IX. The Doctor
von Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
Carmilla insisted that no attendant could sleep in her room, so my father arranged for a servant to stay outside her door. This way, if she tried to sneak out again, they would catch her right away.
That night was uneventful, and the next morning, the doctor arrived to see me. My father had called him without mentioning it to me beforehand.
Madame led me to the library, where the serious little doctor with white hair and glasses was waiting.
I shared my story with him, and as I spoke, his expression grew more serious.
We stood in the window recess, facing each other. When I finished, he leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on me with a mix of concern and something like horror.
After a moment of thought, he asked Madame if he could see my father.
They called him in, and as he entered with a smile, he said, “I suppose, doctor, you’re going to tell me I’m an old fool for bringing you here. I hope I’m wrong.”
But his smile faded as the doctor gestured for him to come closer, his face now serious.
They talked for a while in the same window recess where I had just spoken with the doctor. Their conversation seemed intense and argumentative. The library was large, and Madame and I stood at the far end, burning with curiosity. We couldn’t hear a word, though, as they spoke in low tones, and the deep recess of the window obscured the doctor from view, leaving us only with glimpses of my father’s foot, arm, and shoulder. The thick wall and window created a sort of soundproof closet, making their voices even harder to catch.
Eventually, my father’s face appeared in the room. He looked pale and thoughtful, and I sensed he was agitated.
“Laura, dear, come here for a moment. Madame, the doctor says we won’t trouble you for now.”
I approached, feeling a bit alarmed. Though I felt weak, I didn’t feel ill; I always thought strength was something you could regain at will.
My father reached out for me as I drew near, but his attention was on the doctor. “It’s certainly odd; I don’t quite understand it. Laura, come here, dear; listen to Doctor Spielsberg and gather your thoughts.”
“You mentioned feeling like two needles pierced your skin around your neck the night of your first terrible dream. Is there still any soreness?”
“None at all,” I replied.
“Can you point to where you think that happened?”
“Just below my throat—here,” I said, indicating the spot beneath my morning dress.
“Now you’ll see for yourself,” the doctor said. “You won’t mind if your father lowers your dress a little? It’s necessary to check for any symptoms of the condition you’ve been experiencing.”
I agreed. It was just an inch or two below the edge of my collar.
“Good heavens!—there it is,” my father exclaimed, turning pale.
“You see it with your own eyes now,” the doctor said, a grim satisfaction in his tone.
“What is it?” I asked, feeling a wave of fear.
“Nothing serious, my dear young lady, just a small blue spot, about the size of your fingertip. Now,” he continued, turning to my father, “the question is what to do next.”
“Is there any danger?” I pressed, my anxiety rising.
“I hope not, my dear,” the doctor replied. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t recover. You should start feeling better soon. Is that the point where the sense of strangulation begins?”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“And—try to remember—the same spot was the center of that strange thrill you described, like a cold current running against you?”
“It might have been; I think it was.”
“See?” he said, looking at my father. “Should I say something to Madame?”
“Of course,” my father replied.
He called Madame over and said, “I find my young friend here is quite unwell. I hope it’s nothing serious, but we need to take some steps, which I’ll explain later. In the meantime, Madame, please don’t let Miss Laura be alone for a moment. That’s the only instruction I need to give for now. It’s essential.”
“We can count on your kindness, Madame, I know,” my father added.
Madame eagerly assured him she would comply.
“And you, dear Laura, I trust you will follow the doctor’s advice.”
"I need your opinion on another patient whose symptoms are somewhat similar to my daughter's, though much milder. She’s a young lady staying with us. Since you mentioned you’d be passing by again this evening, why not join us for supper? You can meet her then; she doesn’t come down until the afternoon."
"Thank you," the doctor replied. "I’ll be here around seven this evening."
After that, they reiterated their instructions to me and Madame. With that, my father left us, walking out with the doctor. I watched them as they paced back and forth between the road and the moat, deep in serious conversation.
The doctor didn’t return. I saw him mount his horse, bid farewell, and ride off eastward through the forest.
Around the same time, a man arrived from Dranfield with letters, dismounted, and handed the bag to my father.
Meanwhile, Madame and I were both busy, lost in speculation about the unusual and serious instructions my father and the doctor had agreed upon. Madame later confided in me that she feared the doctor was worried about a sudden seizure and that, without immediate help, I might either have a fit or be seriously harmed.
That interpretation didn’t occur to me. I thought, perhaps fortunately for my nerves, that the arrangement was simply to ensure I had a companion to prevent me from overexerting myself, eating unripe fruit, or doing any of the countless foolish things young people are known to do.
About half an hour later, my father came in with a letter in hand.
"This letter was delayed; it’s from General Spielsdorf. He could have arrived yesterday, might not come until tomorrow, or he could be here today."
He handed me the open letter, but he didn’t look pleased, as he usually did when a guest, especially one as beloved as the General, was coming.
Instead, he seemed to wish the General was at the bottom of the Red Sea. Clearly, something was troubling him that he didn’t want to share.
“Papa, can you tell me something?” I asked, suddenly placing my hand on his arm and looking at him with what I hoped was an imploring expression.
“Perhaps,” he replied, gently smoothing my hair away from my eyes.
“Does the doctor think I’m very ill?”
“No, dear. He believes that if the right steps are taken, you’ll be quite well again—at least on the road to a full recovery—in a day or two,” he answered, a bit tersely. “I just wish our good friend, the General, had chosen a different time; that is, I wish you were perfectly well to receive him.”
“But please, tell me, Papa,” I pressed, “what does he think is wrong with me?”
“Nothing; don’t pester me with questions,” he replied, showing more irritation than I had ever seen from him before. When he noticed my hurt expression, he kissed me and added, “You’ll know everything in a day or two; that is, everything I know. In the meantime, don’t trouble yourself about it.”
He turned to leave the room but returned shortly after, just to inform me that he was going to Karnstein and had ordered the carriage to be ready at noon. Madame and I were to accompany him; he needed to see the priest who lived near those picturesque grounds for some business. Since Carmilla had never seen them, she could join us later with Mademoiselle, who would bring supplies for what you call a picnic, which could be set up for us in the ruins of the castle.
At noon, I was ready, and not long after, my father, Madame, and I set off on our planned drive.
We crossed the drawbridge, turned right, and followed the road over the steep Gothic bridge, heading west toward the deserted village and the ruined castle of Karnstein.
No scenic drive could be imagined more beautiful. The landscape gently undulated, covered in stunning woods, completely devoid of the artificiality that comes from early cultivation and pruning.
The irregularities of the terrain often led the road off its course, winding gracefully around the edges of deep hollows and the steeper slopes of hills, among an endless variety of ground.
As we rounded one of these bends, we unexpectedly encountered our old friend, the General, riding toward us, accompanied by a mounted servant. His luggage was following in a hired cart.
The General dismounted as we came to a stop, and after the usual greetings, he was easily persuaded to take the empty seat in the carriage, sending his horse on with his servant to the schloss.