The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

“What day is it? Did you miss me?” He asked as though searching for facts to fill in the blank spaces in his memory.

“Thursday, and yes, of course I did. I was in here most of the time.”

He nodded. Then he looked at me closer. “You need something.”

An unexpected prickling stung my eyes. As much as I thought my interior life was hidden from Victor, he saw me better than anyone. I leaned my head against his shoulder, hiding my face so it would not reveal anything I did not want it to.

“Do you remember where your family found me?”

He reached up and undid my hair where it was pinned beneath my hat. It tumbled down, and he played with the curls. “Of course I do.”

“But you never met the woman who took care of me at Lake Como.”

“No. Why? Do you miss her?”

“I hope she is dead. And I hope she suffered tremendously on her way out of this life.”

Victor let out a quiet, surprised laugh, lifting my chin so he could look into my eyes. “Then I hope so, too. Why do you bring this up?”

“You saved me. And now I want to save someone else.” I told him of Justine, the scene I had witnessed, my rash intervention. “So you see, I cannot let her go home. I want her to be here, with me.” I realized my mistake and hastily corrected it. “With us. For the boys.” I took his hands, holding them in my own. “I want to save her, just like you saved me.”

Victor shook his head, clearly not understanding. “But you are special.”

“I think she is special.”

Something shifted in his face, as though a curtain had been drawn closed behind his eyes, shutting him off from me. He leaned back. I pushed ahead desperately.

“She is not lowborn. Her family lives in town. She is educated and sweet—already better off than I ever was!”

“But your father was a noble.”

Years of suspicion crashed down around me, but I skirted what I feared was the truth of my heritage. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I was the daughter of a whore, and my caretaker lied.” I smiled to pass it off as jest but watched for Victor’s reaction.

Saying it aloud felt like setting down a burden so long carried the weight was forgotten until released. I took a deep breath, my lungs finally filling. My head was light with all the air.

Victor could not tell whether I was joking. “But you said the house we had at Lake Como seemed familiar,” he said.

“Familiar like a dream, not like a memory. Of course I would have dreamed of light and comfort and happiness in the midst of a life in hell.”

Victor’s silence was interminable. Finally, he nodded. “It does not matter. I do not care who your parents were. I never did. Perhaps it matters to my parents, but they are stupid. I did not know or care where you came from that day in the garden when you became mine. And I do not care now.” He leaned closer, focused on my face, all worry gone from his own. “You began existing the day we met. You are my Elizabeth, and that is all that matters.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. It was the first time we had kissed.

His lips were soft and dry. If Justine’s lips had felt like a butterfly on my cheek—a moment of surprising grace—Victor’s were like a contract between us. A promise that I was his, and he would keep me safe.

I kissed him back, throwing my arms around his neck and pulling him closer to sign my own name to the contract between us. When he released me he sighed, his brows drawing down again.

“Very well. We will save this Justine. Though how giving her the care of Ernest and William is a kindness, I do not know.”

I laughed, burrowing into him with my head against his chest and holding him as tightly as I could.

But it was one thing to have a partner, another to have a plan. Victor excused himself to get something to eat. I paced in his room, trying to figure out how to make the Frankensteins dismiss their governess, Gerta, without convincing them she had done something worthy of prosecution or imprisonment. I bore no ill will toward her. She was simply in my way.

I settled on forging a letter from her family—who lived several days away—that her uncle was sick and needed her to return home immediately. Like mine, her parents were dead. I did not know how close she was with her relatives, but I hoped it was close enough that she would be enticed to leave. The mome

nt she left, I would put forward Justine as her temporary replacement, and then send a letter to Gerta that she was no longer required. A forged letter from Gerta would be sent to the Frankensteins, telling them that she had found new employment and would not be returning.

The plan could fall apart at any stage, but I was confident it was the least damaging option. I would also include in Gerta’s dismissal letter a glowing recommendation to help her find employment with another family.

I had just sat down at Victor’s desk with a quill and a pot of ink when he returned. “I did it,” he said.