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The Renfields, who once struggled to pay the bills, had received an outrageous amount of money. Yet, Mrs Renfield didn't go buy a nicer house. Stayed in her cheap cottage at the back of the bakery. She was spending money on private investigators to try to find her husband. She'd found out a few years too late that he'd been in an asylum and then disappeared. She bullied Dr Seward into telling her the story. That Renfield had been found on an empty ship, had gone into psychosis and had become fixated on a violent fiend, Count Dracula. But Dracula was killed. And Renfield was missing. Seward thought he may have commited suicide.
"Where's the body then?" Mrs Renfield demanded and Dr Seward who'd faced off Count Dracula himself, shrunk away at her ferocity.
Dracula knew this because he and his familiar had returned to England, happily travelling between Europe and America. Dracula had decided to flap around the old haunts for nostalgia's sake. Coincidentally oversaw the whole confrontation himself.
Why wasn't she getting the hint? She'd received a stack of money and learnt that her husband was interested in someone else, so connect the dots woman! The money was an apology for leaving her for Dracula. Yes, Renfield should have just been a man and told her he was leaving her, but surely she knew him well enough to know that he was too nonconfrontational for that. Would rather pay her off.
She was just a sore loser. Dracula had had his eyes on Johnathan Harker and sure at first, he was enraged by his rejection enough to attack his wife. You pick her over me, I turn her into a vampire bride as revenge, see how you like it. But after the staking, he decided to hell with them both and all their idiot friends, he wasn't going to waste his time on them anymore. Mrs Renfield, like Dracula had been rejected. Yes, it was a nasty blow to the ego but it was time for her to get over it. Lick your wounds, nurse your injured pride and then move on.
So he had decided he was sick of Mrs Renfield. He wouldn't kill her because his familiar had gotten on hands and knees and grabbed at his cloak and grovelled and sobbed for him not to. But he had other plans for her.
After trackng her down, he walked down the path to her cottage and paused by the gate, instincts telling him to stop. A conker came whizzing by his face. If he'd kept walking he'd have been hit in the head. He turned and saw up a tree in the front yard a young girl about nine or ten, cackling at him. When she saw that he'd seen her, she hooked her fingers in her mouth, stretching the lips and waggling her tongue, rolling her eyes and making bizarre honking sounds. Renfield kept a photo of his wife and daughter on him at all times. Here was the daughter, a few years older now.
Dracula opened the gate and that seemed to startle the girl, who shouted an obscenity and crawled up higher into the tree. He was rather surprised at her. His familiar was so shy and polite he'd never expect his daughter to be such a hellion.
He smiled down at the doorstep. How delightful. Whoever invented the welcome mat, he wanted to shake their hand. He opened up the door. Slid inside. You wouldn't think the family had come into a sudden windfall of wealth. Mismatched second hand furniture, cramped, with cracks in the walls that needed mending. Lying on the couch nursing a bottle of sherry was the wife. He couldn't be bothered to remember her name. Had blonde hair, dreary dark eyes wearing a rumpled housedress. She looked over at him, dazed. Drunk out of her mind.
"You must be the Count," she said simply. "Come to kill me so I stop looking for Robert, yes?"
He expected tears and terror. Felt disappointed.
"He begged me not to," he drawled, drawing closer. She snorted.
"How noble of him," she said. Dracula stood over her, staring into her eyes. Gaze sharp and powerful. Luring her into a trance. Luring her under his control.
"You'll forget about him," he demanded and his voice dripped with contempt. "You'll stop searching for him. Spend your money on a nicer house instead of booze, pay some attention to your feral daughter. Be a proper mother."
He was surprised again, at the feeling of resistance rolling back at him. It was uncommon that people fought back against his hypnotic influence. Her will was strong, even now when she was drunk.
"No," she said, blunt and matter of fact. "I was searching for him first because of worry. Now I want him to be man enough to face me. Look his Charlotte Lillian in the eyes and tell her why he left her."
Dracula scoffed.
"That's a losing battle," he said. Brightened his gaze. Fierce and intense. Only a rare few had ever been strong enough to fight back his eyes at full power. Normally people folded straight away. He was shocked at how hard she battled against him. Battled as hard as Van Helsing. He couldn't help but admire her determination, despite feeling utter disdain for her parenting.
"He never loved you," he hissed, cutting right to the bone. It wasn't true. He had loved her but only as a friend. But he said it to break her down emotionally, to make her feel worthless so she was easier to control. She rolled her eyes at him, completely unaffected.
"We didn't love each other romantically. We had to get married and have a child because people were getting...suspicious. When I was young I insisted on wearing men's trousers and have my hair short and gave flowers to pretty girls. And him, he likes to knit and do housework and looks at handsome men for too long. People whispered about us until we got married."
She tugged at her long hair and shifted in her housedress with discomfort. Unhappy that she'd buckled to pressure and been forced to conform to society's gender roles. Had buckled once and refused to ever do it again.
"Yes it's true we weren't in love. I don't care he's with a man, our marriage was a cover for our true preferences. I see the baker's daughter. But still...I thought we were friends at least. He just...abandoned me. He could have been with you and still stayed and help raise our daughter. Instead of running off like the coward he is."
He was feeling exhausted from using his hypnotic powers at full blast for so long. Normally only needed to use them for a couple of seconds. Head starting to ache behind his eyes. Slightly faint and shaky on his feet.
"Maybe he thought giving you all that money would make up for it," Dracula suggested. Mrs Renfield just scoffed at him. Was stonily silent. He decided to play dirty. She was very drunk, would be half asleep soon. If he went away down the hall to wait until she was nearly out of it and then hit her then, in that half unconcious state...
The cottage had two bedrooms. The child's was a tip. She collected interesting shaped rocks, arranged by size on a shelf. Had a glass with holes punched in the top and leaves and a stick insect inside. Unwashed linen. Grubby handprints smeared on the walls. A plate on the floor with half eaten jam sandwiches collecting ants. Stunk. The child was a bedwetter.
The main bedroom. Two seperate beds. One with colourful crochet still folded neatly at the pillow, waiting to be picked up again. That side tidy but gathering dust as though untouched. The other side a pigsty. Half empty bottles of sherry strewn across the stained carpet.
He peered behind his shoulder down the hall. She was dozing now. He slid over like a viper. Two waves of his hypnotic power at high beam and in her half asleep state, she was under at last.
"You'll stop looking for him," he demanded. She nodded dully.
"You'll spend your fortune on a nicer house," he said and she nodded again.
"And you'll stop ignoring your child. You'll take care of her properly."
When he saw her confirmation, he let the power slip. Before she faded into her booze addled dreams she mumbled;
"He'll leave you too..."
Dracula felt slightly faint from exertion. Limbs as weak as water. He needed blood. Now, now, now. Craved it. Like water for a lost man in a desert. Slightly wobbly he went to the front door, clasping at the wall for support and stepped heavy-footed outside.
The little girl was out of the tree now, clutching onto her belly. She gazed up at him. She resembled her mother with her blonde hair but had her father's big blue eyes.
"My stomach hurt," she told him. "Are you a investilater? Mama gets private investilaters to try find my papa. Jenny and Thomas from down the road say he dead so I hit them with a rock."
He suddenly smelt something sharp and strong. It was blood but mixed with shedded uterine cells and mucus. The girl looked startled and not caring that she was in front of a strange man, hoisted her skirt up. Menstrual blood leaked down her leg, staining her underwear. She scooped some up on her hand and just stared at it, with an almost stupefied horror. Dracula looked away, skin on his neck prickling with embarrassment at her. It wasn't her fault. A neglectful parent meant the child had no idea how to behave properly.
Not saying a word to her, he strode off. The little girl with her hand full of blood, stared, open mouthed and glassy eyed after him.