The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

by Kiersten White

  “Maybe,” I said, twisting my dress in my hands, “maybe I can climb this one, and it will be the last tree I climb? For you?”

  He considered my proposal, and then he smiled. “Yes, all right.”

  “I will count the eggs and tell you how many there are!” I was already scrambling up the trunk, wishing my feet were bare but too aware of myself to take off my shoes.

  “No, bring the nest down.”

  I paused, halfway to my goal. “But if we move the nest, the mother may not be able to find it.”

  “You said you would show me a nest. Did you lie?” He looked so angry at the idea that I had deceived him. Especially that first day, I would have done anything to make him smile.

  “No!” I said, my breath catching in my chest. I reached the branch and scooted along it. Inside the nest were four tiny, perfect eggs of pale blue.

  As carefully as I could, I worked the nest free from the branch. I would show Victor and then put it right back. It was difficult, climbing down while keeping the nest protected and intact, but I managed. I presented it to Victor triumphantly, beaming at him.

  He peered inside. “When will they hatch?”

  “Soon.”

  He held out his hands and took the nest. Then he found a large, flat rock and set the nest on top of it.

  “Robins, I think.” I stroked the smooth blue of the shells. I imagined they were pieces of the sky, and that if I could reach high enough, the sky would be smooth and warm like these eggs.

  “Maybe,” I said, giggling, “the sky laid these eggs. And when they hatch, a miniature sun will burst free and fly up into the air.”

  Victor looked at me. “That is absurd. You are very odd.”

  I closed my mouth, trying to smile at him to let him know his words had not hurt my feelings. He smiled back, tentative, and said, “There are four eggs and only one sun. Maybe the others will be clouds.” I felt a warm rush of affection for him. He picked up the first egg, holding it to the light of the sun. “Look. You can see the bird.”

  He was right. The shell was translucent, and the silhouette of a curled-up chick was visible. I let out a laugh of delight. “It is like seeing the future,” I said.

  “Almost.”

  If either of us could have seen the future, we would have known that the next day his mother would pay my cruel caregiver and take me away forever, presenting me to Victor as his special gift.

  * * *

  —

  Justine sighed happily. “I love that story.”

  She loved it because I told it just for her. It was not entirely the truth. But so little of what I told anyone ever was. I had ceased feeling guilty long ago. Words and stories were tools to elicit the desired reactions in others, and I was an expert craftswoman.

  That particular story was almost correct. I embellished some, particularly about remembering the villa, because that was critical to lie about. And I always left off the ending. She would not understand, and I did not like to think about it.

  “I can feel its heart,” Victor whispered in my memory.

  I peeked out the edge of the curtain as the city of Ingolstadt swallowed us, its dark stone homes closing around us like teeth. It had taken my Victor and devoured him. I had sent Henry to lure him home, and now I had lost them both.

  I was here to get Victor back. I would not leave until I had.

  I had not lied to Justine about my motivation. Henry’s betrayal stung like a wound, fresh and raw. But I could survive that. What I could not survive was losing my Victor. I needed Victor. And that little girl who had done what was necessary to secure his heart would still do whatever it took to keep it.

  I bared my teeth back at the city, daring it to try to stop me.

  DARKNESS FROM THE STORM had already claimed the sky, rendering the sunset a moot point. But it could not have been much past nightfall when we reached the lodging I had hastily written ahead to arrange. I did not know whether Victor was allowed guests in his rooms here, or what state those rooms would be in. Though we had lived in the same house until he left, assuming I could stay with him here felt too risky. The Victor who had left two years earlier was surely not the same now. I had to see him again to figure out who he needed me to be. And Justine certainly would not approve of us staying in a young, single student’s rooms.

  Thus it was we found ourselves standing beneath umbrellas in the drearily persistent rain, knocking on the door of Frau Gottschalk’s House for Ladies. The carriage waited behind us, the horses stamping their impatience on the cobblestones. I wanted to stamp alongside them. I was finally here, in the same city as Victor, but I would not have time to seek him out until the morning.

  I pounded until my fist stung beneath my glove. The door cracked open at last. A woman, lit in yellow lamplight that made her look more wax than human, glared at us with startling ferocity.

  “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.

  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.

  “Thank you,” the girl whispered, wrapping her slender fingers around mine so that neither of our hands shook anymore.

  “I am Elizabeth,” I said.

  “I am Justine.”

  I turned to look at her. Her cheek was bright red from being struck. It would blossom into an ugly bruise by the next day. Her eyes, large and wide-set, stared back at me with the same gratitude I remembered feeling when Victor accepted me and took me away from my own painful life. She looked about my age or, judging by her height, perhaps a year or two older.