“Is it always like that?” I whispered, brushing a soft curl away from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear.
She nodded silently, closing her eyes and leaning down to rest her forehead against mine. “She hates me. I have never known why. I am her daughter, her own child, same as the others. But she hates me, and—”
“Shhh.” I drew her close so that her head nestled into the curve of my neck and shoulder. If it was luck that my own beauty had saved me from a life of cruelty and want, then I would extend that same grace and luck to Justine. Though we had only just met, I felt a soul-deep connection to her, and I knew we would be part of each other’s lives forever.
“I do not actually need a maid,” I said. She tensed, so I hurried on. “Can you read?”
“Yes, and write. My father taught me.”
That was fortunate. An idea took root. “Have you ever considered being a governess?”
Justine, puzzled, stopped crying. She straightened to look at me, her delicate eyebrows raised. “I have been in charge of educating and caring for my youngest siblings. But I never thought of pursuing it outside of the home. My mother tells me I am too wicked and stupid—”
“Your mother is a fool. I want you to never again think of anything she told you about yourself. It was all lies. Do you understand?”
Justine held my gaze as though I were a rope pulling her in from drowning. She nodded.
“Good. Come. I am going to introduce the Frankensteins to their new governess.”
“Are they your family?”
“Yes. And now you are, too.”
Her innocent eyes shone with hope, and she impulsively kissed my cheek. The kiss felt like a cool hand on a fevered brow, and I gasped. Justine laughed, then embraced me again. “Thank you,” she whispered in my ear. “You have saved me.”
* * *
—
“Justine,” I said, my voice as bright and cheerful as the boardinghouse was not, “will you help me open the window?”
She blinked as though waking up. If I remembered our first meeting with that much clarity, I could not imagine what my ill-chosen words had made her remember about the time before we found each other. Maybe it had been selfish of me to make her come along to Ingolstadt to find Victor. She had always felt so at home in the Frankensteins’ isolated manor. The lake served as a buffer between Justine and her old life. She devoted herself entirely to her two young charges, and she was happy. While I had craved escape, I had not thought what disruption might mean for her.
I wish I had found her earlier. Seventeen years with that woman! Victor had saved me when I was but five.
Victor, why did you leave me?
“It is locked.” She pointed to the top of the window, where the shutters were fastened to the frame.
I leaned close, peering up. “No; they have been nailed shut.”
“This is a strange house.” Justine gently placed the quilt on a rickety chair.
“Just one night.” I sat on my bed, the ropes beneath the mattress straining. On the table between the two narrow beds was the only fresh thing in the whole room: the promised cotton for our ears.
What was it we were not supposed to hear?
* * *
—
After Justine’s breathing went steady and slow with sleep, I eased out of bed, hungry and restless. I longed for the nights when, sleepless or plagued by nightmares, I could sneak down the hall and crawl into Victor’s bed. He was nearly always awake. Reading or writing. His brain never stopped, sleep too much of a nuisance. Perhaps that was why he was plagued by his fevers—his body forced him to finally shut down.
Knowing that whenever I was awake he would be, too, made life less lonely. The last two endless years I would lie in bed, wondering if he was awake. Certain he was. Certain that, if I could just get to him, he would shift over and let me curl up next to him and his work. To this day, nothing comforted me more than the scent of paper and ink.
I wished horrible Frau Gottschalk had a library, if only so I could bring a book to bed with me.
Confident that all my years of nighttime creeping would keep me safe, I slowly turned the doorknob. I remembered that the door creaked and would need to be moved with utmost care.
But my memory mattered not. The door was locked. From the outside.
Suddenly the room, which before had merely been too small, was suffocating. I could almost smell the rank breath of other children, feel the press of scabbed knees and brutal elbows. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply to exorcise the demons of my past. I would not go back to that. Ever.
But still there was not enough air in the room. I went to the shutters and did my best to pry them open without waking Justine. As I worked, I went over my plan.
I would go to Victor’s residence in the morning. I would not accuse or get angry. That never worked with Victor. I would smile and embrace him and remind him how much he loved me, how much better his days were with me in them. And if he brought up Henry, I would be perfectly innocent.
“What?” I whispered to myself in absolute surprise. “He asked you what?”
My finger got caught beneath one of the slats. I swore viciously beneath my breath, working it free. It was warm and wet. I stuck it in my mouth before the blood could stain my nightgown.
And if Victor did not seem to respond to my sweetness, I would simply cry. He never could stand it when I cried. It would hurt him. I smiled in anticipation, letting the meanness at my core stretch like ill-used muscles. He had left me alone in that house. I had Justine, yes, but Justine could not keep me safe.
I needed Victor back, and I would not let him abandon me again.
One of the slats finally slid free. Clutching it like a knife, I pressed my face against the opening to look down upon the empty street. The rain had stopped, clouds stroking the swollen moon like a tender lover.
Everything was still and quiet, shining wet and as clean as a city ever got. I saw nothing. I heard nothing.
I replaced the slat and then sat guard in front of our bedroom door, certain the only threat in Ingolstadt was the person we had paid to lock us in a dusty room.
* * *
—
Sometime before morning I startled awake, nearly falling from the chair. Dazed and half-asleep, I was drawn to the window as certainly as I had been drawn to Justine’s animal cries of pain that day in Geneva.
The street was empty. Had I dreamed a cry that pierced so deep—that my very soul recognized? Plagued by memories I did not wish to possess, I resumed vigil until dawn and the long-awaited click of the key to freedom.
BREAKFAST WAS A SOUR affair. Though I tried my best, Frau Gottschalk was impervious to my charms. Perhaps I overestimated them, or perhaps they were so well honed to the Frankensteins after all these years that they were worthless elsewhere.
It was not a comforting thought.
Frau Gottschalk refused to relinquish the key to our room—for our “protection,” as though guarding the virtue of young women were part of her contract. Her bread was somehow burned and doughy at the same time, her milk as fresh as I felt after such a sleepless night, and her company unbearable.
We beat a hasty retreat from the house. As the door closed and locked behind us, I let out a deep sigh of relief. At least that would be the only night we would have to spend there. Once we found Victor, we could get resettled.
Everything would be resettled.
I pulled out Victor’s last letter—from nearly eighteen months before, my fingers impulsively twitching into claws as I traced the date—and looked at his address. Though I had memorized it, the letter felt like a talisman that would guide us to him.
“Should we find a carriage?” Justine eyed the sky dubiously. The clouds were heavy with the threat of more rain. But I did not want to waste time finding a man to hire, and I ce
rtainly would not go back inside to ask Frau Gottschalk for help.
“After so long in the carriage yesterday, a walk will be just the thing.” Two years previous, when Victor was preparing to leave, I had copied a map of Ingolstadt. I took care to add all the flourishes and artistic details he seemed to admire when I did them. He used to laugh at how useless my art was, but he always showed it off proudly when the rare visitor came to the house.
I had the map I had used as the original. There were no flourishes because it was for me, and what was the point?
Tracing the lines of streets like a fortune-teller reading a future in a palm, I tapped my finger in time to my heartbeat. “Here,” I said. “Here we will find Victor.” Justine and I linked elbows and stepped carefully across the muddy borders of the cobblestone street, letting the currents of ink on my map draw us to our destination.
* * *
—
“Victor Frankenstein?” a man with a mustache as wiry and anemic as his frame asked, speaking French. “What do you want him for?”
“I am his cousin,” I said. I was not, but it was the term we had been told to use for each other. His father and mother were always careful not to let us call each other brother or sister. Though they fed and clothed and educated me alongside him until he left for the city school and then university, they made me keep my own surname and never formally adopted me.
I lived with the Frankensteins. I was not one. And I never forgot it.
The man let out a wheezing sort of grunt, tugging on the ends of his mustache. “I have not seen him in more than a year. He said he needed more space. Arrogant bastard he was, too. Claimed I was spying on him, as if I would be interested in the lunatic scribblings of a student. I am a doctor, you know!”
“Oh?” Justine said, upset by his agitation and seeking to soothe him. “Of what?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, squinting up and to the side as though something had caught his eye. “Eastern languages. Poetry, specifically. Chinese and Japanese, but I know some Korean as well.”
“I am certain that is ever so useful to you here, running a student boardinghouse.” I offered my cutting words with a dagger of a smile. How dare he insult my Victor.
He narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I can see the family resemblance now.”
Realizing I was playing this wrong, I shifted my face. Let my eyelids hang just a bit heavier, tilted my chin, smiled as if I had never had a secret. “Poetry is so beautiful! Your boarders truly are fortunate. Imagine how oppressive being aided through school by a mathematician would be! Everything cold numbers. Your rooms must be highly in demand. I can only assume Victor needed more space for some practical reason.”
Now the man looked confused, thrown by my abrupt shift and already doubting the meanness he had seen. “Er. Well. Yes. He never said why he needed more working room.”
“Do you have his new address?”
His eyebrows warred between wry and apologetic. “We have not kept in touch since he called me a fool with silk between my ears.”
I put my fingers to my mouth in mock outrage, though really it was to cover my grin. How I had missed Victor! “The strains of his studies must have been great indeed for him to act in such a manner. He has probably remained a stranger since out of tremendous guilt for his ill-treatment of you.” I pulled out one of the cards I had written up that morning. Frau Gottschalk had added the cost of the ink to our bill. “If you remember anything, or if he comes by to apologize, will you be so kind as to let me know? We are staying at Frau Gottschalk’s House for Ladies for a short time.” I held out the card and pressed it into his palm with slightly more contact than was necessary. This time his look was less confused and more dazzled.
I was not good with only the Frankensteins after all. Frau Gottschalk was simply terrible. Though we left Victor’s old housing no closer to finding him, some of my confidence was restored.
Justine pointed out a café and we stopped to have tea. The decor left a bit to be desired, if one desired things like taste or elegance. But it was relatively clean, and the tea was hot. I wanted to rest my face over the steam, let my soul steep in the heat alongside the tea leaves.
“What should we do now?” Justine had her hands beneath the table, worrying at something. We were the only women there, the rest of the patrons easily identifiable as students by their ink-stained fingers and ghostly pallor. Every brow furrowed by intense concentration made me miss Victor even more. However, most of the brows unfurrowed and rose in interest as Justine and I spoke. I pretended not to notice. Justine did not have to pretend, as she always seemed genuinely unaware of the effect we had on men. I, however, was perfectly aware of my beauty. I considered it a skill, alongside speaking French, English, Italian, and German. It was a language of its own, in a way; one that translated well in different circumstances.
“Do you have any other letters?” Justine asked. “Contacts we can use?” I saw now she held a little lead soldier toy, rubbing it like a talisman. William’s, most certainly. Of the three Frankenstein boys, I had no use for any but Victor. Justine loved the other two enough for both of us.
I stirred my tea, letting the dented silver spoon clink against the plain china. Ingolstadt was not a large city, but it was by no means small. It had an impressive student population. There would be no shortage of housing for young men, if Victor had taken up a new residence in a house like his previous one.
“This is a mystery.” I grinned conspiratorially at Justine. “Just like the ones I tell you.”
Her attention was tugged back from where it doubtless hovered over William and Ernest back at Frankenstein Manor. “Will there be a jewel thief and a daring midnight ambush?”
I dropped two cubes of sugar into Justine’s tea. She liked things as sweet as possible, though she would never take more sugar than anyone else at the table unless pushed. “Well, since we are hunting a scholar, I think jewels are out of the question. And our landlady would have us on the streets if we were caught out at midnight. But I promise at some point we will unmask a villain.”
Justine laughed prettily, and now I knew every eye in the café was on us. I could feel them. It was like wearing an extra layer of clothing. Just a touch heavier, just a touch more constricting.
I resisted the urge to tug at my high lace collar. My eyes closed and I twitched once, imperceptibly, against the confines of my pristine and expensive clothing.
* * *
—
It was both a relief and an agony when Victor was deemed socialized enough to begin attending the local school instead of staying home for private tutoring. I had more hours to myself during the day during which I did not have to be anything to anyone, so long as I kept up my language lessons and my art. Yet I was bitterly jealous of Victor. Every morning he was rowed across the lake to other children and other minds, to learn and to grow, while I was left behind. I always stood at the dock until he disappeared, every muscle tense, wanting to be with him but also longing to run.
I used the time to wander. Though I had been half feral during my years before the Frankensteins, here my explorations had always been at Victor’s side and therefore entailed a certain amount of wariness. I had to be accountable to him always, in my emotions, my reactions, my expressions.
Alone, I discovered the raw natural beauty of his home in a new way. The snowcapped mountains loomed along the skyline, watching all I did. I nicknamed them Judge and Madame Frankenstein. The lake, placid and beautiful and mysterious, I nicknamed Victor. But the trees—the trees were mine.
Most mornings I had to dutifully visit Madame Frankenstein and play with boring little Ernest. I did not care about him, but it made Madame Frankenstein happy. She had told me when she was still pregnant with him, her stomach distended and horrible in a way I could not understand, that it was because of me she had finally been able to bring another child into t
he house.
I would have been happy to never see the baby. But I did not let her suspect that as I cooed over him long enough until I could slip back outside.
As soon as I was out of sight of the house, I would take off my white dress and set it carefully in a cleaned-out tree hollow. Then, free to wander without fear of damaging my clothes and bringing home proof of my transgressions, I would prowl through the trees like a wild creature.
I discovered warrens, nests, burrows, all the hidden places of things that creep and crawl, leap and bound, fly and flee among the deep green and loamy brown. Though my heart was filled with joy among them, my journeys served a dual purpose: if I discovered where the animals I loved lived, I could deliberately avoid them when I was with Victor.
When I could not be outside, during the depths of winter or in the afternoons when Victor returned, I studied his schoolwork or looked at paintings and read poetry. It delighted the Frankensteins. They saw it as evidence of my good breeding that at such a young age I was so attuned to the arts. But really, it was a way of escaping back into the wilderness when I was trapped inside.
If I could have worn nothing but my slips, I would have. But clothes were part of the role I played. And I never stepped out of character where they could see me.
* * *
—
“Elizabeth?”
I stopped stirring my tea, which had gone cool as I stared out the fog-covered window. I smiled at Justine to cover my lapse in attention. She returned my smile to let me know she did not mind. Things were always so with Justine. I could never do anything to make her cross with me. It was a tremendous relief not to have to choose each word and expression with care. Sometimes, though, our relationship felt as false as the one with my benefactors. I wondered if she truly was that good, or if she merely acted that way to avoid being sent back to her monster of a mother.
The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein Page 3
