AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That is my experience, as well. Since my uncle left I have had not one letter from him. It is vexing.” She wiped her fingers on her apron. “I do not know this Henry. If he came by the bookshop, he must have spoken with my uncle. But your description of Victor is true, and your concern seems genuine. He is an odd and obsessive young man. Quite rude a lot of the time, frankly. But I did not mind, since I got the impression he was rude to everyone and not just me because of my sex and heritage. He has not been in the shop for a few months now.”
I wilted. Lying to Justine, deceiving her, and, worse, potentially giving Judge Frankenstein a firm excuse to throw me out—all for nothing!
“But,” Mary said, leaning forward and putting a finger under my chin to lift my face. She smiled at my devastated expression. “I do have a delivery request from his last order that should have an address. It may no longer be current, but I know my uncle was stopping to see him on his way to the continent, so—”
“Please, give it to me!” I was too obviously desperate. She could press any advantage from me, ask anything, and I would give it.
Instead, she stood and left the room. Justine ate, not looking at me. I should have apologized more, but I could not manage anything with my nerves in their current state.
Finally, Mary returned with a slip of paper. “Here it is.” She passed it to me. It was not the old address I had already checked. And the date was from only six months before!
Mary had also brought a cloak and an umbrella.
“You must need to return to the shop,” I said, standing. Justine sighed over the remaining food but did the same. “Thank you so much for your kindness and help!”
“With my uncle gone, I seldom have customers. The shop will keep for a few hours while I take you to Victor’s residence. It is not in a friendly part of town.”
Justine laughed, and I was grateful for the sound, even though it was sad. “No parts of this town have been friendly.”
Mary smiled tightly. “Perhaps I phrased that too gently. It is in a part of town that no woman should visit alone, and even two women should not venture if they are unaware of their surroundings.” She fastened her cloak and took a hat from a hook by the door, settling it on top of her hair and covering the pencil. “Also, I am wildly curious. I have seen the types of books Victor pursued. I would like to know what he has been doing with all his studies. And to know what could have possessed him, that he would shamefully neglect two such lovely and concerned friends.”
“We all would,” I muttered darkly, following her back out into the weeping city.
AT ANOTHER TIME, I might have seen the charm of Ingolstadt. The steep roofs in warm oranges, the cheerily painted rows of homes along wide, open streets. There were several green park areas, and a cathedral soared over the city, keeping watch. I felt it on the back of my neck, tracking my movement. Its spires were sentinels, visible nearly everywhere we went. Was God watching? If so, what did he see? Did he care for the obstinate machinations of one small woman with only seventeen years to her credit?
If he was watching, that meant he had always been watching. And if he had always been watching, what a spiteful, mean old man he was to watch and do nothing. For me. For Justine.
No. Justine would insist that God had answered her prayers by sending me. And she would probably say that God had answered my prayers by sending Victor.
But that was not possible. I had not prayed as a child, and I certainly did not now. Surely God, so stingy with his miracles, would not answer an unoffered prayer. I did not repent of my distance from God. If I wanted help, I would find it for myself.
We passed an old building overlooking a city square. All colors were muted by the clouds and the rain, blending together like a palette of paint being rinsed clean. I knew from my study of the map that Mary was leading us toward the Danube River and the outskirts of the city. I had embraced confidence both for Justine’s sake and my own, but it was a relief to have someone else leading us. Since I joined the Frankensteins and we settled at the lake house, I had not been anywhere except Geneva. This city, pleasant though it might have been, was a stranger. And strangers were not to be trusted.
We passed through the commercial center, then into more residential streets. The medieval wall around the city was maintained in good repair and still marked the boundaries of Ingolstadt. We walked along it until we came to a passage through an unused gatehouse that would lead us out. The noise of the rain against our umbrellas hushed for one long breath as we walked beneath the wall.
In that moment I thought I heard again the noise of my dreams. The
haunting cry of a soul so alone, even being in hell in the company of the other damned would be a comfort.
I whipped my head to the side, peering into the dark recesses of the gatehouse. There were doors there, barred, but one looked as though it had recently been forced open and clumsily drawn shut again. “Did you—”
Mary waved dismissively. “It is an old city. Even the stones mourn the passing of time. It is not much farther, though we must cross the bridge.”
Justine, however, looked as unnerved as I felt. “We cannot be gone much longer,” she said. “Mind the hour. Frau Gottschalk will lock us out.”
“Charming,” Mary said, her voice the only bright thing out that dreary afternoon. “Hurry, then.”
We left the ancient borders of the city. This section of the Danube was crowded with boats for loading or unloading goods, though most sat idle, waiting out the rain. We nearly made it over the bridge without incident, until a passing carriage splashed murky puddle water on our skirts. The thought of showing up to see Victor in a dress anything other than pristinely white filled me with terror. All the insecurities of our first meeting engulfed me, and I felt I was once again the little girl with dirty feet.
What could I offer him now? I had seen no trees for climbing, no nests filled with eggs. I had no tiny, fragile hearts to give him as an offering, only my own. I lifted my chin, determined not to be weak. I would be his Elizabeth, the one so carefully shaped with his help. And he would remember, and love me again, and I would be safe.
Henry, who had abandoned and betrayed me, would never again get a single beat of my heart. I should never have let him so far in. He had threatened everything from the start.
* * *
—
Those fleeting childhood years, when Henry guided our play and Victor was satisfied with his school studies, were suffused with light and the closest I had ever felt to ease. There was something remarkable in having Victor and Henry—the one so prone to fits of anger and cold aloofness, the other so bright and joyful and open to the wonders of the world without questioning how they existed—revolve around me.
