Sea fog swept inland on gale-force winds. The ghostlike clouds were wet and cold, as if the souls who had perished at sea were stroking everything they could touch with their damp hands.
Even without the coachman telling me, I realized I would not be able to return today. Passing villagers led us to the only inn, which looked terribly shabby. But after the long journey, my body was aching with exhaustion and I longed to sleep, so I checked in with Mr. Mitiash's luggage and my own.
I thought that perhaps he would return. Even if he did not, I had to give his belongings back to his family, though he had never mentioned a single one of them.
The inn was much better than I had imagined. A worker in a short-sleeved shirt was eating a late-night meal beside the dining table, while the landlady was a sturdy middle-aged woman with a garland of garlic on her head.
There was a maternal side to every woman's nature, allowing them to keenly sense our anxiety, as though we were sobbing infants in their arms.
Mrs. Harker pitied my plight. She took me to a small room on the second floor. There was only a bed covered in pristine white sheets and a washbasin, but that was enough for me.
"Wait a moment."
Just as I was about to put this dreadful day behind me, Mrs. Harker spoke.
Before long, she brought someone to my room. He was of average height, powerfully built, with a broad chest. The collar of his pajamas was drawn tight around his throat, and his brown hair was somewhat messy. He looked as though he had been dragged out of bed.
"This is Doctor Van Helsing," Mrs. Harker introduced us. "I think you need his