us. Alas!"
Before turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker
had certainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a
small chapelle ardente. There was a wilderness of beautiful white
flowers, and death was made as little repulsive as might be. The
end of the winding sheet was laid over the face. When the Professor
bent over and turned it gently back, we both started at the beauty
before us. The tall wax candles showing a sufficient light to note
it well. All Lucy's loveliness had come back to her in death, and
the hours that had passed, instead of leaving traces of `decay's
effacing fingers', had but restored the beauty of life, till
positively I could not believe my eyes that I was looking at a
corpse.
The Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I
had, and there was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me,
"Remain till I return," and left the room. He came back with a
handful of wild garlic from the box waiting in the hall, but which
had not been opened, and placed the flowers amongst the others onhad not been opened, and placed the flowers amongst the others on
and around the bed. Then he took from his neck, inside his collar,
a little gold crucifix, and placed it over the mouth. He restored
the sheet to its place, and we came away.
I was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at
the door, he entered, and at once began to speak.
"Tomorrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of
post-mortem knives."
"Must we make an autopsy?" I asked.
"Yes and no. I want to operate, but not what you think. Let me
tell you now, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head
and take out her heart. Ah! You a surgeon, and so shocked! You,
whom I have seen with no tremble of hand or heart, do operations of
life and death that make the rest shudder. Oh, but I must not
forget, my dear friend John, that you loved her, and I have not
forgotten it for is I that shall operate, and you must not help. I
would like to do it tonight, but for Arthur I must not. He will be
free after his father's funeral tomorrow, and he will want to see
her, to see it. Then, when she is coffined ready for the next day,
you and I shall come when all sleep. We shall unscrew the coffin
lid, and shall do our operation, and then replace all, so that none
know, save we alone."
"But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor
body without need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem
and nothing to gain by it, no good to her, to us, to science, to
human knowledge, why do it? Without such it is monstrous."
For answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with
infinite tenderness, "Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart,
and I love you the more because it does so bleed. If I could, I
would take on myself the burden that you do bear. But there are
things that you know not, but that you shall know, and bless me for
knowing, though they are not pleasant things. John, my child, you
have been my friend now many years, and yet did you ever know me to