The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

I laughed, lifting my face to the dry heat radiating from the building. No. They mixed perfectly with fire. But there was no smoke rising from the windows in the roof. They had been left open. How—

A scrambling, bumping tumult rumbled down the chute above my head. The one that led from the building to the river. Before I could turn to see what it was, something enormous splashed into the water.

I covered my mouth in horror. Had someone been inside?

I leaned over the edge, peering at the placid black surface of the water. I saw only the reflected flames behind me. Nothing disturbed the surface.

Perhaps something had been lodged inside the chute and been forced out by the change in air pressure. But the front door had been opened when I’d arrived. Who would have been there? Obviously no one was in the habit of visiting Victor. Maybe the drunkard from earlier in the day? But I had heard his splash. It was far smaller than this one.

Perhaps a jealous rival. Professor Krempe had seemed a little too keen to know what Victor had been up to since they lost contact. Had Victor secluded himself because he was being watched? But who would care about the lunatic theories of a man playing with stolen corpses and desecrated animals?

A more dangerous possibility seized me. The charnel house man, reminded of Victor’s debt by my visit, might have come to collect. I trembled, expecting him to arise with a roar and pull me into the water. But I could not turn away, could not expose my back to whatever awaited me.

I watched the water until my lungs burned from the smoke and I knew it was not safe or wise to stay at the scene of the crime. Nothing surfaced from the black depths of the river. It kept its secrets.

I would keep mine. And Victor’s, too.

I HAD PLANNED TO slip out of Mary’s house at dawn so I could check in on Justine and then spend the morning with Victor. But my nighttime activities caught up to my body, and I slept past the sun’s rising.

Hoping Mary was a late sleeper or had already gone to open her bookshop, I pinned my hat, its stability precarious. I missed my lost pin but knew Justine would have extras. Then I rushed out of my room to grab my cloak.

Mary was sitting, holding it.

“Good morning,” she said brightly.

“Good morning.” I tried to imitate her tone to hide my annoyance that I would have to talk to her. I had things to do.

“I am not certain you will be able to wash the stench of smoke from this cloak.” Her tone was conversational as she held it up. “Your dress from yesterday was already quite ruined by blood and filth, but this is a nice cloak. For arson, you should have worn an old one, or borrowed one of my uncle’s.”

I blinked, smiling blankly. “Forgive me, but I do not understand what you mean.”

“There was a terrible fire on the other side of the bridge early this morning. The fire brigade was able to put it out, but not before it destroyed a whole building. Imagine! An entire building, and everything inside, burned beyond salvaging. It is assumed the stove chimney had not been proper

ly cleaned.”

“That is a shame.” I sat opposite her, reaching for the cup of tea she had prepared for me. “I hope no one was hurt.”

“No, the building was as empty as we left it yesterday. And I am quite certain the stove was cold and unlit then.” She dropped my cloak and any pretense at delicacy as she leaned forward intently. “What did you find? Why did you burn it?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Oh, please do not pretend. You may look like an angel, but I am not a fool. You locked us out. You were afraid of discovering something you wanted no one else to see. And then you had time there, alone, to explore. What was so awful that you had to go back and burn down the building?”

I smiled, knowing full well my smile was sweeter than summer strawberries, my blue eyes as clear and dazzling as the sky. “Maybe I just like fires.”

To my surprise, Mary burst out with a wild laugh. It was the least feminine laugh I had ever heard. Nothing about it was prim or guarded. I wondered how she could even manage to breathe deeply enough in a corset to produce the sound. “Oh, I like you, Elizabeth Lavenza. I like you very much. I am a little bit afraid of you, but I think that makes me like you more. Well. I am going to throw your cloak out with the trash—in someone else’s neighborhood, of course—and then we are going to fetch Justine and check on your Victor.”

“You really do not need to come. You have already done so much.”

“Not nearly as much as you.” She grinned wickedly. “I have been stuck in the business of books for so long, I forgot how much fun being a part of a story can be.” She stood, popping a biscuit into her mouth and swallowing it almost whole. “I do not expect you to tell me the truth. I am happy to puzzle over this mystery on my own. As long as you promise not to burn down my house.” She looked at me, her expression shifting from playful to serious with a single movement of her finely shaped black eyebrows. “Please do not burn down my house.”

I matched her sincerity, grateful that she would be complicit in silence. “I promise I have no intention of burning anything ever again. And I appreciate your discretion. I can assure you my intent was only to protect Victor. He was— His work there was the product of an unwell mind. If others were to discover it, it could ruin his chances for future success. I will not let that happen.”

She nodded, pulling another cloak off a hook on the wall and handing it to me. It was worn, older than mine, but soft, and it smelled of ink and dust and leather, my favorite aromas. I felt instantly comforted wrapping myself in it.

“Will you answer something for me?” she asked as we sat in the back of a carriage on the way to the boardinghouse.

“Probably not with honesty,” I said, surprising myself by telling the truth.