Dr. Frankenstein's Daughters (10 page)

“I tripped and fell.”

“Is that truly what you think is best?” I questioned doubtfully.

“It is,” she confirmed.

“There is nothing you wish to do? Not at all?”

“There is something,” she replied.

“What?”

“I want to throw a party.”

FROM THE DIARY OF
BARONESS GISELLE FRANKENSTEIN

July 1, 1815

Along with Baron Frankenstein, we traveled by ferry from Scotland to the island they call Mainland and stayed at a hotel in the city of Kirkwall. From there we booked a trip to Gairsay with a boat taking groceries across, but at the last moment I was delayed as the clasp to my luggage broke and my clothing fell from it. They did not notice me frantically gathering my things until the boat had already left the dock.

This unfortunate turn of events left me with no choice but to engage the sailboat of that same taciturn Captain Ramsay for my
return trip. I decided to simply remain aloof and not even look at him. Our journey would be over soon enough.

To my dismay, the old man was oddly talkative as we set sail. “So, tell me, girly,” he began in his thick, growling way of talking. “Have you found yourself a lad over there in Gairsay?”

I thought his question impudent, and so declined to answer and avoided looking at him by gazing out to sea.

“Too good to speak to me?” he challenged.

“I can’t hear you because of the wind,” I lied, though I needed to shout to be heard, just the same.

“A loud little trollop, aren’t ye?” he snarled.

I couldn’t believe my ears, and so once more I feigned deafness, staring away from him. From time to time I checked to see what he was doing, and each time I was met with a hateful stare.

When the bay was in sight, the captain did not steer the boat into it but rather into a cove. I demanded to know where he was going.

“Never you mind!” Captain Ramsay replied as he headed into more shallow waters in a quiet, rocky inlet.

I couldn’t imagine why we would be going there and grew frightened.

“Take me back!” I shouted, standing.

“Sit down,” he bellowed.

“I WANT TO GO BACK!”

From his spot at the tiller, he reached forward and grabbed my skirt, yanking at it. The boat pitched, throwing me down onto him at the same time that the mainsail mast swung above us.

“Now look what you’ve done, you stupid girl!” he shouted, struggling to get to his feet and regain control of the boat.

The next thing I knew, we were in the water and the boat had capsized. My luggage was once more open and my things floating in the surf. Fortunately, you, Dear Diary, were safe in my pocket. You are damp and some ink is blurred, but you’re not too much the worse for your drenching.

I did not look for Captain Ramsay, but quickly dragged myself out of the water, which was fortunately low enough that I could stand. Once I was knee-deep in the surf, I hobbled along in the direction of the harbor by hugging the shoreline. Fortunately it was a warm day, and by the time I got there, I was already half dry. I saw Ingrid and Uncle Ernest there waiting for me. Frantic with worry, they hurried to my side as soon as I came into view.

“We were planning to take the next boat back to get you,” Ingrid said. “What has happened to you?”

“I came over with that awful Captain Ramsay and his boat overturned. He didn’t pull into the bay but into an inlet.”

“Perhaps he pulled in there because something was wrong with his boat,” Baron Frankenstein suggested.

“I don’t know. I stood in the boat and we argued, then the boat went over. I have left him to his own devices; he surely doesn’t need my assistance.”

“No, surely not,” Baron Frankenstein agreed, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as he guided me up the hill away from the water. “Let us get you back to the castle so you can rest after such a fright.”

A fit of coughing suddenly seized me, the same low hacking cough I’d experienced upon first coming to the island.

Ingrid was instantly at my side, her hand on my shoulder. “See? This is what I was worried about. This climate is too rough for you. All it took was a fall in the water to set you back.”

I assured her I was fine, but was once again overcome by another spasm of coughing.

Once back up at the dock at Gairsay, we were met by Riff in the driver’s seat of a horse-drawn cart. He had been sent by Mrs. Flett to pick up us and our things.

Ingrid needed Riff’s assistance, since her friend Anthony has loaded her with anatomy and chemistry books he’s “borrowed” from the Edinburgh medical library and loaned to her. Ingrid, with her typical taste for the gruesome and Gothic, also bought a novel in Scotland called
The Sargasso Manuscript.
She tells me it is about secret societies; cabalists; Gypsies, Muslims, and Moors; and even features a set of beautiful twin sisters.

For the first time, Riff saw us side by side and was clearly shocked by the realization that we were not one and the same. “There are two of you?” he cried in his thick Orkneyan cadence. “I just thought that some days you looked stunning and other days you were plain.”

Immediately I checked to see how Ingrid was taking this thoughtless insult, hoping that she had not understood what he’d said.

I never quite know if Ingrid truly doesn’t care about her appearance. As a twin, one must stake out one’s own territory in order to thrive as an individual, and since I lack Ingrid’s brilliance, perhaps she has generously left the looks as my concern.

Riff’s callousness disturbed her, though: The blush that came to her cheeks told me so, and it hurt me to see how she turned away from him as though his words were actual barbs that had wounded her.

“Of course there are two of us, you dolt,” I scolded angrily. “Any idiot who had been at the castle two minutes would know that.”

As harshly as I delivered my reprimand, he didn’t seem especially perturbed. He held me in his insolent, overlong stare that no doubt he used on every girl in Gairsay.

“Fiery when you’re angry, aren’t you?” he leered. “But you don’t look so great today either. You’re a bit of a wet hen yourself.”

“Oh, be quiet, will you?” I shot back.

“That is quite enough from you, young man.” Baron Frankenstein came to my aid. “Just take the packages to the castle, and we will follow on foot. Go!”

Still maintaining his infuriating smirk, Riff turned the wagon and left. “I will have Mrs. Flett dismiss that fellow immediately,” Baron Frankenstein assured us.

“He is certainly full of himself, isn’t he?” Ingrid commented, looking down at her hands.

“Forget about him,” I told Ingrid, taking her hand as the three of us began climbing the road toward the castle. She nodded, though I could see that she was still smarting from the verbal slap.

By the time we got back to the castle, I wanted nothing more than to peel off my wet clothing and crawl into my bed.

Dear Diary, I am so glad this whole wretched trip is done at last.

FROM THE JOURNAL OF
INGRID VDW FRANKENSTEIN

July 1, 1815

Attending Anthony’s classes at the medical school has given me a fever for knowledge. It is so difficult to teach oneself! Frustrating! But this trip has advanced my understanding of anatomy a hundred times over. As soon as I got back to the castle, I settled on a couch and began writing this.

Giselle, poor thing, dashed away for a nap in her room. I fear that this trip was too hard on her, between her awful encounter with Johann and the boat accident with the disagreeable Captain Ramsay. She’s begun coughing again, which is not a good sign.

But despite my worry, I checked to see if there was smoke
coming from Walter’s chimney before we’d even reached the front door. There was, and I was relieved that he had made it back safely from wherever it was he’d gone off to in his sailboat. I admire how he manages to get about so well without the full use of his limbs.

I will stop writing now and peruse my medical books. They are the only things that can keep me from rushing over to see Walter. I don’t want to seem like a love-struck girl who goes straight to see the object of her affection the moment she returns home.

Still, I wonder if he’s missed me.

July 1 (continued)

Finally I couldn’t wait to see Walter for another second. With an eager heart, I hurried across the grass to his cottage.

I don’t know how long it was after knocking that I waited at Walter’s front door. As much as I’d felt I couldn’t confide in Giselle or Uncle Ernest about my exploits with the grave robbers, I was eager to tell Walter all about it.

Listening at the door, I heard no sound. When I went around the side, his horse was there and whinnied a greeting. I was pleased that she was becoming familiar with me. The curtains had been drawn shut again, so I could not see in. Rapping on the window failed to bring any result.

Wandering around the back, I discovered a kitchen door. It was unlocked and I let myself in.

“Lieutenant Hammersmith?” I called. “It’s me, Ingrid.”

Slowly I went deeper into the room and found Walter asleep in his chair. He’d thrown off half of the blanket that had been drawn over him, revealing his legs, or rather a leg and a half. His right leg had been amputated just below the knee. It was heavily bandaged and the wrappings were bloodstained.

Horrified, I backed out of the cottage as I had entered. How my heart ached for him! I could not begin to imagine what agony he’d undergone to have such an operation. What pain it must be causing him still!

Unwilling to wake him, I ran back to the castle. Hurrying up the winding staircase, I came straight to the room where my father stored his notebooks. It was the one place I knew I could be alone. Once there, I sat and cried until my eyes ran dry of tears. I fell asleep right there on the floor.

I dreamed I was back in Italy with Count Volta and Anthony. They were very excited about something, and I felt as though they had been waiting for me to arrive. They wanted to bring me to meet Luigi Galvani, to see his latest experiment. We went into a room and Walter was there with Galvani. He wore a hospital gown and seemed happy. In a second I saw that his legs had been replaced with human-sized frog legs. Galvani had him hooked to a battery
and the wire that attached him to it crackled with electricity. Walter sprang high into the air on his new legs, laughing with delight. I had never seen him so filled with joy.

“You can make this happen if you have the key, Ingrid,” Anthony said.

“What key?” I asked.

He pulled a large, ornate key from the pocket of his coat.

I awoke with a start, filled with inspiration. I was the daughter of Victor Frankenstein. Fate had brought me here to this isolated island for a reason. I, and I alone, would make a new man of Lieutenant Walter Hammersmith.

In my heart, I felt it was so. Yet was this key real or only metaphorical?

I have no way of knowing.

FROM THE DIARY OF
BARONESS GISELLE FRANKENSTEIN

July 1 (continued)

I napped for several hours and awoke feeling stronger, though the tickle in my throat persisted. I dressed and went down the stairs to find Ingrid and Baron Frankenstein. Ingrid was draped across a couch Mrs. Flett had purchased for us from one of her cousins, a furniture maker, reading one of the anatomy books Anthony had lent her. Baron Frankenstein was sitting at a desk, apparently writing a letter.

“How are you feeling?” he asked when he noticed me.

“Much better, thank you,” I said. “When you post your letter, can you take a batch of my party invitations with you?”

“Certainly,” he agreed.

Ingrid looked up from her book and fixed me in a curious gaze.

“What?” I inquired.

“Are you sure you’re strong enough to throw this elaborate gala you have in mind?”

“Absolutely. This will be the most wonderful party,” I replied. “These first invitations are only to people we know from home, in case they might be traveling or wish to make the long trip. I still have many more to write, and I’ll need you to make a list of who you would like to invite. It doesn’t matter if you know them or not; we will say we have extended the invitation because we so esteem their scientific achievement.”

“Doubtless many will know of your late father,” Baron Frankenstein added, “and they will be eager to meet his daughters.”

“Do you really think so?” Ingrid asked, brightening at the prospect.

“Indeed,” Baron Frankenstein affirmed.

“I long to speak with his colleagues,” Ingrid said. “I have so many questions, and it is difficult to study by one’s self.”

“Might I ask you what you hope to gain in your pursuit of a medical education?” our uncle asked. “You know you will never be allowed to practice as a physician because of your gender.”

“I don’t want to be a doctor, Uncle Ernest,” Ingrid answered. “Rather, I thirst for answers. How does life begin? What are its
building blocks? Why are we alive at all? It’s the unknown that intrigues me. Didn’t Aristotle say that the unexamined life was not worth living?”

“It is certainly simpler,” our uncle countered.

“Don’t worry about me,” Ingrid assured him. “I’ll be fine.”

Baron Frankenstein answered with a sigh.

“And what about you, Giselle?” Ingrid asked. “Are you also fine?”

“Perfectly well,” I replied, and it was true. The only thing I wanted to think about was this party and how wonderfully elegant it would be. It would be the official start of our new lives.

Ingrid stood, clutching her science book to her chest. “If you’ll excuse me, I really want to concentrate on these books from Anthony.”

“Certainly,” Baron Frankenstein said. When Ingrid was gone, he turned to me. “She went for a walk upon arriving at the castle, and returned looking quite agitated. When I inquired of her well-being, she said nothing was wrong, though I am certain I have not misjudged her emotional state.”

I was going to say that Lieutenant Hammersmith must have upset her, but I didn’t think she would want our uncle knowing she went over there from time to time. He might not think it suitable, and I know she would despise any obstacle that might impede her visits. Why she could not bring herself to feel affection for her
Anthony, who is so clearly suited to her — perfect, in fact — is beyond my understanding.

“It’s been a long journey for all of us,” I said. “I will speak with her later.”

Baron Frankenstein put aside his letter and smiled at me. “You have not really looked at the castle since we returned,” he noted. “There are some changes that I think you will like.” He stood and led me to the right side of the main entrance. When I saw the large room there, the one I had been trying to renovate into a ballroom, I clapped my hands together in utter delight: The work that had been accomplished in our absence was truly amazing.

“Remarkable! Is it not?” Baron Frankenstein said with delight.

“They have been working very hard,” Mrs. Flett commented as she joined us with a tray of tea for my uncle and me.

“Oh, it is wonderful! Wonderful!” I cried. The stone had been scrubbed until it sparkled. Velvet drapes, mirrors, and paintings I had never seen before were hung.

“I took the liberty, miss, of hanging the paintings I found in one of the lower rooms,” Mrs. Flett said, sounding nervous about how I would react to this initiative on her part. Gazing around, I saw that they were all landscape paintings done in oil paints. They seemed to depict the Orkneys — not only Gairsay but other of the islands with their mystical, ancient stone formations as well.

“They’re lovely,” I said with sincerity. “Don’t you think so, Uncle?”

When he didn’t answer, I turned to search for him and saw that he was transfixed by the oil portrait hanging over the heavy mantel of the six-foot fireplace.

“I didn’t see this when I first came in here,” he said to Mrs. Flett.

“I’ve just now had the men hang it,” she told him. “As you can see, it is very large and quite heavy, so I needed several of the men to lift it.”

The portrait showed a tall, handsome man dressed in breeches, boots, a tailed coat, and a ruffed shirt. Thick brown hair was brushed off his angular face and fell nearly to his shoulders. The most striking aspect of the painting was the intense dark eyes that blazed from beneath an intelligent, furrowed brow.

Baron Frankenstein did not speak to me immediately but remained transfixed by the painting, as was I. In truth, he did not have to say a word for me to know the identity of the man, for the resemblance alone was enough to tell me who it was.

“Giselle, meet your father,” my uncle said at last. “Meet Victor Frankenstein.”

“My father. At last,” I murmured, riveted.

Tears misted my eyes as I gazed upon the father who had always been such a mystery, the man who had abandoned two daughters.

He had come for us, at last.