The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

  “After his mother died,” Justine added.

  “—yes, after his mother died, to study here. We have not heard from him in some months, and I am worried. He can get intensely obsessive and forget to care for himself as he should. We wanted to make certain he is well.”

  Mary raised an eyebrow. “But you do not know where he lives?”

  Justine answered. “His friend Henry came several months ago to check on him, but—”

  I coughed pointedly. Justine had been so silent with the men! But something about this Mary had her at ease. Justine was not controlling the conversation the way she should have been.

  “Did your Henry not report back?” Mary watched me curiously, her expression shrewd. Why would the men swallow all my implausible explanations, but this girl catch every snag?

  “He did,” I said. “Though he has always been less than meticulous and neglected to give us an actual address for Victor.”

  “And Henry cannot help you now?”

  I had avoided answering Justine’s questions about where Henry was, allowing her to assume he was here, too, and could help us. She trusted him. It had made her more comfortable coming. But if I wanted answers from Mary, I would have to provide some as well. “Henry left for England not long after he found Victor,” I said, setting down my teacup and leaning forward so I could not see Justine. “You can imagine what an exasperating trip this has been!”

  Justine whipped her head around. “England? You knew? But you said he was here!”

  “He was. Until about six months ago.”

  I finally looked over and her expression made me feel as fragile as my teacup. I braced for anger, but found only hurt and gentle reproach. “Why did you not tell me?”

  “I knew you would worry, coming to an unknown city without someone you trusted here. But Victor is here, and I trust him. I am sorry I did not tell you about Henry. I needed you to come. I cannot do this alone.”

  Justine kept her gaze on her food, but one of her hands disappeared into her purse, where I was certain she clutched the little lead soldier. “You should have told me.”

  “I should have.” I searched her face to see whether she was more upset with me or with Henry. I had never been able to tell whether Justine held any feelings more than friendship for him. I had never encouraged them, exactly, wishing to hold on to all my options. But now those options were gone for both of us. I reached out and squeezed her arm, drawing her close to me. She came, though reluctantly. “I am sorry. It was selfish of me to keep that from you. But I am so worried about Victor, I could not think straight.”

  Justine nodded, silent. I knew she would forgive me. And I did not regret what I had done. We were here now. We would find him. And our success would wash away all my manipulations to get here.

  Mary leaned back, picking up a piece of chicken with her fingers and popping it into her mouth. She had watched the whole exchange with silent interest. “So Victor came to study and stopped writing. And then Henry came to check on him, and immediately left without giving you Victor’s address?”

  “That is the sum of it,” I said flatly. “You know how inconsiderate men can be of our feelings. They get so busy with their lives that they forget we are left at home with nothing to do but fret over them.”

  “That is my experience, as well. Since my uncle left I have had not one letter from him. It is vexing.” She wiped her fingers on her apron. “I do not know this Henry. If he came by the bookshop, he must have spoken with my uncle. But your description of Victor is true, and your concern seems genuine. He is an odd and obsessive young man. Quite rude a lot of the time, frankly. But I did not mind, since I got the impression he was rude to everyone and not just me because of my sex and heritage. He has not been in the shop for a few months now.”

  I wilted. Lying to Justine, deceiving her, and, worse, potentially giving Judge Frankenstein a firm excuse to throw me out—all for nothing!

  “But,” Mary said, leaning forward and putting a finger under my chin to lift my face. She smiled at my devastated expression. “I do have a delivery request from his last order that should have an address. It may no longer be current, but I know my uncle was stopping to see him on his way to the continent, so—”

  “Please, give it to me!” I was too obviously desperate. She could press any advantage from me, ask anything, and I would give it.

  Instead, she stood and left the room. Justine ate, not looking at me. I should have apologized more, but I could not manage anything with my nerves in their current state.

  Finally, Mary returned with a slip of paper. “Here it is.” She passed it to me. It was not the old address I had already checked. And the date was from only six months before!

  Mary had also brought a cloak and an umbrella.

  “You must need to return to the shop,” I said, standing. Justine sighed over the remaining food but did the same. “Thank you so much for your kindness and help!”

  “With my uncle gone, I seldom have customers. The shop will keep for a few hours while I take you to Victor’s residence. It is not in a friendly part of town.”

  Justine laughed, and I was grateful for the sound, even though it was sad. “No parts of this town have been friendly.”

  Mary smiled tightly. “Perhaps I phrased that too gently. It is in a part of town that no woman should visit alone, and even two women should not venture if they are unaware of their surroundings.” She fastened her cloak and took a hat from a hook by the door, settling it on top of her hair and covering the pencil. “Also, I am wildly curious. I have seen the types of books Victor pursued. I would like to know what he has been doing with all his studies. And to know what could have possessed him, that he would shamefully neglect two such lovely and concerned friends.”

  “We all would,” I muttered darkly, following her back out into the weeping city.

  AT ANOTHER TIME, I might have seen the charm of Ingolstadt. The steep roofs in warm oranges, the cheerily painted rows of homes along wide, open streets. There were several green park areas, and a cathedral soared over the city, keeping watch. I felt it on the back of my neck, tracking my movement. Its spires were sentinels, visible nearly everywhere we went. Was God watching? If so, what did he see? Did he care for the obstinate machinations of one small woman with only seventeen years to her credit?

  If he was watching, that meant he had always been watching. And if he had always been watching, what a spiteful, mean old man he was to watch and do nothing. For me. For Justine.

  No. Justine would insist that God had answered her prayers by sending me. And she would probably say that God had answered my prayers by sending Victor.

  But that was not possible. I had not prayed as a child, and I certainly did not now. Surely God, so stingy with his miracles, would not answer an unoffered prayer. I did not repent of my distance from God. If I wanted help, I would find it for myself.

  We passed an old building overlooking a city square. All colors were muted by the clouds and the rain, blending together like a palette of paint being rinsed clean. I knew from my study of the map that Mary was leading us toward the Danube River and the outskirts of the city. I had embraced confidence both for Justine’s sake and my own, but it was a relief to have someone else leading us. Since I joined the Frankensteins and we settled at the lake house, I had not been anywhere except Geneva. This city, pleasant though it might have been, was a stranger. And strangers were not to be trusted.

  We passed through the commercial center, then into more residential streets. The medieval wall around the city was maintained in good repair and still marked the boundaries of Ingolstadt. We walked along it until we came to a passage through an unused gatehouse that would lead us out. The noise of the rain against our umbrellas hushed for one long breath as we walked beneath the wall.

  In that moment I thought I heard again the noise of my dreams. The
haunting cry of a soul so alone, even being in hell in the company of the other damned would be a comfort.

  I whipped my head to the side, peering into the dark recesses of the gatehouse. There were doors there, barred, but one looked as though it had recently been forced open and clumsily drawn shut again. “Did you—”

  Mary waved dismissively. “It is an old city. Even the stones mourn the passing of time. It is not much farther, though we must cross the bridge.”

  Justine, however, looked as unnerved as I felt. “We cannot be gone much longer,” she said. “Mind the hour. Frau Gottschalk will lock us out.”

  “Charming,” Mary said, her voice the only bright thing out that dreary afternoon. “Hurry, then.”

  We left the ancient borders of the city. This section of the Danube was crowded with boats for loading or unloading goods, though most sat idle, waiting out the rain. We nearly made it over the bridge without incident, until a passing carriage splashed murky puddle water on our skirts. The thought of showing up to see Victor in a dress anything other than pristinely white filled me with terror. All the insecurities of our first meeting engulfed me, and I felt I was once again the little girl with dirty feet.

  What could I offer him now? I had seen no trees for climbing, no nests filled with eggs. I had no tiny, fragile hearts to give him as an offering, only my own. I lifted my chin, determined not to be weak. I would be his Elizabeth, the one so carefully shaped with his help. And he would remember, and love me again, and I would be safe.

  Henry, who had abandoned and betrayed me, would never again get a single beat of my heart. I should never have let him so far in. He had threatened everything from the start.

  * * *

  —

  Those fleeting childhood years, when Henry guided our play and Victor was satisfied with his school studies, were suffused with light and the closest I had ever felt to ease. There was something remarkable in having Victor and Henry—the one so prone to fits of anger and cold aloofness, the other so bright and joyful and open to the wonders of the world without questioning how they existed—revolve around me.

  I saw in the hungry way Henry sought Victor’s attention and favor that Victor’s love was rare, and rare things are always the most valuable. In turn, I became even more what Victor wanted me to be. Lovely. Sweet. Brilliant and quick-minded but never as smart as him. I laughed at Henry’s jokes and plays, but I saved my best smiles for Victor, knowing he collected them and secreted them away.

  I had become this girl in order to survive, but the longer I lived in her body, the easier it was to simply be her. I was twelve, on the cusp of leaving childhood behind forever. But we still played like children. I was Guinevere to their Arthur and Lancelot, acting out the dramas Henry lovingly cobbled together out of pieces he stole from great playwrights of eras past. The trees were our Camelot. All our foes were imaginary and therefore easily defeated.

  One day we were playing a variation of kings and queens. I lay in a magical sleep upon my forest bed. Henry and Victor, after much travail, had found me. “She is the most beautiful girl in the world! A sleep like death has claimed her. Only love can awaken her again!” Henry declared, raising his sword to the sky. Then he leaned over and kissed me.

  I opened my eyes to find Henry looking at me in shock, as though he could not believe what he had done. I dared not look at Victor. I squeezed my eyes shut again, not reacting to Henry’s kiss.

  “I thought perhaps it would— I thought it would wake her,” Henry said, stumbling over the words. He sounded frightened.

  “She is not sleeping.” Victor’s voice was as brittle as morning-frosted grass. “Here, see? No life in her veins.” He lifted my wrist, which I kept limp. “She is dead. But we can trace the pathways her heartbeat would have used in life.” Victor drew a finger along the blue veins in my pale arm, up and up to where my sleeve started. My arm twitched at the contact.

  “Be still!” Victor whispered, catching my open eye. “Here, I have my own blade, sharper and subtler than your sword. We will see if she bleeds now that she is dead.”

  “Victor!” There was no laughter in Henry’s voice. My wrist was tugged away, and I was pulled out of my corpse character and into Henry’s arms.

  “You cannot do that!” he said.

  “Just a small cut, to see what is under the skin. Do you not wonder?” Victor’s anger this time was not a storm raging out of control. It was darker and deeper, like the bottom of the lake—cold and unknowable. It was a new type of anger, and I did not know how to soothe it.

  “Elizabeth does not mind.” Victor’s knife winked in the sun as though it wanted to play, too. “She is always concerned with the beauty and poetry of the world, but I want to know what lies beneath every surface. Give me your hand, Elizabeth.”

  Henry, on the verge of tears, tugged me farther away. “You cannot go around cutting people open, Victor. It is simply not done!”

  I did not know where to look or how to respond. But I knew staying with Henry—on his side—would offer me no benefit in the long run. And I could not risk Victor’s anger. I had never been the target of it! Henry had put me there, and I resented him for it.

  I extricated myself from Henry’s arms and placed a dainty kiss on Victor’s cheek. Then I put my arm through his and held his elbow as I had seen Madame Frankenstein hold Judge Frankenstein’s. “He was only playing. You are the one who ruined the pretend by kissing me without asking first.”

  Victor radiated coldness, but his surface was as smooth and clear as glass. “I am done with your games for today, Henry. They are boring.”

  Henry looked from one of us to the other, hurt and bewilderment on his kind face as he tried to understand how he had been the one in the wrong.

  “Henry does not understand how to play corpse; that is all,” I said. “It is our special game. We are getting too old for it, anyhow.” I looked to Victor for confirmation—desperate for it. I needed to mend this. I could not lose Henry. He was such a bright spot in my life.

  Victor nodded, one eyebrow raised dispassionately. “I suppose we are. I will be fourteen next month. We are going to the baths to celebrate. Did Mother tell you?”

  I could not let him leave Henry angry. Who was to say if our friend would ever return? Victor did not let go of grudges lightly. The year before, the cook had served a meal that made him ill. Victor refused to eat food prepared by him for an entire week, forcing his parents to dismiss the cook and find another. I did not want Henry dismissed, even if he had complicated everything.

  Laughing with gaiety, I squeezed Victor’s hand and beamed up at him. “Do invite Henry and his parents. Otherwise, I am afraid you and your father will go off hunting together and I will be left alone with little Ernest.”

  “But you told Mother you love Ernest.”

  “All he does is cry and wet himself. I will be miserable trapped with him! And miserable without you. If Henry is there, you will have a reason to tell your father no. And he can take Monsieur Clerval instead.”

  The tight remnants of anger around Victor’s eyes finally disappeared. “Of course Henry should come.”

  I turned my smile on Henry, and he nodded, relieved but still confused. “Go and tell your parents, Victor,” I said, “so they know to plan for the Clervals. I will see Henry to the boat.”

  His anger shed like a coat, Victor calmly walked away.

  I kept a distance between Henry and myself, though, as we walked back to the dock. We were nearly there when he grabbed my arm and forced me to stop.

  “Elizabeth, I am sorry. I am not sure what I did wrong.”

  I gave him a light, careless smile. I used smiles like currency. They were the only currency I ever had. My dresses, my shoes, my ribbons—they all belonged to the Frankensteins. I was a guest in them, just as I was a guest in that house. “You punctured Victor’s make-believe. You know
how sensitive he can be.”

  “I am sorry I kissed you.”

  “I am sorry for that, too.” I lifted my fingers to my lips to find my easy smile had abandoned me. “You cannot do it again.”

  His face was a portrait of disappointment. “Will you answer something for me? Truthfully?”

  I nodded. But I knew I would not, regardless of what the question was. The truth was not a luxury I could indulge in.

  “Are you happy here?”

  Henry’s simple question landed like blows on my shoulders, and I flinched away from it as I would have from my old caretaker’s fists. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Sometimes the things you say sound more like the lines I write than like what you are actually feeling.”

  “What if I am not happy?” I whispered, smiling, though it was a physical pain to do so. “What would you do? What would anyone do? This is my home, Henry. The only one I have. Without the Frankensteins I have nothing. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course I—”

  I lifted a hand to cut him off. He could not understand. If he could, he would never have asked me such a stupid question. “But I am happy. What would I choose but this life? You are such a strange boy. We are together nearly every day! You know I am happy here. And you are happy here, too, or else you would stop coming.”

  He nodded, worry clouding the open expanse of his face. I could not bear to look at it, so I drew him close in a hug. “I am happier when you are here,” I said. “Never leave us. Promise.”

  “I promise.”

  With his promise—because Henry was as truthful as I was not—I took him to the boats and waved him cheerfully away. I would have to be more careful with my two boys, with the balance there. I did not want to think what would happen if I lost Victor’s love. Losing Henry’s would simply hurt.

  But I had had enough of hurting for an entire lifetime. I resolved to keep Henry near me always. I would use both of them as my protection.