The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

He giggled, and I smiled. It was unfeigned. These boys were too easy to make happy. They reminded me of Henry, which made me sad. So I went back inside, intending to stop at the kitchen to find some little treat for William. Soon I would spoil them as much as Justine did. I was doing it to make myself feel better, but it was working.

I paused in the grand entry, staring at the huge double doors that led to the dining room. There, carved into the wood more than a century before, was the Frankenstein family crest. How many times had I traced those lines, willing myself a place on that shield? How often had I imagined myself crouching behind that shield, claiming the protection of the Frankenstein name—a name that had never been given to me?

Someone pounded on the front door, and I jumped, startled. We were not expecting anyone. Indeed, we rarely had guests at all. Perhaps it was a letter!

The maid was in another wing of the house. I swished through the entry to the door, half expecting to find Judge Frankenstein there, glowering over be

ing locked out of his own house. Instead, I opened it to find Fredric Clerval, Henry’s father.

“Monsieur Clerval?” I gave him a puzzled smile. “To what do we owe the honor?”

He looked past me, searching for someone else. Henry had far more of his mother in his face. His father’s features were flat and hard, eyes squinted from perpetual glaring. He looked like a man counting ledgers and never quite satisfied with the results.

“Where is Judge Frankenstein?”

“He is away, I am afraid. Would you care for some tea?”

“I would not!” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. But then his baleful eyes found me, and his glare deepened. “Have you heard from my son?”

The letter hidden in the back of my vanity drawer seemed to pulse in my mind. I still needed to burn it! “Not for some six months, I am afraid. The last he wrote me, he said he was going to England to further his studies.”

Monsieur Clerval let out a derisive blast of air between his lips. “His studies! He has gone chasing poets! If ever there were a more useless waste of his time and mind, I cannot think of it.” He leaned close. “Do not think I hold you blameless. I have no doubt some of this was planted in his mind by your influence. I curse the day I introduced him to your company. You and Victor have done nothing but corrupt him, make him miserable with the life he was given.”

I wanted to stagger back. I wanted to agree, to apologize. Instead, I lifted my chin and raised my eyebrows in wounded surprise. “I am sorry, Monsieur Clerval. I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about. We have ever loved Henry as our dear friend, and want only the best for him.”

“No one in this family wants the best for anyone but themselves.” He threw a stack of parchment on the floor between us. “See that Judge Frankenstein gets these. And let him know I will no longer defer collection on his debts. He has ruined my son. I will ruin his fortunes.”

He turned to stomp away—and found Judge Frankenstein standing in the doorway. I should have acted as hostess and ushered them to a sitting room. Judge Frankenstein looked at me, then at the papers Henry’s father had thrown down. A mixture of fury and fear mingled, ugly and purple, on his face.

I dipped a respectful curtsy and then hurried to the nursery, my skirts swishing with my urgency. “Come!” I said, bursting through the door. “Let us go for a walk!”

Justine agreed, sensing my need. William, always one for time outside, raced ahead of us. We stayed close to the house. My neck prickled with the sensation of being watched. I whipped around, but the windows greeted me with blank reflections of nature. If someone watched us, it was not from there.

The wind whistled mournfully through the trees, shaking them. Somewhere to our right, in the morning shadows of the house, a twig snapped. I rushed to catch up to William, clasping his tiny hot hand as an anchor, trying to absorb some of his brightness as he pointed out interesting rocks and trees he wanted to climb.

“Elizabeth used to be an expert at climbing trees,” Justine said, smiling.

I nodded, distracted and far away. My thoughts were still in the entry with Monsieur Clerval’s accusations.

Had we ruined Henry?

* * *

—

Henry had been gone only two weeks when I received his letter.

To say I had been waiting patiently would be to perjure myself most horribly. I had been haunting the windows, looking out across the lake as though I could will his report to me.

My entire life hinged on Henry’s activities in Ingolstadt. I hated him, and Victor, and the whole world for it. How was it that my future was entirely dependent on one boy who could not be bothered to put pen to paper, and another boy who wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, unaware of who I truly was?

I supposed that in some tawdry novel I would not be permitted to read but would steal from Madame Frankenstein’s hidden store anyhow, I would have been torn between my two lovers and wasting away because of it.

In reality, I wanted to tear both of them apart.

It was not fair to them. But nothing in my life was fair, and so I could not find pity for Victor, having to decide whether he wished to marry me or release me to someone else, or for Henry, being used as a whip to prompt Victor into some sort of action.

I held the letter in my hands, staring down at it. Victor, or Henry. It had already been decided in my absence.