Dr. Frankenstein's Daughters (13 page)

FROM THE JOURNAL OF
INGRID VDW FRANKENSTEIN

July 13, 1815

Late this afternoon, I ran into the investigator who had come to the castle last week. I was down at the harbor waiting for the mail boat to come. At least that was my stated objective. In truth, I was hoping Walter would come down to take out his sailboat and I could meet him “accidentally.” In the last week, when I went over to his house, he did not answer the door.

This sudden and unexpected rejection of my company was driving me to distraction. I have no idea what has prompted it. But I have a suspicion too terrible to bear. Indeed my stomach clenches
whenever the idea snakes its way into my mind. Was he dismissing me because he had become enamored of Giselle?

Oh, I cannot — even now — stand to write such a thing. I longed to ask him and hear him say, “Not at all. You silly thing! How could you think it?” It would be all I needed. But without seeing him to get this reassurance, I feel I’m going mad.

“Hello there,” Investigator Cairo greeted me as I paced the dock with a feigned nonchalance that was probably none too convincing.

“Are you heading back to the mainland?” I asked, just to be cordial.

“I am. And you, Baroness Frankenstein? What brings you here?”

“The mail boat.”

“You seem agitated. Are you waiting for an important letter?”

Once more, he was at the edge of impudence. “I seem agitated?” I questioned skeptically. So much for my attempt to seem casual.

This made him chuckle. “As I said earlier, you must excuse me. I am an investigator and a student of human behavior. I have read the works of Joseph Guillotin on the nerves and of Descartes. Currently I am reading about François Magendie, known for his vivisection of the nerves. I have attended lectures in London given by Dr. William Lawrence on the animating force of life. He
believes that the body is a mechanism that can be animated by some outside force akin to electricity — maybe even electricity itself.”

As you might imagine, he had my full and enthusiastic attention.

“This is unbelievable! I have just finished studying with Count Volta in Italy,” I told him excitedly.

“He was experimenting with muscle stimulation through electric shock,” Investigator Cairo exclaimed. “I know his work well. And this interests you?”

“It interests me very much. You can’t imagine how much. I would even say it is a passion with me.”

“For me the passion is to understand the inner workings of the mind as they manifest in behavior,” he said ardently. “Being able to read people accurately is invaluable. Any method that might shed light on the inner essence of a human being is crucial beyond words.”

“Can you read me?” I asked.

“I’ve already told you … you’re agitated. And you’re in love.”

The instant burn on my checks told me I was blushing. I turned away. How uncanny!

Again he chuckled. “That’s all right. Don’t be embarrassed. To be in love is to be agitated. Are you really awaiting the mail? Do
you await a letter from your beloved? Or is the object of your affection coming into the harbor?”

“He might be coming to the harbor,” I admitted, surprised by my own candor. “I was hoping I might run into him.”

“And instead it is only I, the investigator, who comes along. Sorry.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “That’s fine. Really. I have enjoyed our conversation.” The ferry to Mainland came into view and Investigator Cairo backed slowly toward it. Then he stopped as an idea struck him.

“You know who you should find out about?” he said.

“Who?”

“A fellow named Jean-Baptiste Sarlandière. He was in the French military when I met him a few years ago, but we have kept up a correspondence. He has recently returned to his medical work. He writes me that he is starting to experiment with what he calls electropuncture. He’s using acupuncture needles from China on the surface of the skin to conduct electricity across the body. He claims this has great restorative effects. Despite his youth, Sarlandière’s work is brilliant.”

The ferry horn indicated that he had to board. With a wave to me, he ran off to claim his seat.

Even though the mail boat did not bring me any mail, and
Walter did not appear, it appears my journey to the dock was not an entirely fruitless one.

July 14, 1815

I have seen Walter today, at last. And what an encounter it was!

It was an unusually hot day. The constant wind had disappeared and all was strangely still. Donning my lightest summer dress, I headed once more to Walter’s cottage, determined not to be shut out. If I had to throw a rock and shatter his window in order to crawl through, I was prepared to do it.

When I arrived, though, he was outside behind his cottage. He sat in a wooden outdoor chair, the pant leg of his missing leg pinned up. “Ingrid,” he greeted me with enthusiasm, as if there had been no estrangement between us. He even honored me with one of his rare, if quick, smiles.

“Where have you been, Walter?” I asked as I approached him. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“Not at all. I’ve been busy and —”

“Walter!” I cried. “Don’t! Tell me the truth. I’ve been so worried.”

Facing me, his eyes darted as though a million thoughts were sparking all at once in his mind.

“I’m glad to see you, Ingrid,” he said at last.

Foolish me! I nearly cried with happiness at those words.

At the same time, I wanted to fling myself at him and pound his chest with angry fists. Was that all he could say after all these days of anguish he’d caused me?

“I’m happy to see you too, Walter,” I said, coming very close to him. “But why have you shut me out?”

He struggled up and perched on the side arm of the chair. At this angle we were nearly eye to eye. With a sudden sweeping movement that snatched away my breath, he grabbed me around the waist with his left arm and kissed me.

Crippled though he was, he was also astoundingly strong.

My stunned surprise melted quickly to passion.

I threw my arms around his neck, returning his ardor.

We kissed and kissed … and kissed. I was lost in a world of kisses. A world of Walter. His scent, his breath, his touch. There was no other reality but Walter. Kissing me at last.

Walter took my arm and sank down into the chair, drawing me into his lap. There he kissed me passionately once more. After some time of this we stopped, and sat gazing into each other’s eyes.

“I love you, Ingrid,” he said quietly.

How my heart leapt with joy! But I was confused.

“If you feel like this, Walter, then why have you shunned my company?” I asked.

“Because I love you and I know my love is selfish,” he replied.

“I love you too,” I said breathlessly. “So how can your sweet love be selfish?”

“I am a shell, a wreck, Ingrid. To ask for your hand is the most hideous kind of selfishness. It would be wrong. I have nothing to offer you.”

How my heart went to him. Such anguish! “You have yourself to give, Walter. It’s all I want.”

“It’s not enough. You would be my nursemaid.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at first, but eventually you would.”

“And it’s not because you have fallen in love with Giselle?” I had to know.

He pulled back to scrutinize me with disbelief. “Your agitated sister?”

“Don’t you think her beautiful?”

“Yes, I do. Incredibly beautiful.”

My heart sank.

“But the two of you are identical,” Walter added.

“She is the radiant, attractive one. I am a duck to her swan.”

At this, Walter threw his head back, erupting with laughter. It was the first time I had ever heard this wonderful sound. “
You
are the one who radiates intelligence and warmth. You are her equal in beauty, but it is your inner being that makes you so precious to me.”

“I am precious to you?” I asked softly, just to hear him affirm it.

He pulled me even closer. “So precious, you can’t imagine.”

“And you no longer think your love is selfish?” I asked hopefully.

He smiled sadly. “Not at all. I know it is selfish of me.”

“Then what has changed?”

“I have given in to the truth.”

“What is that?” I asked.

“I am a selfish man.”

Pressing against him, I held him tight, saying nothing more. I was too filled with happiness to speak.

“Things must stay as they are,” he warned me. “Know that I love you, but there can be no life together. It’s not right.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. It was blissful to be so close. “Knowing you love me is enough for now,” I said honestly.

Turning, he kissed my cheek and let his head rest against mine. We sat there in loving togetherness until he drifted off to sleep. Disentangling slowly, I left him there to nap.

Oh, Walter! My Walter! I thank the heavens for your “selfishness.” You love me! This night I am the happiest young woman alive!

July 20, 1815

I have been spending countless hours down in the laboratory reading the new set of albums I found down here, almost without
pause. No one could blame me for the breathless fascination I bring to this endeavor. The information contained in these large volumes is beyond belief.

Victor Frankenstein succeeded in creating a real human being … and in these albums, he tells exactly how he did it. Exactly! Every step is recorded in minute detail.

All his feelings of triumph are summed up in one hastily penned, exalted scrawl:
IT’S ALIVE!!!!

I still have not discovered what brought him here nearly six years later. I can only assume it was to continue his work. I will keep reading in search of this answer.

There is another reason beyond fascination and curiosity why I need to master the information here. Things are not going well for Walter. These past several days his condition has worsened and he hardly gets out of bed. He is in tremendous pain. How my heart aches to see him so. I have asked Mrs. Flett for various herbal remedies I have seen her dispense to the workmen. Walter tries them but they help only a little.

Walter says he has a doctor on the mainland of Scotland. He plans to go see him soon. I don’t see how he can accomplish this if his condition does not improve.

I am convinced that these albums hold the key to grafting new body parts to him. If my father could build an entire human, would it not be possible to graft on a new leg or replace a withered
hand? New tree limbs from other varieties are connected to existing trees. If Victor Frankenstein could reawaken dead nerve endings with a bolt of lightning, why not bring them to life with the more controllable buzz of a voltaic battery?

In one of Anthony’s volumes, I have found reference to the ancient Asian practice of acupuncture. I keep thinking of Sarlandière’s work, which Investigator Cairo told me about — combining acupuncture with electricity. Electropuncture. I am resolved to write Anthony to see if he can find a set of acupuncture needles for me.

My father’s legacy must continue.

FROM THE DIARY OF
BARONESS GISELLE FRANKENSTEIN

July 20, 1815

Dear Diary, these days I am haunting the harbor, awaiting all the supplies I have ordered: linen napkins, tablecloths, china, glasses, silverware. And the food must be exquisite, so I have commissioned multiple food shipments: quail eggs; caviar from Normandy and cheeses from Paris; Champagne; scones from Aberdeen; jams and jellies from Glasgow; smoked herring from Amsterdam to complement our own local oysters. Oh, the list is endless. It’s so nice to have such a supply of money!

When the mail boat arrived, the captain handed me a bundle of letters tied together, and it was all I could do to keep from
ripping them open there and then, since I could see that they were responses to my invitations. There were no further packages, so I headed back up the dock.

I saw one of the men who deliver food in the morning sitting in his wagon. “Deliver your packages for you?” he offered, and I knew this meant he would do it for a fee and not out of friendliness.

“No packages today, thank you,” I declined, hardly looking up from the bundle of envelopes I was perusing.

“Give you a ride?” he asked.

“No, thank you.” It was a lovely day and I preferred to walk.

The man grumbled under his breath, and I turned to look at him. It sounded like “Damn foreigner,” though I still get confused by the heavy Orkneyan dialect.

“Excuse me?” I challenged him. “Did you say something?”

“Too good to take a ride in my wagon?” he sneered.

That
he said clearly enough, making sure I would understand.

I felt like telling him that maybe I
was
too good for it, especially if he was going to be so hostile. I forbore, though, and instead ignored him.

I was halfway up the winding road to the castle when I could stand the suspense no longer and settled on one of the stone walls bouldering the side of the road. It was a quiet spot, and I thought it a good place to sit and cut open my party responses using the
steel letter opener I’d brought in my skirt pocket for just such a purpose. I was busy splitting open envelopes and sorting them into piles of
yes
and
no
when the same carriage driver pulled up alongside me.

He came upon me so quietly that I startled and fell forward, slipping from my rock perch to my knees. Looking up from where I’d fallen, I saw the man standing over me, reaching down for me.

I had the strong sensation that I didn’t want to touch his hands, so I scrambled to my feet on my own. Not wanting to hear any more of his nastiness, I hurried away.

After about ten minutes, Uncle Ernest came up the road behind me. “I’m so glad to see you, Uncle,” I said. “A man nearly ran me off the road with his wagon. Did you see him?”

“No. Did you recognize him?”

“I think he delivers milk and cheese to Mrs. Flett in the mornings.”

“Are you all right?” he inquired.

“I fell down.”

“You’ve scraped yourself,” he said, observing the blood on my hands. “You must have done it when you fell.”

I noticed that there was blood splattered on my envelopes too. I had clutched them too quickly after I’d picked myself up. When I tried to rub the blood off, it only smeared.

I don’t know why I’m even bothering to tell you all this, Diary. It’s just that I wonder why some of the men on this island are so rough and unpleasant. I am very happy that people of a more refined, educated caliber will be arriving here soon. Perhaps there is a way to convince them to stay and build homes here so that we could have neighbors who aren’t as desolate as the ones we do have.