He moved away to the open window, leaning his elbows on the sill.
Angelika joined him, and copied his pose. “Can you not just endure it?”
“I cannot, Jelly. I cannot go and stand before the old man who told Papa to simply wish for Mama’s health to return.”
“Pray,” Angelika corrected with equal bitterness. “He told our father to pray.”
“Wish, pray, think very hard—it is all the same. Praying cannot cure scarlet fever.” His fingers flexed on the sill. “My child will have no grandmama or grandpapa. You will be married and gone by then.”
“Maybe not. The one I love looks at me with doubt and sadness, too.”
Victor had an idea. “I need you to ask Mary if she would come back to help us when the baby arrives.”
“I never told her to leave.”
“Tell me exactly what you said to her.” He listened as Angelika recounted the exchange. “She believes you dismissed her that day, Jelly. You did not say to her that she was to remain here for the rest of her days?”
Angelika audited the memory again. “I thought it was so obvious. You need to understand, she was horrid to me.” She told him about the strange decorations, the dolls, and the terrible underwear.
“She felt awkward having you in her personal space. Then you told her that Sarah would be the new head of housekeeping. She packed her bags and is gone forever, unless we get her back.”
His tone was kinder than she’d expected. Was this Will’s calming influence on Victor?
Quietly, she said, “She has hated me, from the moment I was born.”
“Nonsense. She’d cut out her heart if you needed a new one. She was hurt and upset, but she’ll forgive us. It’s also my fault. I did not make circumstances clear to her.” He was quiet for a while. “I should like her to be there when I am wed; she’s all the family we have left. But Mary will also insist on a church wedding.”
“Could we travel to another parish? Somewhere that doesn’t know us? You could just pretend, and say the church words, and later on make your own private vows to Lizzie.”
“I don’t think she would feel well enough to be jiggled about in a carriage. I thought about asking Chris to use the chapel at the academy, but even if that’s an option, I might open my mouth and no words will come out. I feel a rising sense of panic whenever I picture it.”
Angelika so rarely saw him vulnerable. “You just need some time to adjust to the idea. You’re Victor Frankenstein, and I am always at your side to assist you in inventing a solution. Thank you for not shouting at me, for mucking things up with Mary.”
“I don’t want to wake Lizzie,” Victor replied, but he was smiling. “I know you do your best. I’m sorry I made you run out of here the other day. I forgot that I’m your best friend. I still am, you know. You scared me. If anything happened to you . . .”
He left the words unsaid, but she knew what he meant. They bumped their shoulders together.
The sun hung above the hill, preparing itself to slip behind, and when it did, the entire property would be plunged into an icy blue. It was a melancholy time. Angelika leaned further out of the window and asked impulsively, “Do you ever think about the terrible things we have done, and regret them?”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Victor drawled, but then saw she was not joking. “We saved Will. He was dead. Now he’s having a nice cup of tea and a biscuit.”
“Please. We did not do it to be altruistic. You showed up that Schneider nemesis of yours”—here Victor grinned widely—“and I picked Will’s individual parts like a vapid heiress, hoping he would fall in love with me over time. And even if he is having tea and a biscuit, he lives in the worst kind of mental torment and physical pain that he keeps hidden. We are terrible people.”
“Yes, we are. But I’ve been observing you since that night we saw Will sleepwalking in the study. I know you’ve been tutoring Sarah, and helping Clara with food, and doing things for her baby. You’re changing. It’s like witnessing a moment in an experiment, when the most unexpected reaction takes place. All it took was the addition of Will.” Victor mimed using a chemical dropper. “When I think of my creation, lost out there, and how I cannot find him—” Victor’s voice broke a little, and he put his face in his hands. “Yes. I am a terrible person.”
“What more can you do to find him?”
Victor hesitated. “I would need more people to help me. Searching on my own is not working. But a well-paid group of men could easily turn into a mob, and a violent end is the last thing I want for him.”