The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

“What do you want?” she asked in German.

I rearranged my face into a pleasant and hopeful smile. “Good evening. My name is Elizabeth Lavenza. I wrote about taking rooms for—”

“House rules! We lock the doors at sundown. If you are not inside, you are not getting inside.”

Distant thunder echoed, and Justine trembled beside me. I twisted my full lips into a penitent shape, nodding in agreement. “Yes, of course. Only we just arrived, and had no way of knowing what the rules were. It is a sensible requirement, and I am so grateful that, traveling as two young women, we will be trusting our stay to a woman so well equipped to care for the safety and well-being of her lodgers!” I clasped my hands to my heart and beamed at her. “Indeed, I feared before we arrived that we might have made a hasty decision in seeking rooms here, but I see now you are as an angel sent before us for our protection!”

She blinked, wrinkling her nose as though she could smell my insincerity, but my face proved too adequate a shield. Her frown deepened as her beady eyes darted back and forth, examining us and the waiting carriage.

“Well, hurry and get out of the rain, then. And keep in mind this rule will never be broken again!”

“Oh, yes! Thank you so much! We are so fortunate, are we not, Justine?”

Justine’s head was ducked, her eyes fixed on the steps beneath us. She spoke mainly French, and I was not certain how much of the landlady’s German she understood. But the tone and demeanor needed no translation. Justine acted like a pup that had been struck for disobedience. I hated this woman already.

I directed the coachman to leave our trunk in the hallway. It was an awkward dance. The landlady would not allow him to have more than one of his feet inside at a time. I paid him generously for his service, hoping to retain him for the return trip—whenever that might be.

The landlady slammed the door behind him, locking two deadbolts. Finally, she drew a large iron key from her apron pocket and turned it in the knob.

“Is it a dangerous city, after dark? I had not heard that.” The town revolved around the university. Surely a center of learning could not be that threatening. When had the pursuit of knowledge merited so many locks?

She grunted. “Doubt you hear much of Ingolstadt up there in your pretty mountains. Are you sisters?”

Justine flinched. I shifted so I was physically between her and the landlady. “No. Justine works for my benefactors. But I love her as a sister.” The resemblance between us was not so strong that it was an easy assumption we were blood. I was fair-skinned, with blue eyes and golden hair I still cared for as though my life depended on it. I had finished growing sometime in the last year, petite and fine-boned. Sometimes I wondered, if I had been given more to eat as a young child, would I have been taller? Stronger? But my appearance worked in my favor. I looked fragile and sweet, incapable of harm or deceit.

Justine was taller than I by nearly a hand. Her shoulders were broad, her hands strong and capable. Her hair was a ri

ch brown, shining with red and gold in the sunlight. Everything about her shone. She was a creature born for all days gentle and warm. But in her full lips and downturned eyes was the hint of sorrow and suffering that kept me tied to her, reminded me that she was not so strong as she looked.

If I could pick a sister, I would choose Justine. I had chosen Justine. But Justine had had other sisters, once. I wished this horrible woman had not dragged their ghosts into this dismal entryway along with the rest of our luggage. I reached down and took one handle of the trunk, gesturing for Justine to take the other.

She regarded our landlady with wide eyes and a stricken expression. I looked at the landlady again more closely. Though she bore no immediate resemblance to Justine’s mother, that sharp and cutting tone of voice and the dismissive way she had answered my innocent inquiry were enough to upset poor Justine’s nerves. I would have to do my best to keep Justine from interacting with her. Hopefully this would be the only night we required anything from this wax-faced harpy.

“I am so glad we found you!” I said again, beaming, as she harrumphed past us to a narrow flight of stairs. Then I turned and winked at Justine over my shoulder. She gave me a wan smile, her pretty face pinched with the effort of pretending.

“You can call me Frau Gottschalk. The house rules are as follows: No gentlemen past the front door, ever. Breakfast is at seven sharp and will not be served to anyone seated after that. You are to always be presentable when in the shared spaces of the house.”

“Are there many other guests?” I maneuvered our large trunk past a poorly wallpapered corner.

“No, none. If I may continue, shared spaces are for quiet activities during the evening, such as needlework.”

“Or reading?” Justine said hopefully, her tongue tripping over the German. She knew how much I loved to read. Of course she would think of me first.

“Reading? No. There is no library in the house.” Frau Gottschalk glared as though we were the silliest creatures in existence for assuming a house for ladies would include books. “If you want books, you will have to visit one of the university libraries or booksellers. I would not know where they are. Washroom is here. I only empty bedroom chamber pots once a day, so have a care not to fill them too high. Here is your room.” She pushed open a door, clumsily carved with an approximation of flowers that were as lovely as Frau Gottschalk’s face was kind. The door creaked and cracked as though protesting its use.

“Dinner is your responsibility. You may not use the kitchens for any reason. And supper is served promptly at six, which is also when the door is locked for the night. Do not think my kindness tonight will happen again! Once that door is locked, no one can open it.” She held out her heavy iron key. “You cannot open it, either. So no sneaking each other inside. Keep curfew.”

She turned in a complaint of stiff skirts, then paused. I prepared my smiling gratitude for her wish of “Have a good night” or “Enjoy your stay,” or, most hopefully, an invitation for a late supper.

Instead, Frau Gottschalk said, “Best to use the cotton on your bedside tables for your ears. To muffle the…sounds.”

And with that she disappeared down the unlit hallway, leaving us alone on the threshold of our room.

“Well.” I dropped the trunk on the worn wood floor. “This is dark.” I eased blindly through the room. After stubbing my toes against the foot of a bed, I felt my way over to a tightly shuttered window. I tugged on the shutters, but there was some latching mechanism that I could not see.

My hip bumped against a table, and I found a lamp. Fortunately, the wick was still lit, though barely. I turned up the gas. The room was slowly revealed.

“Perhaps it would be best to leave the lamp dimmed,” I said, laughing. Justine was still by the door, wringing her hands.