Dr. Frankenstein's Daughters

by Suzanne Weyn

  July 6, 1815

  A young man came to the door of the castle this afternoon claiming to be from the Edinburgh constabulary. Baron Frankenstein invited him in and asked Mrs. Flett to serve us some tea in the far room facing the ocean. I found him rather good-looking, of medium build with sandy blond hair.

  “I have come to inquire if you know of the whereabouts of one Johann Gottlieb. He seems to have quite disappeared. His father is searching for him and gave us your name as one who might know,” he said.

  At the sound of Johann’s name I grabbed my wrist with the opposite hand to suppress the hard shudder that ran through my body. Johann had disappeared? How could that be?

  “You are American?” Ingrid noted, no doubt judging from his speech.

  “My mother is a Scot, my father American,” he replied. “Do you know Johann Gottlieb?”

  “Johann returned home with his father, didn’t he, Giselle?” Ingrid said, turning to me.

  “I presumed that was his plan,” I confirmed, “although it’s only an assumption, not anything he actually told me.”

  “Did he speak of going anywhere else?” Investigator Cairo asked.

  “He spoke of wanting to travel all over Europe,” I revealed, and then laughed bitterly at the memory. “He was hoping to use my money to fund his travels and so asked me to marry him. I declined.”

  This caused the investigator to raise a quizzical eyebrow. I told him of my suspicion that Johann was a fortune hunter.

  “I see,” he said, writing something on a notebook he took from his coat pocket. “Did you two quarrel about this?”

  I admitted that we had, though I didn’t tell him how Johann had attacked me, since Ingrid and I had agreed not to let Baron Frankenstein know of this. He was giving us a very free rein, and we did not want him to feel he needed to be overprotective, thus limiting our considerable freedom.

  “And Mr. Gottlieb has not contacted you since?” Investigator Cairo asked.

  “I did not expect to hear from him after that, and so didn’t think it strange when no letter arrived,” I said. “Why? You say he has disappeared?”

  “Yes. We were hoping you might have some insight into his whereabouts. In fact, his father was hoping that he had actually come here, with you.”

  “I can assure you, he did not,” I said.

  “I see that is no doubt true.”

  He grew pensive and asked questions regarding our staff and then about our neighbor, Lieutenant Hammersmith.

  “Why are you asking about him?” Ingrid inquired.

  “No reason in particular. I just wanted to know how well you know him.”

  “He’s a distinguished military man, and he is recovering from wounds incurred while fighting Napoleon’s troops as well as a nerve disease,” Ingrid said. “I am sure he is most reputable, and there is no reason to suspect him.”

  “I see,” the investigator said, and made a note. He turned to our uncle. “Do you have a gun in the house, Baron Frankenstein?” My uncle said he did not, and Investigator Cairo advised him to get one. “I’ve talked to the local constables here. It seems there have been some strange things going on in this area of late, so it doesn’t hurt to have protection.”

  A curious gleam in the investigator’s eye signaled to me that he knew more things he wasn’t telling us. I imagined he had talked to our local police before seeing us, and had heard all the latest gossip. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of passing the gossip on further, but Ingrid wasn’t as reluctant.

  “What sorts of things?” she asked, looking alarmed at what he was telling us.

  “Surely locals talk, don’t they?” he replied. Then, staring at me, he said, “Or maybe they don’t talk to you.”

  “What have you heard?” Baron Frankenstein asked, also intrigued.

  “You must know that a sea captain, a Captain Ramsay, who runs his boat back and forth from Kirkwall to Gairsay was found floating in the bay a couple of weeks ago? It’s possible he got tangled in the lines of his sailboat or the mast came around and took him unawares, but some people believe he was strangled.”

  “Strangled!?” Ingrid cried.

  Investigator Cairo nodded solemnly as he consulted his notepad. I waited for Ingrid or my uncle to mention that I had been with him just before he died, but neither did. Since I did not like the investigator’s demeanor, I did not volunteer this information either.

  Cairo continued, “Do you know an Arthur Flett? I have been told he is employed here.”

  “Many men named Flett work here,” I said. “They are a large family on the island. I don’t know all of their first names.”

  “I will ask Mrs. Flett,” Baron Frankenstein offered. He got up and left the room.

  “Why are you inquiring about Arthur Flett?” Ingrid asked, sitting forward in her chair.

  “His family says he has been missing for almost two days, and he was last seen here.”

  Ingrid and I looked at each other, puzzled, as Baron Frankenstein returned. “Arthur Flett is that fellow called Riff,” he announced. “I had him dismissed last Monday,” he added, turning to the detective. “I didn’t care for his presumptuous manner.”

  “How did he react to being fired?” Investigator Cairo asked.

  “He was not pleased, naturally.”

  I said, “He attempted to have us intervene on his behalf, and I agreed, just to be rid of him. But I didn’t say anything to my uncle.” A quick glance of understanding ran between Ingrid and me, reinforcing a tacit agreement not to speak of the key involved, since I had promised not to reveal the tunnel. Perhaps it was not as discreet as we’d hoped because Investigator Cairo paused to scribble a note in his book.

  “I imagine that he’s gone off somewhere to spend the last of his pay, cheering himself up in the taverns over in Kirkwall,” Baron Frankenstein proposed. “His aunt tells me he is quite the ladies’ man. I’d wager he’ll come staggering back onto the island sometime when he’s good and ready.”

  Investigator Cairo stood, indicating that he was finished questioning us, and handed a card to Baron Frankenstein. “Thank you for your time. Please be in touch with me at this address over in Kirkwall. It’s where I’ll be staying until we get to the bottom of this. I am helping the local constables with their investigations while I am here.”

  “Certainly,” our uncle agreed.

  “Ladies, good day.” With a nod to Ingrid and me, Investigator Cairo left, escorted to the door by Baron Frankenstein.

  As soon as they were gone from the room, Ingrid gripped my arm. “What do you think of all this?”

  I didn’t know what to think, but it was surely frightening and upsetting. “The captain must have gotten tangled in his lines. Awful as he was, I never should have left him there,” I said.

  “You couldn’t have known he was tangled,” Ingrid assured me.

  Our uncle returned, scowling fretfully, and sat heavily in a chair. “I was going to tell you girls that I would be leaving soon, now that you are settled, but I think perhaps I should stay for a while longer.”

  “Should we have told him I was with Captain Ramsay? It may have been shortly before he died.”

  “Why involve yourself with the police?” Baron Frankenstein replied.

  I suddenly felt very guilty about not divulging this piece of information, and knew it would bother me if I didn’t say something. I hurried to the door, bolting out to run after the investigator as he made his way down the hill.

  “Investigator!” I shouted. He turned, waiting for me to reach him.

  I told him how the boat had capsized because I stood up and that I felt badly now that I hadn’t stayed to see if he was all right. “It’s understandable,” he said. “You had no obligation to stay. The water was not deep. Besides, someone might have come along later, while he was struggling with the sailing lines, and strangled him. If indeed there was any strangulation. It was best that you weren’t still there.”

  “Do you think some dan
gerous person has come to the island?” I asked.

  “It’s possible,” he allowed. “You should be careful.”

  “That isn’t why you’re really here, is it?”

  He looked at me curiously. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean — you say Johann has disappeared. Do you think he may have come here? As some kind of … revenge?”

  “That is not why I’m here. But certainly, if you see him, you should alert me immediately.”

  There was something strange about him as he said this. Was there more that he wasn’t telling me? A chill suddenly ran up my back as a frightening idea appeared. Before I could stop myself, I asked, “How do I know that you are not the dangerous person who has come to the island? How do I know Johann hasn’t sent you? I only have your word that he’s disappeared.”

  He dug in the pocket of his coat and showed me some official papers, but they meant nothing to me. “I am from the police. Are you always so suspicious of people?” he asked.

  “One can never tell,” I replied, backing away from him.

  “Do as I say and be careful,” he repeated. “For your own safety, don’t wander around by yourself.”

  With a nod, I turned and hurried back to the castle.

  Baron Frankenstein was waiting outside the front door. “There you are!” he cried when he saw me. “Why did you run off like that?” he asked with an anger obviously born of worry. I told him I had wanted to tell Investigator Cairo what I knew of Captain Ramsay.

  “Don’t go off like that anymore,” he scolded, and then sighed deeply. “I don’t like this one bit. I’m afraid it’s all starting again.”

  “What is?” I asked.

  “All of it: the mysterious deaths, the missing persons, the feeling of being stalked by some malevolent force. I will go to Edinburgh tomorrow to purchase a weapon.”

  “No, please don’t leave,” I urged him, suddenly frightened. “Lieutenant Hammersmith was in the military; perhaps he has a gun he could loan you.”

  “Mmm,” my uncle murmured, sounding unconvinced. “Perhaps. I wonder if we can trust him, though.”

  This idea was alarming, since Ingrid was spending so much time with the man. But it was true; we did not know one other person who could verify that he was who he said he was.

  I suddenly looked at Baron Frankenstein and realized that the same was true of him. It occurred to me that he didn’t look at all like the man in the portrait over the fireplace — if that was, indeed, my father, Victor Frankenstein. How could I be sure that was even really a picture of him?

  Stop! I commanded myself. You’re exhausted and scared, so control your imagination.

  Just the same, I am going to bed tonight feeling frightened and out of sorts. I do not like this turn of events one bit.

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF

  INGRID VDW FRANKENSTEIN

  July 13, 1815

  Late this afternoon, I ran into the investigator who had come to the castle last week. I was down at the harbor waiting for the mail boat to come. At least that was my stated objective. In truth, I was hoping Walter would come down to take out his sailboat and I could meet him “accidentally.” In the last week, when I went over to his house, he did not answer the door.

  This sudden and unexpected rejection of my company was driving me to distraction. I have no idea what has prompted it. But I have a suspicion too terrible to bear. Indeed my stomach clenches whenever the idea snakes its way into my mind. Was he dismissing me because he had become enamored of Giselle?

  Oh, I cannot — even now — stand to write such a thing. I longed to ask him and hear him say, “Not at all. You silly thing! How could you think it?” It would be all I needed. But without seeing him to get this reassurance, I feel I’m going mad.

  “Hello there,” Investigator Cairo greeted me as I paced the dock with a feigned nonchalance that was probably none too convincing.

  “Are you heading back to the mainland?” I asked, just to be cordial.

  “I am. And you, Baroness Frankenstein? What brings you here?”

  “The mail boat.”

  “You seem agitated. Are you waiting for an important letter?”

  Once more, he was at the edge of impudence. “I seem agitated?” I questioned skeptically. So much for my attempt to seem casual.

  This made him chuckle. “As I said earlier, you must excuse me. I am an investigator and a student of human behavior. I have read the works of Joseph Guillotin on the nerves and of Descartes. Currently I am reading about François Magendie, known for his vivisection of the nerves. I have attended lectures in London given by Dr. William Lawrence on the animating force of life. He believes that the body is a mechanism that can be animated by some outside force akin to electricity — maybe even electricity itself.”

  As you might imagine, he had my full and enthusiastic attention.

  “This is unbelievable! I have just finished studying with Count Volta in Italy,” I told him excitedly.

  “He was experimenting with muscle stimulation through electric shock,” Investigator Cairo exclaimed. “I know his work well. And this interests you?”

  “It interests me very much. You can’t imagine how much. I would even say it is a passion with me.”

  “For me the passion is to understand the inner workings of the mind as they manifest in behavior,” he said ardently. “Being able to read people accurately is invaluable. Any method that might shed light on the inner essence of a human being is crucial beyond words.”

  “Can you read me?” I asked.

  “I’ve already told you … you’re agitated. And you’re in love.”

  The instant burn on my checks told me I was blushing. I turned away. How uncanny!

  Again he chuckled. “That’s all right. Don’t be embarrassed. To be in love is to be agitated. Are you really awaiting the mail? Do you await a letter from your beloved? Or is the object of your affection coming into the harbor?”

  “He might be coming to the harbor,” I admitted, surprised by my own candor. “I was hoping I might run into him.”

  “And instead it is only I, the investigator, who comes along. Sorry.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. “That’s fine. Really. I have enjoyed our conversation.” The ferry to Mainland came into view and Investigator Cairo backed slowly toward it. Then he stopped as an idea struck him.

  “You know who you should find out about?” he said.

  “Who?”

  “A fellow named Jean-Baptiste Sarlandière. He was in the French military when I met him a few years ago, but we have kept up a correspondence. He has recently returned to his medical work. He writes me that he is starting to experiment with what he calls electropuncture. He’s using acupuncture needles from China on the surface of the skin to conduct electricity across the body. He claims this has great restorative effects. Despite his youth, Sarlandière’s work is brilliant.”

  The ferry horn indicated that he had to board. With a wave to me, he ran off to claim his seat.

  Even though the mail boat did not bring me any mail, and Walter did not appear, it appears my journey to the dock was not an entirely fruitless one.

  July 14, 1815

  I have seen Walter today, at last. And what an encounter it was!

  It was an unusually hot day. The constant wind had disappeared and all was strangely still. Donning my lightest summer dress, I headed once more to Walter’s cottage, determined not to be shut out. If I had to throw a rock and shatter his window in order to crawl through, I was prepared to do it.

  When I arrived, though, he was outside behind his cottage. He sat in a wooden outdoor chair, the pant leg of his missing leg pinned up. “Ingrid,” he greeted me with enthusiasm, as if there had been no estrangement between us. He even honored me with one of his rare, if quick, smiles.

  “Where have you been, Walter?” I asked as I approached him. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

  “Not at all. I’ve been busy and —”

  “W
alter!” I cried. “Don’t! Tell me the truth. I’ve been so worried.”

  Facing me, his eyes darted as though a million thoughts were sparking all at once in his mind.

  “I’m glad to see you, Ingrid,” he said at last.

  Foolish me! I nearly cried with happiness at those words.

  At the same time, I wanted to fling myself at him and pound his chest with angry fists. Was that all he could say after all these days of anguish he’d caused me?

  “I’m happy to see you too, Walter,” I said, coming very close to him. “But why have you shut me out?”

  He struggled up and perched on the side arm of the chair. At this angle we were nearly eye to eye. With a sudden sweeping movement that snatched away my breath, he grabbed me around the waist with his left arm and kissed me.

  Crippled though he was, he was also astoundingly strong.

  My stunned surprise melted quickly to passion.

  I threw my arms around his neck, returning his ardor.

  We kissed and kissed … and kissed. I was lost in a world of kisses. A world of Walter. His scent, his breath, his touch. There was no other reality but Walter. Kissing me at last.

  Walter took my arm and sank down into the chair, drawing me into his lap. There he kissed me passionately once more. After some time of this we stopped, and sat gazing into each other’s eyes.

  “I love you, Ingrid,” he said quietly.

  How my heart leapt with joy! But I was confused.

  “If you feel like this, Walter, then why have you shunned my company?” I asked.

  “Because I love you and I know my love is selfish,” he replied.

  “I love you too,” I said breathlessly. “So how can your sweet love be selfish?”

  “I am a shell, a wreck, Ingrid. To ask for your hand is the most hideous kind of selfishness. It would be wrong. I have nothing to offer you.”

  How my heart went to him. Such anguish! “You have yourself to give, Walter. It’s all I want.”

  “It’s not enough. You would be my nursemaid.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”