Journal of Erin Hollister
9 June, mid-afternoon
The train entered the Duchy of Styria, after days of travel from the Dutch coast. Over the day, I have been struck by how different Austria is from my native London. London bustles with activity; Austria, especially rural Styria, is more sedate and relaxed. Perhaps that is what I need, ever since Mother died last month.
I still remember Mother's final words to me: "Erin, dearest Erin, do not grieve, for my time has come. My only hope is for God to forgive me my greatest sin. Do not make the same mistake as I." Mother was cryptic, as always, about her past, and when I pressed Grandfather for details, he shook his head and said it was a chapter from their lives from before Mother met Father, before Father left to fight in the Boer Wars. It is frustrating, not knowing details Mother seemed to expect me to know.
Days after the funeral, and a lovely yet sad funeral it was, I received a letter from a distant relative:
My dear Erin.
Great sorrow filled my heart to learn of the passing of my long-time friend and confidante, your mother Laura. What we once shared in our youth cannot be put into mere words, though many poets have tried, from Sappho to Shakespeare. One day soon, you too shall know of what I speak, if you have not already. Laura and I still call each other sister, although we are by blood no closer than distant cousins. I would love it if you were to call me your Aunt.
I will understand if circumstances prevent you from accepting my offer right away, but my schloß in Styria is always open to you. I would delight in meeting the vibrant young woman you have become, as all I remember is the infant babe who smiled at me from her crib on my last visit. I know you are not devoid of funds yourself, but enclosed are enough British pounds to purchase passage across the Channel, Dutch guilders to obtain a rail car, and German marks for expenses on the journey. A gift, freely given, from me to thee.
Should you accept, please send a telegraph when you reach the rail station.
With eternal and undying love,
Carmilla, Countess Karnstein
The letter is almost as cryptic as Mother spoke. If Mother and "Aunt" Carmilla both spoke like this in front of Grandfather, it would explain the disdain he expressed for Carmilla when I showed him the letter. He insisted I return the money, though he relented when I reminded him that returning a gift - any gift - is poor manners.
One thing he let slip: he still owns an estate - a schloß as the Countess called it - a mere few leagues from the Karnstein lands. I finally convinced Grandfather to let me make the trip, but his condition was for me to retreat to the family's schloß should I start succumbing to Mother's illness, as he would accompany me that far.
--
In the dining car, I have been talking with a German girl my age, who gave her name as Häschen. She is a few inches shorter than I, with short blonde hair framing her face, rather than piled up as is generally common. Both of us being fluent in both English and German (as well as French, Dutch, Italian, and Latin, it appears), I asked her if "Bunny" was her real name ("Hase" being German for "rabbit", "Häschen" would be a more familiar derivative), to which she laughed and said her family has called her "little rabbit" from a young age. Häschen never told me her real name, telling me, "The ancients believed that names can grant great power over their owners," and she warned me not to be too free with mine. I laughed and told her that the modern world had no need for such superstitions.
"Even so," she told me, "I have been known as Häschen for so long, it feels more real to me than my real name." I kept calling her "Bunny" the entire meal, to her amusement.
Bunny told me she was traveling with her father on one of his many business trips. He is a solicitor for a prestigious Berlin estate firm, also apparently traveling to Styria, though only as far as the city of Graz; Grandfather and I will be taking a Benz Viktoria, the top of the line horseless carriage, to the family schloß, and from there I will take a coach to the Karnstein. The way Grandfather and he spoke while I conversed with Bunny made me wonder if they had done business together before.
Journal of Erin Hollister
9 June, evening
Styria truly is a beautiful country. Tall, picturesque hills, thick woods, red painted covered bridges, and in places not a person for miles.
Grandfather was insistent we stop for the night at the family schloß, a keep he had purchased cheap after his military days half a century ago, but I insisted on pressing onward to the village of Karnstein. Grandfather's warnings only served to whet my interest.
"When Laura and I lived here, before she contracted her illness, Karnstein was in ruins and Carmilla was not yet Countess of these lands. Indeed, Castle Karnstein was in ruins. For her to have restored the village and castle as well as her title so quickly disturbs me, given ... " And here he would not continue, no matter how I pressed.
Perhaps most disturbing to him, though it increased my own excitement, was that the Countess herself, my Aunt Carmilla, was there to greet us in her carriage. I felt a little overwhelmed by her dark beauty. She was tall, with long lustrous raven hair that reached her mid back with only the barest hint of gray, a regal and timeless face, and sharp gray eyes with a look that simultaneously appeared to see the real you and look right through you as if you were not there. That evening, despite the lowering temperature - during the day, it had been much cooler than London, and the sun was setting - she wore a tight black gown that scandalously bared her shoulders and calves. I could not believe she could wear something so revealing! I know I blushed, and Grandfather seemed uncomfortable in her presence. She greeted us warmly, pulling us both in for tight hugs in greeting; her grip was stronger than I expected.
"My dear Erin!" she exclaimed, holding me at arms length. "You've grown into quite the beauty. You look almost exactly like our dear Laura, but for your hair. Such a vibrant red! You must have dozens of suitors back in London!"
Truth be told, I had none, as Grandfather tended to scare them off with his Continental demeanor, and I told her as such.
"Well, there is a grand ball at Castle Karnstein on Saturday," she told us, "and I insist both of you attend." A grand ball! How could I refuse? Grandfather seemed reluctant, but after a minute of what I presume to be internal debate relented.
