Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Angelika’s eyes opened in the darkness, and she lay completely still with her blankets pulled up to her chin. Everything was now silent, except for her own heartbeat and breath.

She had fallen asleep to Victor and Lizzie’s distant mattress rhythm. It was like being lulled by the creaking of a ship that periodically hit stormy seas. Occasionally there were the cries of a woman drowning. Lizzie would certainly be walking unsteady across decks in the morning, and she had been sternly warned not to venture outside alone. She had taken the news of Belladonna as expected: she’d laughed her incredible husky laugh until tears had streamed down her face. Am I the other woman?Oh, what a play this would be.

Victor saw no point in waiting for matrimony. I’ll be damned if that spotty old corpse they call Father Porter influences what happens in my own bedchamber. We are human beings, doing what humans do. It is natural science! I plan on fucking Lizzie senseless tonight, should she be amenable. After such a monologue—delivered at dinnertime, as Lizzie choked on her drink, then nodded—it was confirmed that a bedroom shuffle was not required. Victor’s door slammed so hard that it would have been heard in the village.

When told he would retain his room, Will had paced around and stood in his own doorway, struggling to explain himself. In the end, he could not. All he knew was he did not like it.

In the darkness, Angelika ran her fingers across her quilt. It was embroidered with thousands of little stars. For the first time, she thought about that unknown person who had labored over something she liked but also barely noticed. They were probably paid a pittance. Her thoughts then turned to the new chambermaid, Sarah, sleeping in a very cold and uncomfortable room at the boardinghouse. Angelika had no idea of how to ration coal.

She turned over, plumped up her goose-down pillow, and wondered at the randomness of wealth. It was her luck to be asleep in this ornate room, and her maid Sarah’s misfortune to have a gambling father. It was clear which woman worked harder, and who had the greater difficulties to overcome.

Will was another example of how, in an instant, everything could change. Angelika tried to imagine waking up tomorrow, with no name, belongings, home, wealth, or options. How would she survive? She’d have to work underneath a cantankerous old Mary in some grand house and would certainly be thrashed for her incompetence.

She was either dozing, or more awake than she’d ever been. The house hummed with a new energy. A quick succession of memories began: every time she thoughtlessly paid a lot of money for something unnecessary. Over and over in a loop, her hand dipped into her purse to buy figs, chestnuts, soap, tapestries, gloves, and garnets, and grapes, and geraniums, and garters, and grosgrain, and gold rings, and—

“Enough,” she told herself out loud. “I will be mindful from this moment on.”

The air had a peculiar tightness, and when she propped herself up on her elbows, she thought she heard a sound, perhaps downstairs. In the dark, she whispered, “Something’s happening in the house.”

After donning her robe and slippers (and noticing the fine quality of each item), she went downstairs and saw Victor standing in the open doorway to their father’s study. He was shirtless and holding a candelabra, and there was an iron fire poker leaning on the wall beside him.

Victor had a tattoo on his shoulder, a letter L, almost certainly for Lizzie. When had he gotten it? Didn’t they tell each other everything? Angelika thought of her brother as reedy and slim, but she could see now that he was an adult man, his body the result of roughly ten thousand chin-ups in the laboratory.

Disgusting to admit it, but Lizzie must have been very impressed.

Angelika refocused on the iron poker. “Vic, don’t be rash.”

In a hushed voice, Victor replied, “Shhh. Look, it’s Will.”

He held up the candelabra and they could see Will at the shelves behind their father’s desk. The already-cluttered room looked as if it had been messily searched. There were drawers pulled out of the bureau, and a crate overspilling papers on the floor.

Victor indicated the fire poker. “I came downstairs ready to dash a thief’s brains in. I found him like this. I have been watching for ten minutes, at least.”

Angelika’s heart was beating uncomfortably. It looked very much like her beloved was a nighttime thief. “What is he doing? Why isn’t he turning around?”

“He’s sleepwalking. Is this common for him? Does he talk in his sleep?”

Angelika gave her brother a withering look. “I haven’t had the good fortune to find out. Does Lizzie?”

Victor rolled his shoulders in a stretch. “Lizzie is rendered utterly speechless for the rest of her life. Look, he’s really turning the room upside down.”

“I’ll get him—” Angelika started over, but her brother blocked her.

“If you stop him, you won’t find out what he’s doing. Use your head, Jelly. This is his subconscious mind at work. His true self.”

Angelika leaned on the doorframe. “Mary has complained about messes in various rooms, but I thought she was exaggerating.”

“Then an apology is owed.” Victor’s tone was dry. “Will asked me the other day when she will finish working for us. I honestly never thought about it. She is well beyond working age.”

Angelika winced. “We are lucky to never consider how we will live, or survive, or afford anything. We will never have to work until we are Mary’s age.”

Victor was open-mouthed. “I have never heard you speak like that. Usually, you are just at me for more, with your hand outstretched.”

“It’s Will. He’s opening my eyes, and he makes me want to be . . . better. I want him to be proud of me. And I want to be able to wake in the middle of the night and know I am as good as I can be.” She tensed, expecting teasing.

Victor just nodded.

“I am the same with Lizzie. And when I find my own creation, and bring him safely home, I think I will have a chance at being my best self. I care less about Schneider now. That poor wretch, lost out there.” He paused, wincing, trying to choose his words. “I am very proud of you, for starting to think this way, and I shall do the same. I think we lost our parents before we could learn the importance of economy.”

“And charity. And community. Will’s always thinking about others. What is he looking for in here now, I wonder? He knows I’ll give him anything he wants.”

Victor lifted the candelabra higher. “We cannot wake him suddenly. The shock could be too much for him.” They watched Will pawing in a pile of papers.

Angelika said, “I have heard of a technique called mesmerism, in which we could attempt to speak to his sleeping mind. I would want his consent first, and it requires further research before we attempt it.”

Victor did not have his sister’s ethics. “Let us see if we can gain a clue. Will. I say, Will.” There was no reply. “It is not his true name, so he does not reply. I say, my friend, what are you searching for in there?”

The siblings winced as Will roughly pulled out drawers from their father’s desk. It took a lot of effort not to intervene.

“Do you need money?” Victor asked him.

“No,” Will replied in a lifeless tone. Angelika let out a squeak and hid behind her brother. He looked as though he had risen from the morgue on his own accord.

Victor began guessing. “A map. Parchment to write on. A keepsake from your past. A musical instrument. A favorite book.” Will looked up. Victor seized on his last suggestion. “You want a book. Tell me the author. We will have it, or I can get it.”

Will turned to the bookshelf, then began touching the spines of books in almost total darkness. They tried for several more minutes to engage with him. Every question that Victor asked was met with an irritated headshake, indifference, or that same flat no. They could not ascertain his name, his age, his place of birth, or his favorite fruit.

“Maybe he is searching for his estate’s ledger,” Angelika suggested. “Or a certificate of ownership.”

The candle was burning lower, and Victor hissed when the wax began dripping on his hand. Enough was enough.

“You can’t find what you’re looking for because it’s too dark,” Angelika told Will as she stepped into the room. This got his head turning back toward them, his search forgotten. Her insides thrilled at how he responded to her presence, drawn closer like a moth to a flame, his dark eyes on her.

Softly she asked, “My love, are you quite all right?”

Will replied, “I’m all right.”

Victor nudged her. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to hear his secret thoughts about you. I’ll ask him. Do you know my sister, Angelika?”

“I know her,” Will replied.

“We’ve found his favorite topic,” Victor said, and continued: “And what do you make of her? Do you think she is beautiful?”

Will nodded, a serious crease on his brow.

“Is she smart, and funny, and talented?”

“She is all of those things,” Will said.

(Angelika huffed modestly, and also hoped this line of questioning would never end.)

Victor grinned wickedly at his sister. “And would you like to make her your wife?”

“I cannot,” Will said.

“Why not?” Angelika asked, hurt. The certainty of her feelings could no longer be sidestepped, and she could confess it safely, knowing he might not remember in the morning. “I love you, Will. I’d marry you if you asked me.” When he said nothing, she pressed: “Do you already have a wife?”

Will replied, “I cannot, and will not, ever marry you.”

“I understand,” Angelika said. It was all laid bare tonight; she was a vapid, wastrel heiress, inured to her own privilege, up to her ankles in rotting apples while the village starved. She was not good enough. Tears welled in her eyes.

He saw them and moved closer, perhaps seeking to apologize or comfort, but fell over the debris on the floor. When he got onto his hands and knees, they could see he was now awake and completely disoriented. “Where—where am I?”

“Calm yourself. You were sleepwalking,” Victor told him. “And we are going to use this development to find out who you are. Here, take my hand, I’ll help you up. Wait, Jelly, where are you going?”

Angelika managed to hold back her tears until she was upstairs. Below, she could hear a bewildered Will asking, “What did I do to her?” She couldn’t bear the look on his face if she explained, so she ignored Will’s knocking on her bedroom door until he gave up.

Angelika thought that perhaps she should give up, too.