The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

Justine and Mary pounded on the door just as Henry had those years ago on holiday.

I would demand that Victor take me on holiday after this.

Bracing myself, I shuffled through the dark entry of Victor’s residence and pushed the inner door open. The smell here was not so bad. Stale and sour, but not noxious. Windows along the back of the building were filmed over so that I could barely see. Above me, water dripped incessantly against the ceiling—probably on the upper-story floor from the two windows on the roof left open.

Once my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I made out a long room. A table with two chairs was pushed against a wall, stacked with papers and dirty dishes. A sink had been artlessly installed; a bucket beneath caught excess water. There was a stove next to me, but it was unlit, the room frigid with undertones of creeping river-damp.

In the opposite corner, a cot was piled high with a jumble of blankets, and—

A hand, trailing off the side.

I closed my eyes.

I counted ten steady breaths as I removed my gloves and tucked them into my purse. And then I walked across the floor, knelt by the bed, and took the wrist between my fingers.

“Thank you,” I whispered fervently. I had been wrong: I did have it in me to pray after all. The wrist was warm—burning, in fact. I pulled back the mess of quilts to reveal Victor sprawled on his stomach, his dark curls wild, his forehead hot and dry. He was probably dehydrated. I had no way of knowing how long he had been in this fevered state. At his worst, one of his fevers had lasted more than a fortnight. And with no one here to care for him!

I cursed Henry with more fervor than I had prayed with. He had abandoned both of us—me to long-term peril, and Victor to immediate risk. He knew how Victor was! He knew that Victor was not to be left alone. How selfish of him to leave because his feelings were hurt. How privileged of him to be able to value his own feelings over the safety of others because he himself had never known what it was to be afraid.

“Victor,” I said, but he did not even stir. I stroked his cheek. And then I pinched his arm. Hard. Harder.

No response.

Satisfied that Mary and Justine would find nothing too alarming, I ran back to the door and unlocked it. Justine was crying, and Mary was livid.

“What do you mean, locking us out?” she demanded.

I inclined my head meaningfully toward Justine. “I could not bear to expose you two to anything horrific. Neither of you has the responsibility to Victor that I do.”

Justine looked up at me, her face as pale as death. “Is he—”

“He is dangerously sick with a fever. We will need a doctor. And we should move him to a more healthful location. I am certain this building contributed to his state.”

“I can go and fetch a doctor. I know one.” Mary regarded me with no small amount of distrust. “Should I take Justine with me?”

“She can stay and help if she wants.”

Justine’s eyes widened as she looked in at the dark hallway leading to the darker room.

Mary and I traded a look of understanding, and I spoke again. “Actually, yes. I think it would be best if Justine went with you. She can inform the doctor of Victor’s history of fevers.”

Justine nodded, the relief washing across her face. “Yes. Yes, I will do that. And I can hire a carriage, too. We cannot ask Mary to pay for anything.”

“Very smart! What would I do without you?” I beamed at her to let her know she was handling this all quite well. I dug a few banknotes out of my purse, my last remaining address cards falling onto the wet steps beneath us. I did not bother to pick them up; the ink would run and stain the silk lining of my bag.

“We will hurry,” Mary said.

I waved at them until they turned toward the bridge. Then I shut the door and locked it once more, not wanting unexpected visitors. I checked on Victor again; he had not moved. His breathing was shallow but steady and unlabored. I drew down the blankets farther. He was wearing breeches and a shirt, as though he had collapsed in the midst of working. He even had shoes on, scuffed and unshined.

I sat next to his head, looking down at him. He was thinner, paler. Judging by the length of his sleeves, he had grown, too. And not purchased new clothes for his changed frame. I wet a cloth that did not smell moldy, then put it over his forehead and sighed. “Look what happens when you are alone. Look how much you need me.”

He stirred, eyes fluttering open but wild and unseeing. “Do not—” he croaked.

“Do not what?” I leaned close to his face.

“Henry. Oh, Henry. Do not tell Elizabeth.”

He was delirious, then. He thought I was Henry, and he did not want Henry to tell me something. He had shifted on the bed, revealing a metal object beneath himself. I eased it free. It was a key, perhaps to the front door. I slipped it into my purse.