March the 13th, 1899

I met a peculiar sort of woman on the train today. Peculiar, but pleasant.

I was taking tea in the dining car about 5 o’clock, and finding it the lack-luster affair that tea usually is on public transit, although the view from the window was nice enough. The snow has finally cleared away, and the world has begun to take on a suggestion of green, which speaks of warmer days to come. I am glad I am spending the season out of London, all things considered. I shall miss the amusements, to be sure, but one needs to breathe now and again. And then, seeing my dear Jane will be amusement I enough, I think.

As I was contemplating this, what do you think? A woman sat down in the seat across from me, quite as if she planned on sharing my tea. Bold as you please! I experienced a moment of surprise, which turned rather quickly to worry when I saw the look on her face. Her mouth was drawn sharply shut, and her eyes were focused on the sugar bowl, though they flickered every now and again to the door from whence she had entered the compartment.

“Do let us be friends for a moment,” she said, under her breath, as her gaze darted to the door once again.

I flatter myself that I have dodged the unwanted attention of a young man more than once in my life, if flattery it be, so I recognized the signs at once. My suspicion was confirmed when, a moment later, a man did enter through the door, with the worst sort of air about him.

I would like to think myself a good judge of character, but I will admit little skill would be required to judge his. He seemed to carry a sort of dark mood with him that I think even the untrained eye could detect. That is as clear as I can put it. A sort of shiver went through me at the sight of him that no distasteful suitor has given me before.

“I am glad to hear it!” I said, play-acting a continuing conversation with the mysterious woman. “And what business brings you out of London?”

“Duty to friends,” she replied, quite naturally, although she did not match my enthusiastic tone.

“A happy duty, I hope?” I asked.

“A rewarding one,” came the reply.

By this time, the man with the dark mood had passed down to the other end of the car, and into the next, and I was more grateful than I can express here for his departure. I relaxed at once, and sent a look that communicated reassurance to my companion.

“Seeing as we are such close friends, I really think I ought to know your name,” said I with a smile.

She confessed her name to be Mina Harker, and we continued to chat quite amicably for the next half hour, as she was not sure of leaving the car yet, with the man still roaming the train. What I learned of her in that time is as follows:

She is astonishingly fond of trains. I mean astonishingly so, for she has, in earnest, the train schedules memorized. I know, for I tested her knowledge and she answered in full confidence. I suppose she could have been lying, for I would have no way to correct her if she was, but I cannot conceive of a motivation to do so.

She is married! This, quite a surprise, for how, then, did she not quickly dispel the gentleman with the dark air?

When I asked her this, she said “He is not a suitor. Men have other means of being unpleasant.”

“And what were his?” I asked in alarm.

“Not those to be mentioned in polite company. He is dangerous. Not only to me or you but to any member of mankind,” was her answer, which really made me begin to fear for her safety, but she would say no more on the subject.

She is on her way to meet Mr. Harker and their friends for… what exactly it was quite difficult to understand.

“I am their typist and records keeper. We have a peculiar vocation,” was how she expressed it, which explained very little to my mind.

“What may this vocation be?” I asked at long last. “One of religion?”

She considered this for a moment, and at last replied in the affirmative.

“Is Mr. Harker a member of the clergy?”

“He is not. He is a solicitor by trade.”

Here I frowned. “You are missionaries, then? Or perhaps are to visit to the poor?”

“Not… exactly. We deal less with the care of the poor and more with the chastisement of the wicked.”

I stared. I do admit, I stared. “What manner of wicked?” was all I could think to say.

“I would not speak of it here.”

“But you are doing God’s work?”

“We are.”

“You are mysterious,” I said with amusement.

“I fear you would not believe me if I were to tell you the whole of our business,” said she, this with a soft smile.

“Perhaps I would not,” I said,  for I will admit I did not disbelieve that she may have been telling me stories, even if I could not discern the motive for such a deception.

“Then I will be silent,” she said. “We are doing the Lord’s work, you may be confident in that. Now. What business brings you out of London?”

So I told her. She said nothing more of an unsettling nature until the train stopped at the next station. Here, she stood up and made to leave. At the last moment however, she turned back.

“If I were you, I should depart from this train at once, Miss Caldwell, and find another route to your destination. There is another train bound to Whitby leaving from this station in an hour.”

It was forward, perhaps, but she said it with such quiet and kind earnestness that I was left in no doubt that, no matter what secrets shrouded her story, she was thinking of nothing more than my welbeing at that moment.

I nodded, entirely at a loss for words. And soon found myself departing the train, though whether out of foolishness or wisdom, I do not know. In any case, I will not be too late in arriving at Jane’s so perhaps it does not matter.

It is strange, but as I passed her, on the way to the door, I saw that she held in her hand a sort of wooden stake. It was only in passing, so I might be mistaken, but if I am not… what an odd thing for a lady to carry. A sharp hat pin is far more practical for matters of personal safety.

I will have quite a lot to tell Jane, though it is not the sort of gossip she may expect.