Dr. Frankenstein's Daughters (16 page)

FROM THE DIARY OF
BARONESS GISELLE FRANKENSTEIN

August 20, 1815

Lord Byron was the first to arrive at the castle, and I would wager that he is possibly the most handsome man alive, and utterly charming too. I was happy to have just finished forming my last ringlet as I saw him strolling up the lane. I quickly ran down to greet him.

He was lavish in his praise of the castle and of me. “I decided to come because I was raised in Scotland and longed to see it once more, but the sight of your beauty is reward enough.”

“You are too kind,” I said as he kissed the silk of my elbow-high gloves.

“Your gown is perfection,” he told me. “Paris or Milan?”

“Istanbul,” I lied, caught up in the glamour of it all and hoping to impress such a worldly man. I immediately regretted it, because I saw skepticism in his appraisal. “The fabric, that is,” I covered. “I had it made especially here in Scotland.”

He gazed around at the dusky summer dim and smiled. “I would say that you walk in beauty like the night, except I see that there is no night to be found.”

I would have talked the whole evening with him except that guests were arriving on each ferry, and I had to greet them all. The next to arrive were several of my former classmates from home. I asked my friend Margaret if there had been any news from Johann, and she said no one had heard anything. “His father is sick over this,” she added. “He must have met with foul play. It’s the only thing that would explain it.”

The little orchestra that I had hired from Kirkwall took its place by the tall fireplace that I’d had lit for the party. They played some local ballads that were slow and melodic. The servants were all dressed formally and began to pass food on silver trays and to serve drinks from the side tables.

I came upon Percy Bysshe Shelley, whom I recognized from drawings in literary journals, though he seemed younger than I would have thought. He was standing by the musicians, gazing up at the portrait of my father. By his side was a slim, pretty woman
who must not have been much older than me. When I introduced myself and welcomed him, he turned to the woman and made her known as “Mary, my wife.”

“Who is this striking gentleman?” she asked, nodding up at the painting.

“He is my father, Victor Frankenstein, though he is deceased and this was painted some years ago.”

“What fire in those eyes!” she remarked. “He fascinates me.”

“This is a Copley, is it not?” Percy Shelley inquired.

“It is,” I confirmed.

“I believe he’s just arrived,” he said, nodding toward the door at a tall, middle-aged man. I sensed Copley was a bit ill at ease, so I asked the Shelleys’ pardon and went to his side. After we’d made introductions, and I’d reunited him with the painting, he told me he had painted my father in return for some medical care before he had achieved fame for his portraits.

“There is an exquisite quality to the light here on this island,” Copley remarked. “Would it be an imposition if I stayed a day or two to paint?”

I assured him it would be wonderful: This was just what I wanted, a house alive with the fascinating and successful and interesting from all walks of life! Everything was going perfectly … but where was Ingrid? I had been so aggravated that she had simply disappeared this last week when I could have used
her help. If she didn’t show up at all now, I would be beyond furious!

Just when I was about to become enraged at her, I saw her standing in the center of a circle of scholars, their wives, and their assistants, all engaged in spirited conversation. Ingrid looked wonderful in the sapphire-blue gown, and she’d even put her hair up in coils at the top of her head. She was as avid in conversation as the rest of them, and I guessed they’d started talking on the ferry over and hadn’t stopped.

For hours I greeted guests continuously, making sure no one ever lacked for a beverage or food. I was having a wonderful time, but it was exhausting and I wished Ingrid would be equally social to guests other than scholars. As the time passed, this resentment grew until I approached the cluster of scholars determined to draw Ingrid away for some assistance — only to discover that she was not there.

“Your sister is the most brilliant person, man or woman, that I have ever met,” said a man in his late twenties who introduced himself as Dr. Jean-Baptiste Sarlandière. “We have learned so much from each other just now.”

“Do you know where she went?” I asked.

He pointed toward the front door. “We were discussing the fine points of electrotherapy when she suddenly remembered something urgent she had to do and dashed off. I do hope she will return to resume our discussion.”

“She went out the door, you say?” I was incensed! How dare she abandon me in the middle of the most important event of my life!

I hurried outside, where guests were spread out on the lawn, all chatting amiably. Had she gone off to find Walter or to get back to her studies? Either way, I would drag her back no matter what it took.

Hurrying out to the cliff, I saw it was just as I had suspected: She was in the rowboat crossing over to Sweyn Holm. She was rowing in her gown!

And now she had the boat so I couldn’t even cross over and find her to demand that she return. I was furious!

I could always get there through the tunnel … if only I had the nerve. I would get lamps. I’d get others to come with me, so there would be no danger.

Ingrid had abandoned me all these weeks and I would put up with it no more!

As I headed back into the house, I literally ran into Investigator Cairo.

“Fräulein Frankenstein,” he said, “please forgive me for coming. I did not know you were having an event.”

“Not at all, Investigator. Please eat and drink. Enjoy yourself. If you’ll excuse me, I have urgent business.”

I was not going to be deterred by anyone or anything.

Ingrid was going to come back to the party.

FROM THE JOURNAL OF
INGRID VDW FRANKENSTEIN

August 20, 1815

“If one could run current over a body within twenty-four hours of the last transplant, I believe that the creation would be strong and disease-free,” Dr. Sarlandière told me. “I am sure of it.” We had been discussing curing sickness with electricity. He seemed so brilliant that I couldn’t doubt anything he said.

“It’s highly experimental, but I believe you are correct,” agreed the portly Dr. Berzelius, speaking in heavily accented English.

That was when I fled from the party. If he was right, I had two hours to work with Walter. If I got it right, he would be healthy and strong forever.

Climbing down the ladder was not easy in the long gown. The minute I reached the bottom, I pulled the dress off, tossing it away, and put a white apron on over my chemise. I hurried to Walter’s side, throwing aside his blanket.

He did not stir as he usually did.

Frightened, I grabbed his wrist and did not feel a pulse. I laid my head on his heart but heard no beat. There was no breath on my hand. He was very cold.

“Walter!” I shouted. “Walter!” My frenzied voice climbed to a shriek. “Walter!”

I paced in circles. I’d killed Walter. I’d killed him. Reckless. Murderous. Arrogant. Mad. I’d killed Walter. My love! My love! My love!

I started moving very fast, although everything seemed dreamlike. I covered him in wires and receptors. I activated my two battery drums. The current moved back and forth slowly at first.

“I need more,” I mumbled, frustrated. The frequency increased somewhat. “More!” I screamed at it. “More!” As if it had heard me, there was a further increase. The battery crackled with energy.

Walter wasn’t moving, though. Nothing was happening.

“Walter, don’t die! Wake up!”

It was no use. He didn’t stir. I let the current run until I smelled burning flesh and hair. Char marks began to form across his forehead.

“Ingrid, what is all this?” I whirled toward Giselle’s voice. She stood only yards away with an oil lantern in her hand. Behind her were Lord Byron, Percy Shelley, and Mary Shelley, all with lanterns.

“Our father’s laboratory. I would have told you but I wanted —”

I was cut short by a sharp gasp from Mary Shelley. Her eyes were wide and she was pointing a trembling hand at something behind me. Turning, I clapped my hand over my mouth in shock.

Walter was sitting up.

His face was swollen and his eyes blackened. His jaw jutted at an odd angle and the char marks streaked his forehead. His black curls were frayed and burned. He was speechless, dazed.

Giselle coughed and started shifting from foot to foot. Her eyes were wild with fear. Then she strode up to Walter and was suddenly wielding a scalpel she’d snapped up from my instrument table.

“You won’t get me this time, fiend!” she screamed, plunging the scalpel into his stomach. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you first!”

Lord Byron and Percy Shelley quickly grabbed Giselle while I stuffed gauze into Walter’s wound. Mary Shelley raced back into the tunnel to the castle.

I had no idea what she would do. Would she tell the others? Reveal what she had seen to our guests? I was kept busy staunching the blood gushing from Walter’s wound. He writhed in pain that
was awful to see. But amid this torture a movement of his caught my attention. He was clenching and unclenching his hand — his
right
hand!

Oh, what joy tangled into this moment of frenzied fear!

His right hand moved. It worked!

My elation was quickly thwarted as Walter fainted back onto the table. With my head to his chest, I listened frantically to find a heartbeat. I thought I heard something but maybe it was only the gurgle of blood in his veins. It was hard to tell.

Percy and Byron continued struggling with Giselle, who squirmed and arched as she endeavored to free herself from their grip. The two men were young and strong, but it was as though her terror had imbued her with a supernatural strength. She struggled and screamed as if in a nightmare from which she couldn’t awaken.

“Giselle, be calm,” I tried to soothe her as I pounded Walter’s chest, hoping to get his heart going. “It’s me, Ingrid.”

“Ingrid, run to the house. Get Grandfather. Hurry!” Her voice sounded young as she implored me. It was as I recalled it from childhood.

“Why did you attack Walter?” I asked. “What has he ever done to you?”

“He’s the bad man. He wants to take us. He can’t take us.”

“She’s out of her mind,” Lord Byron remarked.

“Totally mad,” Percy Shelley agreed.

Giselle struggled fiercely, almost escaping their grip. “HE CAN’T TAKE US!”

Just then Mary Shelley returned with Dr. Sarlandière, who had brought his medical bag. He came from behind and covered Giselle’s nose with a handkerchief. It calmed her immediately. He handed the handkerchief to Lord Byron.

“It’s only laudanum,” the doctor explained. “Put it over her nose when she gets upset. You should probably get her upstairs.”

Lord Byron and Percy Shelley propped Giselle between them and walked her toward the stairway, with Mary Shelley right behind.

“Get our uncle,” I said. “I must not leave Walter.”

I turned to Dr. Sarlandière, who was checking Walter’s heartbeat by holding his wrist. “The pulse is faint but it exists.”

What relief!

“Will he live?” I asked.

“You’ve been experimenting on him, haven’t you?”

“I wanted to cure him,” I admitted.

“You might have.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly hopeful.

“I can see you’ve replaced his right leg and hand with exquisite skill. You’ve done an excellent job of grafting new skin to his face.”

“Thank you.” I was so pleased at this. “I have to confess that one reason I had my sister invite you was to learn from your genius. What must I do next to bring him to health? He has a disease of the nerves. Can you tell me your opinion?”

“I observe that this man has one or multiple sclerosis diseases. I can tell it simply by looking at him. He also shows signs of having had systemic sclerosis scleroderma. Dr. Carlo Curzio wrote a fascinating paper on it in seventeen fifty-five. It accounts for the patches of hard skin.”

“Signs of
having had
,” I echoed, growing frightened again. He’d never told me if Walter would live.

“As I said, you might have cured him as you intended. The scorch marks tell me you have run high voltage through this man, enough to kill him, though thankfully he still lives. The concept is the same as what I have been attempting with more caution in my own work. You have made a reckless experiment, but now that it is done, let’s see what happens.”

I was filled with new hope.

“The patient now has a stab wound to contend with on top of everything else. If you’ll allow me, I’ll stay and work on him.”

“You will?” I cried, filled with gratitude.

“This is a fascinating opportunity for me. I even brought my acupuncture needles.” He checked Walter, then turned back to me. “I’ll stay here with him. You’d better go to your sister.”

When I reached my twin, she was slumped between Uncle Ernest and Investigator Cairo on the front lawn. All the guests had moved inside.

“I’m taking her into custody,” Investigator Cairo told me. “I came here tonight to arrest her.”

“For what?” I cried.

“For the murder of Johann Gottlieb. But I suspect she is also guilty of murdering Captain Fynn Ramsay, your dairyman, and a man in Stromness named Kyle MacNab. I’m still working on the disappearance of Arthur Flett, but I’m pretty sure it will trace back to Giselle in the end.”

“What motive would she have for killing these people?” I challenged.

“Ever hear of a condition called hysteria?” Investigator Cairo asked.

I shook my head.

“Sometimes upsetting, only partially remembered events in a person’s life set off a series of symptoms. Some patients have seizures, partial paralysis, and sometimes even temporary blindness. My guess is that certain triggers send Giselle back in time to a disturbing event. She might feel like she’s fighting for her life over and over again.”

“How awful for her,” I said. Of course I knew he was right. I had
seen it for myself earlier. Poor Giselle! What had frightened her so deeply that it had caused such disturbance in her mind?

In minutes I had thrown on my plain gray dress and joined Investigator Cairo and Uncle Ernest again. I had to believe Dr. Sarlandière would be best alone with Walter. Now I had to help my sister.

Leaving behind a castle ablaze in light and the curious conversation of guests, I went off to accompany Giselle to jail.