Page 57 of The Extraordinary Florence Stoker

‘Do you?’ His voice was deep. Manly. ‘I’m not sure you do.’

I both did and didn’t. Before, I lived in ignorance; from here on in, through sheer force of will, I would live in awareness, but also blind, deaf and mute.

Nevertheless, as I stood before my husband, more spirit than woman, denied and affirmed, relief coursed through me. Relief that it wasn’t me who repelled him; it wasn’t something I had or hadn’t done. It was some other inclination – or lack of inclination – that drove him.

If my tortured thoughts over the last months and years had taught me anything, it was that with this knowledge, I could do something.

‘Does anyone else know?’ I asked.

‘That I’m … an unnatural man? There are those who might wonder,’ he admitted. ‘But I’ve not given anyone cause to be assured one way or another.’

I drew closer. ‘You’ll not embarrass me or yourself, will you, Bram? Shame our name, sully our standing?’

‘I’ll never do anything to shame either of us, or Irving.’

For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether he meant our son or his Chief.

‘Never,’ I repeated. It was a vow.

He raised mournful eyes to mine. ‘And what of you, Florrie? Would you take your pick of those who wish to bed you, knowing what you do now? Knowing that the man you call your husband failed in his duties?’

‘Failed in only one respect, Bram.’

He made a mocking sound. ‘Only one?’ I didn’t reply. ‘You could renounce our marriage. Seek divorce. I would understand …’

I stepped closer, and as the space between us contracted, he held out his arms. I hesitated, then entered them and knelt.

Encircled in his warm embrace, I nestled my head under his chin, surreptitiously wiping the tears from my cheeks. His lips rested against my hair. We were an inverse Pietà, a father and daughter. There was nothing sensual in our hold, yet I’d never felt closer to my husband than this moment.

‘I won’t abandon our marriage, Bram. I promise. Or you. You are my husband. I’m your wife. Mrs Bram Stoker.’

He gave a quiet sob and held me tighter. The night cocooned us in its silence. ‘I don’t think you’re shocked – are you?’ he asked eventually. He’d ceased to cry, to tremble.

I didn’t answer immediately. I wasn’t shocked. Did that make me unnatural? Maybe.

‘No,’ I admitted finally. And more forcefully, ‘No.’

I was more surprised that Bram disclosed what he had. Sex didn’t interest him, at least not in the usual ways. I’d no desire to have relations with him again – I hadn’t since the night he’d uttered Henry’s name. But nor would I desire any other man. Not anymore. Did that make us well suited?

I decided in that moment, it had to.

We had a child; no-one could cast aspersions upon Bram. We’d both fulfilled our obligations to the institution of marriage and society’s unspoken laws. There would be no scurrilous gossip to taint his reputation, nor mine. As God was my witness, I would make certain of that. I swore then and there to do whatever was in my power to protect Bram and, in doing so, protect us all.

If we were not lovers in the traditional sense of husband and wife, we could at least be friends.

The closest kind. The kind who, I thought as I soundlessly wept for what I’d never know, shared the darkest of secrets.

PART FOUR

1881 to 1887

Horrible imaginings

I am beginning to feel this nocturnal existence tell on me. It is destroying my nerve. I start at my own shadow, and am full of all sorts of horrible imaginings. God knows that there is ground for my terrible fear in this cursed place!

Bram Stoker, Dracula

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE