Angelika was flummoxed. “Stay here? Why on earth? Stop this nonsense at once.”
Father Porter smiled benignly. “He has come to the realization that his church requires his ongoing devotion.”
“Marry him,” Arlo said, meaning Christopher. “Have a baby. Live your life. Promise me you will live.”
“I will marry you, and only you,” Angelika gasped. “Why are you saying this?”
“I—I don’t feel—” Arlo’s legs gave out, and he fell to his hands and knees. “My love, I think it is happening.” The loose soil at the edges of his own grave crumbled and moved. Everything inside him began to draw outward, and he thought of chimney smoke. “But I don’t want to go. Don’t leave me here—”
As Angelika’s frantic questions turned into screams, all he could think of was that he was so glad he had told her the truth: that she was beautiful, and he loved her.
And if he could tell her one more thing? He would be a star directly above Larkspur Lodge, her heart’s true home, forevermore.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Death was wise to recognize Angelika Frankenstein as a formidable opponent.
“He is stabilizing, for now, but things are . . .” Dr. Corentin searched for the right phrase before settling on, “Comme ci, comme ?a.” He began writing something down. In his heavy French accent, he continued: “The laudanum must be administered strictly as I write it here, as he appears to be in a great deal of pain. Mon Dieu, I have never seen injuries such as these. Was he at war?”
In their panic, the Frankensteins had forgotten about the scars delineating each of Arlo’s joints. He was laid naked from the waist up in Angelika’s four-poster bed, almost as white as her French linen sheets.
“He’s lived quite a life,” Victor said to the doctor. “But he is a survivor.”
“His blood is brown when I do a pinprick. I am not sure enough to try bloodletting.” It was becoming clear that the doctor wasn’t sure of anything.
“He will not die.” Angelika said this so adamantly the candles flickered around them. “I refuse it. I will bring him back, again and again. We haven’t come this far to let him be overcome by exhaustion. That’s all this is, of course.”
“Calm yourself,” Dr. Corentin warned. “You do not seem to comprehend the situation. This young man is close to death.”
The man’s pessimism was frustrating. “He isn’t dying, he’s just tired. What else shall we do?” Angelika’s stress levels rose with each instrument that the doctor packed away in his case.
The doctor said, “Keep him warm. Pray for him.”
“Our mother died from a prayer-related illness,” Victor informed him acidly. “I expected more from you, sir. Give us real things to do. Science. Medicine. That is what we believe in this household. Got a goddamn leech somewhere in there?”
Angelika watched as the doctor became offended, and she searched for a solution; the best one she knew. “His return to health will entail a thousand-pound gift for yourself, Dr. Corentin, which should be easy money, because he will be fine after a good night’s sleep. Please, may I entreat you to stay the night across the hall?”
It was midnight, and the wind outside howled. Dr. Corentin patted his pocket as he readily agreed. “I should be most interested to learn your method of resuscitation,” he said as a peace offering to Victor as he was shown out. “To save a man’s life in such a way is no small feat.”
Victor and Dr. Corentin closed the door behind them. Angelika was alone with her love, and she promptly fell apart. She wept as she struggled out of her gown, undergarments, and boots, and sobbed as she put on her silky nightdress, placed in her drawer a lifetime ago by that old scamp Mary.
Mary would know what to do now, with her witchy folk remedies. She would put a green pine cone in the fireplace, or pack some damp yew leaves into his armpits or some such nonsense, but it would absolutely help, because it would mean she was here. Perhaps she was nursing poor Adam in a similar state? Angelika cried for Mary, and Arlo, and Adam, and her parents, and her own wretched soul.
With chattering teeth, she got into the bed and moved close to Arlo’s side. He was as cold as a pane of glass. Rubbing his arms and chest, she called out loudly to her brother, “Ask Sarah for heating bricks. As many as we have. I’ll save you again,” Angelika told Arlo’s sleeping profile. “I swear I will. As many times as it takes.” She imagined his wry expression at this dramatic declaration. “I will even allow Victor to assist me, like I did earlier.”