The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

I crossed to her, taking her hands in my own. “Do not let Frau Gottschalk bother you. She is just an unhappy soul, and we will not be here long. When we find Victor tomorrow, he can direct us to better lodgings.”

She nodded, some of the tension leaving her face. “And Henry will know someone kind.”

“Henry will know everyone kind by now!” I beamed in agreement; it was a lie. She thought Henry was still in the city. Their easy friendship had been part of the lure to get her here. Believing Henry would be waiting for us comforted her.

Henry, of course, was not here. If he were, doubtless he would have made friends of the entire city. Victor, on the other hand, would have only Henry. I had broken that between them. And though I knew I should feel bad for Victor, I was too angry with him and with Henry. I had done what was necessary.

Henry had gotten what he wanted, at least in part. It was all well and good for them to be exploring, studying and working for the futures they had already secured by virtue of their births. Some of us had to find other means.

Some of us had to lie and deceive in order to travel to another country, chase those means down, and drag him back home.

I turned back to our sad room. “Would you like the cobweb bedspread, or the one that appears to be made of funeral shrouds?”

Justine crossed herself, scowling at my humor. But then she pulled off her gloves, nodding firmly. “I will get the room up to standards.”

“We will. You are not my servant, Justine.”

She smiled at me. “But I am forever in your debt. And I love opportunities to help you.”

“Just so long as you do not forget that you work for the Frankensteins. Not for me.” I took the other end of the quilt she was lifting and helped her fold it. The blankets beneath were in better shape, protected from dust by the quilt. “Let me open this window and then we can beat the devil out of this.”

Justine dropped her end of the quilt, her stricken look making it obvious she was somewhere else entirely. I cursed my thoughtless choice of words.

* * *

—

Victor was low with one of his regular fevers, but in the recovery phase, during which he slept like the dead for two days before coming out of his fog. I had not been out of the house in a week for caring for him. Henry dragged me away with the promise of sun and fresh strawberries and finding a present for Victor.

After the boatman dropped us off at the nearest city gate, we strolled down the lane of the main market before following the sun on its narrow pathway through the charmingly crowded wood-and-stone buildings. I had not realized how much I needed this bright and clear day of freedom. Henry was so easy to be with, even though things had begun to shift between us. But that day we felt as if we were young children again, laughing without a care. I was drunk on the sunshine, on the feel of the breeze on my skin, on knowing that no one needed me at that precise moment.

Until someone did.

I did not realize I was running toward the screaming until I found its source. A woman built like a cudgel was standing over a girl around my own age. The girl had curled in on herself, arms over her head where her brown curls had come free from her cap. The woman was shouting, spittle carrying her words down to the girl.

“—beat the devil out of you, you worthless little whore!” She grabbed a broom from where it rested against the door and lifted it high over her head.

In that moment, I was no longer seeing the woman in front of me. I was seeing another hateful woman with a cruel tongue and crueler fists. With a blinding flash of anger, I leapt in front of her, taking the blow on my own shoulder.

The woman staggered back, shocked. I raised my chin defiantly. The anger drained from her face, replaced with fear. Though she lived in a decent part of town, she was obviously from a working class of people. And my fine skirts and jacket—not to mention the beautiful gold locket I wore around my neck—marked me as coming from much higher in the ranks of society.

“Pardon me,” she said, fear combining with her angry exertions to make her voice breathless and tight. “I d

id not see you there, and—”

“And you attacked me. I am certain Judge Frankenstein will want to hear of this.” It was false—both that he would want to hear, and that he was still an active judge—but the title was enough to make her even more frightened.

“No, no, I beg you! Let me make it right.”

“You have injured my shoulder. I will need a maid to help me while I recover.” I crouched down and gently pried the girl’s hand away from protecting her own face, never taking my eyes off the hateful woman. “In exchange for not involving the law, you will give me your servant for my own.”

The woman could barely contain her disgust as she looked at the girl, who was uncurling, her movements skittish, like those of an injured animal. “She is not my servant; she is my oldest daughter.”

I tightened my fingers around the girl’s to anchor myself, and to prevent myself from striking the woman. “Very well. I will have the contract of employment sent to you for a signature. She will live with me until I decide otherwise. Good day.” Tugging on the girl’s hand, I dragged her stumbling behind me. Henry was hurrying toward us, having been left behind in my rush. I ignored him, quickly crossing a street and darting into a side alley.

The rush of emotions I had worked so hard to contain came over me, and I sagged against a stone wall, breathing heavily. The girl did the same, and we rested there, my head level with her shoulder, our breaths and hearts racing like the rabbits we were on the inside: always watchful, always afraid of attack. I had not outgrown it after all.

I knew I should go back to find Henry, but I could not manage to yet. I trembled, feeling all my years of separation from my caregiver stripped away.