CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When he entered the first-class smoking room, Lord Godalming was mildly amused to see that the card game was still in full swing. While families still streamed up the grand staircase, rushing much faster than they had been when they first came on deck and found nothing seemingly amiss, and while people were now entering boats more and more of their own free will, the men at the table in the corner were still gathered around, chomping their cigars and playing their hands. They had long ago forsaken the comforts of brandy, but the fire had been stoked by a steward with nothing else to do, so the blaze was roaring and radiating waves of pleasant heat.
What he did not see, however, was Seward and Van Helsing. The chair and sofa by the fire stood empty, and Art’s stomach rolled at the thought of what could have happened to them.
He thought briefly of going out onto the deck to look for them, but from what he could hear in the smoking room, things were getting a tad chaotic out there; no screams of terror yet, but there was plenty of shouting. He decided to sit and wait. If they weren’t back in five minutes, he’d go out and look for them.
This is what Dracula wanted, Art thought as he sank stiffly down on the couch, to hide under the cover of chaos, and to separate us.
Art sighed. Someone had left a newspaper on the seat next to him, and he picked it up. He only scanned the headlines, screaming in bold black, not having the interest required to read.
Putting the paper aside with a crisp rustle, Art sighed, and looked toward the slim glass door through which he had come, hoping to see Dracula coming through, ready at last to fight like a man. Through the glass, Art did see a blurry figure approaching, and was at once on his feet, his fists balled, his heart pumping adrenaline. But it only proved to be Mr. Isidor Straus, his wife, Ida, at his side.
Heart still thumping, disappointment washing over him, Art sat rigidly down on the sofa, and watched as Isidor and Ida took to a small table in a quiet corner of the room. Sitting across from each other, Isidor reached across the table and took Ida’s hands into his own. They passed a few quiet, solemn words.
Art smiled at the sight. He did not personally know the Straus’ (he had met them briefly at a party in America when Isador had been in the U.S. House of Representatives), but he knew them to be very close, nearly inseparable. It was no wonder, they had been married for years, they had grown old together, and had (barely) never known a day apart.
Art’s smile slackened as his thoughts turned to Lucy; they had never had the chance to grow old together, to forget what a life without the other was like, to raise children; all thanks to that bastard Dracula.
Art pushed these thoughts away and gazed deeply into the crackling fire. From behind him a man was protesting the hand of another, and the others were laughing at their foolishness.
“It is only a game, Henry, don’t take it so seriously,” said an American.
“You don’t have as much money riding on this as I do,” came the refined British reply.
“No,” replied the yank without a trace of irony or sarcasm, “but by the end of the night, everyone’s money will be only lumps of wet paper, anyway.”
A nervous titter met this, and someone replied that that was true, and loudly clapped the American’s back.
“Art!” someone cried from behind him, startling him nearly out of his skin. Turning, he saw Van Helsing and Seward hurrying toward him.
Smiling, Art stood. “I knew I’d find you two here.”
They all embraced.
“Did you catch up to Dracula?” Van Helsing asked.
“Yes,” Art replied, “he escaped, but he’s weakened. Very much so.”
“Then we may not have to do anything,” Seward was hopeful.
“I’d like to kill him myself,” Art said, “I want him to…”
“Yes, yes,” Van Helsing dismissed, “we must get back into the search.” Now that Art was back and he knew for certain that Dracula was in danger of dying, a new vigor awoke within him.
“He must be on the deck somewhere,” Art said, “there isn’t much dry space below.”
Van Helsing nodded. “You take to the port side; John and I will go starboard.”