Strange Star (16 page)

‘This looks like a decent spot to release him,’ said Felix, stopping at the edge of the forest.

Gently, but very gladly, they laid the wolf on the ground. As they straightened up, Lizzie’s fingertips briefly touched the animal’s head. ‘Goodbye, poor creature. I hope wolves are kinder to you than us humans have been.’

Peg tried to throw her arms around it and lay her cheek against its fur.

‘He’ll wake up soon, so we’d better keep back,’ Felix said, taking Peg’s hand and gently pulling her away.

They crouched behind a rock, a few yards off. An icy wind cut into Felix’s skin. Beside him, Lizzie’s teeth chattered with cold, but Peg sat still as stone, eyes fixed on the wolf.

The wolf woke suddenly. Jumping to its feet, it sniffed the air and sneezed. It staggered a little, then stretched, first its front legs, then each back one, pointing its toes like a dancer. Next there was more sniffing – of the ground, the nearby stand of trees and every boulder and blade of grass in between. Finally, the wolf stopped, threw back its head and howled.

The sound made Felix’s skin prickle. If this was what Lizzie had heard coming from the stables at Eden Court, no wonder she’d been intrigued. It was such a sorrowful heart-wrenching cry.

And then, the most marvellous thing.

From the forest, two dark shapes emerged.

‘Wolves!’ Peg breathed.

Felix felt something swell inside his chest.

These wild wolves padded right up to the newcomer. Sniffed him. Circled him. Bared their teeth. They were bigger than the captive wolf. One was pale-coated, with a torn right ear. The other was harder to see, owing to
the darkness of its fur, though its eyes glinted bright blue in the moonlight. Their wolf wagged his tail in low, gentle sweeps. His ears went down and he cowered as if he was suddenly shy.

‘He wants to be friends,’ whispered Peg. ‘It’s like dogs in our village do when they like each other.’

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the wolves became more playful. They mouthed each other’s muzzles, lazily at first as if they were testing things out. Then, growing in confidence, they pranced, shoulder to shoulder, in ever-widening circles. It was almost as if they knew they were being watched, Felix thought. When the game got too rough, the pale wolf nipped at hindlegs. And their wolf would stop at once, fall to the ground and roll over. The others would stop too, panting, tails wagging.

It went on for quite a while, this wonderful display. Felix, arms hugging his knees, whispered what was happening in Lizzie’s ear. He wanted her to live the moment with him.

Eventually, though, something caught the wolves’ attention – an owl maybe, or deer in the woods. Ears pricked, they stood stock still. Then their wolf rubbed his muzzle against the pale wolf’s cheeks. And all three loped off together into the forest.

The next day when the Shelleys came to lunch, it was Felix’s turn to serve.

‘I hear the wolf escaped last night,’ Mr Shelley said.

‘Yes, sir, it did,’ Felix replied.

‘I’m glad. It deserved to be free.’

Heaping vegetables – but no meat – onto Mr Shelley’s plate, Felix had to agree. Yet it was hard to keep his mind on the job. Especially when, across the table, Lord Byron was speaking in a loud voice about him.

‘So you think Felix has the makings of a great man, do you, Mary?’

‘I do. You should take him with you back to London. He’s wasted out here in the wilds.’

Felix fought the urge to smile. He’d go to London at the drop of a hat, all Lord Byron had to do was ask. But the conversation quickly moved on.

‘And your ghost story, Mary? Have you thought of one yet?’

Mary shot Felix a look.

‘I believe I have,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’m going to start writing it today while it’s still fresh in my mind.’

As Felix met her gaze, an understanding passed between them.

Her story, he knew, would be all of theirs: his, Lizzie’s, Peg’s, even Mary’s. It would weave and warn and speak of untold things.

And it would absolutely freeze the blood.

To Felix’s amazement it had snowed in the night. It wasn’t deep, mountain-top snow or the strange red variety he’d once heard spoken of at Diodati. But it was very lovely. For a moment, the rooftops of London and the noisy streets below looked as clean and unspoiled as fresh linen. He sighed heartily, and rather happily. Today was going to be a special day; it was as if the city itself agreed.

Excitement had got them up early.

‘The cats won’t go out in it, not even Spider,’ Peg said, standing on the back steps with the door wide open, snowflakes and cats at her feet. ‘The parrot doesn’t like it much, either. Nor the otter.’

‘Then shut the blasted door. It’s perishing cold,’ Lizzie replied. She sat as close to the fire as a person could get, toasting bread on a fork for breakfast. In the seat opposite, drinking tea, was Da. These days he quite enjoyed his daughters’ bickering; he knew it came
from a deep, fierce affection that nothing and no one would change.

Life, though,
had
changed, and it was amazing how quickly they’d all got used to it. Right at this moment, a bright green parrot swooped across the kitchen to perch on Lizzie’s shoulder. To anyone else, it would’ve been a bizarre spectacle. Especially as by her feet a fox lay curled up asleep, and in her lap sat a rather plump hen. But to Felix and Peg and Lizzie and Da, it was as normal as normal could be.

The four of them had come to London a year ago. Lord Byron, in the end, didn’t return to England. He went to Italy with Dr Polidori in the hope of discouraging Miss Clairmont’s persistent attentions. But he did offer Felix a position.

‘My London house needs keeping an eye on in my absence,’ he said. ‘Also I’ve a few animals there – a rather exotic collection, as it happens. Find someone to tend them if you can.’

Felix had packed his one small bag that very day. He took a boat to England but instead of travelling on down the Thames to London, he sought out a distant village called Sweepfield. It took two days to reach it on roads deep in mud. When finally he jumped stiff and sore from the cart, he was greeted only by stares.

‘Well, he isn’t from round here,’ a man said, looking Felix up and down.

‘No, Mr Henderson, he in’t,’ said another. ‘And if he’s come ’ere in search of Eden Court he’ll be disappointed, an’ all.’

Yet two people did show him kindness – a beautiful girl called Mercy, who offered him orange drops from a paper bag, and her sweetheart, Isaac Blake. They knew exactly where he’d find Lizzie and Peg, and took him there without delay.

Outside a moss-roofed cottage he stood in a yard teeming with young geese and broke his news.

‘Would you come to London with me, Lizzie? And you, Peg?’

They’d blinked as if they didn’t understand what he asked. Then a man, tall and dark and so very obviously their da, emerged from an outbuilding and demanded to know what all the fuss was about.

Felix felt a sudden panic. Lizzie, sleeves rolled up, a goose tucked under each arm, looked strong and well. Peg, swinging on her da’s hand, was smiling. But half a mile away in the churchyard lay their own dear mother. He couldn’t imagine how they’d ever bear to leave this place.

Yet Sweepfield wasn’t just about family and geese
and kind people like Mercy and Isaac. There was another, darker side – the Sweepfield that stared and gossiped and didn’t like difference. He’d felt it himself earlier when he’d climbed down from the cart. Life here hadn’t always been easy for the Applebys. And when Felix heard of Lizzie and Peg’s final journey home to England, and how Da had been at Southampton docks to greet them, he knew this family wouldn’t be split up again.

In the end, they didn’t take much persuading. Da agreed to come to London, for since Eden Court had gone so too had much of his work.

‘Just for a while, to see what it’s like,’ he’d said, though everyone knew the real reason was he couldn’t bear to let his daughters out of his sight.

That had been last January. In a city expanding daily with new people and new buildings, Da’s carpentry skills were much in demand. Meanwhile Lizzie, like Felix, quickly grew to love London. There was so much life here. So much to experience. And she could walk out every day, blind and scarred, and know there’d always be something more thrilling for people to gawp at than her.

Today, for instance, there was a certain book being published. It was called
Frankenstein; or The Modern
Prometheus
. Prometheus, Lizzie said, had stolen fire from the Greek gods.

‘Is this book about Greek people, then?’ Peg asked.

‘No,’ said Lizzie, biting back a laugh. ‘It’s about someone who tries too hard to be clever.’

Mary hadn’t put her name to the book. People would judge it wrongly, she said, if they thought a young woman was the author. She’d recently made an uneasy peace with her father, Mr Godwin, who called himself a radical but was still rather old-fashioned where his daughter was concerned. She didn’t want to upset him again. Yet already early reviews of
Frankenstein
were calling it ‘a depravity’, which made Felix and Lizzie all the more intrigued. Together they’d saved up sixteen shillings. And today, they were going to walk to Mary’s publisher in the East End to buy a copy.

Once toast had been eaten and the animals fed, they all set off into the cold. Byron’s house – vast, cream-coloured, absurdly expensive – sat on a busy Mayfair street. Under the wheels of countless carriages and hackney cabs, the snow had already turned to brown slush. Peg ran on ahead, plaits jiggling between her shoulders.

‘Come straight home afterwards, won’t you?’ Da said, as he left them at the top of the street for the
place – a new cheese shop – where he was making counters and shelves.

‘Yes, Da,’ Lizzie said. ‘Stop worrying. We’ll be fine.’

With Da gone, Felix relaxed a little.

‘May I?’ he asked, placing Lizzie’s hand in the crook of his elbow.

She laughed and did a wobbly curtsey. ‘Why thank you, kind sir.’

First they went through Mayfair, past Hyde Park and then down towards the river. It wasn’t the quickest route, and normally the stink alone was enough to make you retch – never mind what you might spy floating in the water. But these past few days the frost had been very hard, so it was worth a look to see if the river had frozen over.

Nearing Covent Garden, the streets narrowed. It made everything seem busier and noisier. There were pie shops and gin shops and down side alleys strewn with laundry, lodging houses shouted their wares. Everywhere you looked were pedlars selling face lotions or sheet music or hot fried herrings.

All the while, their sixteen shillings jingled in Lizzie’s pocket. For safekeeping, she rested her hand on top in case of pickpockets. The other hand stayed on Felix’s arm, and it made him feel rather proud.

‘How much further to the river?’ Peg called over her shoulder.

Felix pointed up ahead. ‘It’s at the end of the street. Watch where you’re stepping, though.’

These streets right near the river were often the worst. People got careless with their chamber pots and today the cobbles were slippery and squelchy underfoot.

The river, when they reached it, wasn’t frozen after all. It was, as usual, full of life. Ferry boats darted back and forth and barges glided upstream. Peg stuck out her bottom lip in disappointment.

‘I hoped there’d be one of them frost fairs or something,’ she said.

‘Never mind,’ Lizzie said. ‘Let’s keep walking. It’s too cold to stand still.’

Felix liked the way her cheeks had gone pink. But she was right, it was bone-chillingly cold, and looking closely he saw how the river seemed to be thickening up. Already ice was forming around jetties and near to the bank.

‘Reckon it won’t be long before the river does freeze, Peg. Not if this cold keeps going,’ he said.

They followed the river as far as St Paul’s, then veered off through Spitalfields and into the East End.

‘The address is Finsbury Square,’ Felix said.

He’d written it down on a scrap of paper, together with the publisher’s name of Lackington and Hughes. In his head, he’d imagined a dark little shop where Mary could launch her book without fuss. Yet they found Lackington and Hughes on a busy street corner. It stood four storeys high, with lavishly arched windows and a wide front door.

‘Blimey!’ Peg said, wiping her feet extra hard on the doormat.

The book was on display at the counter. Against the other leather-bound, gilt-edged books, it looked small and rather plain. There weren’t many copies for sale.

‘Can I help you young people?’ said a gentleman in a white curled wig.

‘We’d like to purchase a copy of
Frankenstein
, please,’ Lizzie said.

The man’s eyes twinkled in delight.

‘Of course, of course! A work of genius, no less! Everyone will be reading it very soon!’ and he began wrapping a copy in paper.

Funny, Felix thought, as he watched the man tie the package with string, to see a book in a shop and know the person who wrote it. To be there at the start, when the idea began. Yet when Lizzie went to give the man their sixteen shillings, her pocket had indeed been picked.

‘But I had the coins. Even as far as Covent Garden, I had them,’ she wailed.

The man raised his eyebrows and began unwrapping the book again.

‘I’m sorry, miss,’ he said. ‘No money, no purchase.’

Felix tried to keep his disappointment in check. Putting his arm through Lizzie’s, he steered her back towards the door.

‘’Tis such a shame,’ Lizzie said, close to tears.

Felix agreed. ‘Mary would’ve wanted us to read her book.’

The bookseller must have overheard, for he called after them. ‘Young man! Did you just say Mary?’

‘Yes,’ said Felix, turning round. ‘Mary Shelley, or Mary Godwin as was,’ for Mary and Percy were now properly married.

‘Ah well.’ The man’s face brightened. ‘In that case …’

He beckoned them back to the counter.

‘Mrs Shelley told only a few very special people that this book was her work,’ the bookseller said. He rewrapped the package and handed it to Lizzie. ‘So you’re right, she obviously
did
mean you to read it. How else could you have known?’

Back at home, they gathered round the fire. Lizzie and Peg huddled under blankets with various cats and dogs. The bright green parrot perched, as usual, on Lizzie’s shoulder. Felix took the seat nearest the window, for it was his job to read out loud. And read he did, all that day and into the evening. He read the next day too. The story was so gripping he couldn’t stop.

They heard of a scientist called Dr Frankenstein, whose name bore a close resemblance to that of a certain lady with an interest in wolves. There was a young man called Felix, who had a sister called Agatha and a kind, blind father. One of the main characters was a girl called Elizabeth – Lizzie – and there was a young child who went missing, and even a servant with the surname Moritz.

But when, a long time later, Felix turned the final page, he knew there was more to this story than names. In it was a mother whose death broke her children’s hearts. There were kind fathers, like Lizzie’s, and ones like Mary’s who were distant and cool.

There were people who, time and time again, judged others for how they looked.

This was his story. And Lizzie’s. And Mary’s. It was even Miss Stine’s in part.

For the book was also about ambition. About
wanting to be the biggest, the best, the most famous at any cost. It was about pushing the boundaries of discovery. Most of all, though, it was a warning: without love and kindness, we all become monsters. Just like their captured wolf, which, Felix couldn’t forget, had killed a man. Yet, given freedom and the company of its own kind, it had padded off across the snow, meek as a lamb.

In the end, Mary’s story had been a tale to freeze the blood. But it was, above all, just a story. Felix could close its pages and look up. And there he’d see Lizzie and Peg, and he’d thank his good fortune. It made him glow like a star.