Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Once upon a time, Angelika Frankenstein yearned for adventure. If her past self could have seen her now, she would have let out a cheer. Finally, something is happening!

Action. Excitement. Romance.

She was astride Percy, cantering down the long manor drive toward the village, flanked by Victor and Will, with her silk-lined cloak flowing behind her. It was a dramatic production, directed by Lizzie. She had waved them goodbye, and then vomited pitifully into an urn of geraniums.

Angelika had never felt as determined, or alive. It was worth noting that her mirror had also confirmed she looked very well indeed today, despite her patchy night’s sleep.

But the gnawing worry in her gut over Mary ruined the moment.

She knew that the horseback tableau was impressive, because Christopher was waiting astride his horse at the front gates, and his expression was something like disbelief. As she reined Percy in, Angelika asked Christopher, “What is it?”

“I’m just surprised, every time I see you. I always think you can’t possibly be as beautiful as I remember, and then you appear and . . .” Christopher made a helpless gesture, like he was out of words. His shyness made her heart quiver.

She understood how he felt. She could look at Christopher all day long.

When Angelika glanced to Will on her left, she could see he was irritated. “I see her day and night. She is always this beautiful.” His voice had not lost its possessive growl from the hillside the day previous. “But beauty is only skin deep, and not an achievement. There is more than meets the eye when it comes to Angelika.”

Christopher opened his mouth but was cut off before he started speaking.

“Yes, yes, very good,” Victor said loudly. “Courting, complimenting, competing, et cetera. Can we return to that later? We have a family emergency.”

Christopher still had the note from their messenger in his hand and held it up. “Your servant has been taken by the beast. I rode after breakfast, with no men, as you have specified.”

“He is no beast, but a man, and she is the closest we have to a grandmother,” Angelika corrected. “She is out there somewhere with the man, probably living in the forest, or in a cave somewhere.”

“Is she the emerald thief?” Christopher asked, and Angelika was forced to shrug and nod. “Are we sure they have not colluded?”

Victor answered that. “Until we speak to her in person, and make sure she’s all right, we are not sure of anything.”

“We all need to be aware of a new fact,” Will said. “That man is thinking about taking Angelika; he told me as much. And if he does, it will be hard to stop him.”

Christopher’s only reply was to lift one side of his jacket to reveal a pistol.

Will shook his head. “That gives me no comfort, because he can hide, and stalk. He blends so well into the trees he could be here right now and we would not see him.” This statement caused them to all look around themselves, and the horses grew spooked.

Victor covered his fear by saying, “He’d give her back within the hour.”

Will was not amused. “He told Angelika that he has been watching her, sometimes from close range, and thinks she is pretty, nice-smelling, and has soft hair.”

Angelika tugged fussily at her suede gloves. “I don’t like to brag.”

Victor stood up in his stirrups. “I think he meant ‘pretty smelly-looking.’”

“This isn’t a joke,” Christopher said, clicking into his military persona. “So, he will look for opportunities where she is outdoors and alone. Probably nighttime, when he can blend in. What else do we know?”

“He won’t eat meat,” Angelika volunteered. “He’s got quite a few survival supplies by now: blankets, French blackberry soap, candles, a knife, a flint, a waterskin, a copy of Paradise Lost, and a nice book on oriental woodblock art.”

Christopher asked, with strained patience, knowing the answer: “And how does he have those things?” He looked to Will now. “Another man who does not eat meat. Very strange. I’ve only ever met one in my lifetime. Now two?” His crystal-blue eyes narrowed.

Angelika stepped in. “I think we should consider another option, rather than hunting him. I’ve thought about this all night. I’m the only one he trusts, and I think—”

“No,” all three men said together.

“If I go with him, he will take me to Mary.” She appealed to Christopher. “You are a hunter, so you know we need bait. I’m nice-smelling, and he will absolutely come for me. Then I can talk my way out of it, or pay a ransom, and bring her home.”

“No, you little idiot,” Victor said with feeling. “Absolutely not. Chris and I are going to ride up into the chapel area, where you saw him last. I am going to talk to him and convince him to take us to Mary.”

“And if he won’t be convinced?” Christopher’s hand went to his pistol again like a reflex. “You both believe you can talk, or pay, your way out of anything, but take my advice. Things rarely work out that way in the moment.”

“I agree with you there,” Will said.

“If you shoot him, Mary might never be found. Look at that mountain.” Angelika pointed to the peak rising up from behind their black manor house. “She is up there right now, possibly injured, and certainly irate. He could have her tied to a tree.”

“Here’s a plan,” Christopher said. “Angelika will put out her gifts for him”—here his voice stiffened in disapproval—“and I will be in a deer hide, watching. I will follow him.”

“You aren’t listening to me,” Will told him bluntly. “I have seen him in person. No one could track him.”

Whatever emotion Christopher was feeling caused his mount to stamp the ground. “And you weren’t listening when I said I can hunt anything. This man is finally a worthy adversary for me, and doubly so because I will be protecting Angelika.”

“Enough, peacocks.” Victor was weary. “Chris, let’s set off to search the forest behind the house. Will, you stay with the bait while she undertakes her errands in the village.”

“Errands on your behalf. I am going to arrange your wedding,” Angelika said with a nose-wrinkle.

Victor tipped his hat. “Much obliged.”

Angelika explained to a concerned Christopher, “I will be fine. He promised me he would not leave Frankenstein land. He will not cross over the walls.”

“Promises don’t mean much to desperate people. How vast is your land?”

“There’s almost two thousand acres to search, so I could use some assistance.” Victor circled his mare, Athena. She pinned her ears back and bit Percy’s rump.

As they all reshuffled positions, Victor’s eyeline was on Will. “Look after my sister,” he commanded gruffly. “We’ll take a route through the walnut grove. Everyone, reconvene for supper. Catch me if you can.” In an unnecessarily showy gesture, he lined Athena up to the wall and jumped it.

Christopher grinned as he watched, despite the gravity of the situation. “Look after Angelika,” he told Will.

“I have looked after her longer than you’ve known her. You’re being left behind.”

They held their reins tight as Christopher succumbed to the swirling excitement; he, too, put his horse to the stone wall and jumped it with easy competence. In the distance, they heard Victor whoop in exhilaration.

“They will have far too much fun hunting today,” Will observed with a headshake. As they began to trot their horses in the direction of the village, he asked, “Are we going to talk about what I told you? Last night, you grabbed Lizzie and vanished.”

“We were in my room. Hardly hiding.” But she hadn’t exactly emerged from her room, either.

He now held his reins tied in a knot, with his wrist fed through the loop; just like someone who was having difficulty with their hands might. Once she found a solution for this current crisis, she would explain to him very firmly that he was not dying. He’d told her that on the very first night as she half carried him naked up the stairs. He was wrong then, and wrong now.

“We really need to talk,” Will repeated.

Angelika sat deep in her saddle, and pushed Percy into a canter.

The village of Salisbury was even more shabby and depressing than she remembered. Most of the shops were boarded up. A ruddy-faced maid had her skirts tucked into her underwear as she tossed a bucket of excrement into a ditch. Every eye catalogued her clothing, horse, and tack.

“Here, little sweetlings,” Angelika said, tossing coins down to the children. “The church is along this left street, and we will ride past Clara’s cottage. Let us call on her. I might even get to hold Winnie if he’s awake.”

Will nodded. “Of course.”

As if she had conjured them with her thoughts, Clara walked into view down the crossroad and turned in the opposite direction, lugging Edwin on her hip. Her friend looked like any one of these poor folk, with mud on her hem and an exhausted aura. In addition to her boy, she was struggling with heavy string bags of groceries.

“She needs help,” Will said.

“Where is she going? Down this horrid alley? But she lives this way.”

They had to halt to let a pony cart pass, and by the time they trotted to catch up, Clara was at a wooden door, and was struggling to open it.

“Clara!” Angelika halted Percy. “Do you require assistance?” She noticed a sign: WINCHESTER BOARDINGHOUSE. A bucket was emptied out a window. A cough and a spit followed. They could hear a man shouting, and a woman’s placating tones. A bang. A cat yowl. Everything stank.

Angelika was agog. “You’ve left your lovely cottage to live . . . here?”

Percy sneezed.

“Hello, Angelika, Will,” Clara said, turning around with great reluctance. “How do you do?”

“Surely I misunderstand?” Angelika prompted from her seat in the saddle. “You are visiting an acquaintance?”

“We have lived here almost a week,” Clara said, hoisting Edwin, who twinkled up at Angelika. “I am well aware that it is below your standards”—here she paused as a second bucket was emptied out—“but it will do for now.”

“You cannot find anything more suitable?” Angelika held down her crop for Edwin to grasp and they played a gentle tug-of-war. “This place looks horrible.”

“Better than the street.” She cowered as a scowling woman poked her head out of yet another window. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Winchester. We won’t linger.”

“No visitors.” Mrs. Winchester had a face like a smacked behind, and she narrowed her eyes at Edwin. “No crying, neither. Did I just hear you say my fine establishment looks horrible, missy?”

“I haven’t set foot inside, but I wouldn’t board my pigs here, you rude old wench,” Angelika told her with ringing honesty, and the window was slammed. Will scratched his jaw to hide his grin.

“Thanks ever so,” Clara exclaimed. “She already hates us. Last night Edwin wouldn’t settle, and she took the doorknob off my room. I had to beg to be let out this morning.”

Angelika’s indignation was rising. “Does Christopher know that you live here?”

Clara’s reply was carefully worded. “He knows that I have vacated.”

Will looked at Angelika. She nodded and said, “Come and stay with us until you work out your next move. We will not leave you here.”

Pride had rendered Clara speechless, and colored her red to the roots of her hair. Then, the audible argument in the boardinghouse reached a pinnacle. There was a sickening slap, the woman began crying, and Edwin clutched Clara’s dress, his chubby face twisted in distress.

Will assured Clara, “The whitewash in the cottage beside mine was dry when I checked it this morning. You will have your own privacy.” He dismounted and tied Solomon. Gently, he put a hand on Clara’s shoulder, bringing her back to the moment, and hung her groceries on the railing. “There is room for you.”

Faintly, Clara replied, “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Give Edwin to Angelika for a moment.”

Angelika dismounted and bounced the smelly boy on her hip, singing him a song: “Disgusting place—not fit for pigs—is it, my darling Win-Win?”

It did not take long to pack Clara’s belongings. She reappeared with a bulging carpetbag and Edwin’s basket, and Will held a crate. His knuckles were bleeding. He had apparently found time to rescue the woman in distress, and she fled at speed with her hand to her cheek, mouthing a thank-you.

Angelika clicked her fingers, and a driver halted his cart. It was drawn by a one-eyed mule and was full of dirty vegetables, but beggars could not be choosers. “I’m hiring you for a private trip to my manor. I’ll take a pumpkin, too.” The driver nodded, and she put a coin in his palm.

“Angelika,” Clara began, but found no more words.

“It’s my pleasure. Will shall escort you home.” She handed Edwin to his mother. “I’m going to the church, and then I’ll ride home. Leg me up, please.”

Will did so but was clearly torn by the decision he had to make as he loaded Clara’s luggage and groceries. “I am not meant to leave you alone.”

“I can take care of myself in the village. I’ve done so all my life. And they cannot.” Poor Clara looked wretched, hugging her son tight. “Ask Sarah to fill a bath for them.”

Will nodded. “Come straight home, my love.”

“Of course.” She waited until they were on their way. As she turned her own horse toward the church, the window opened once more. It was Mrs. Winchester, spying on Clara’s departure.

Angelika flipped her a penny. “Invest in a new attitude.” Percy lifted his tail and deposited a steaming heap.

Without Will by her side, she did feel vulnerable as she continued riding. Word had spread that the lady on the shiny horse dropped coins, and children trailed her like bees. Men leaned on doorframes to watch her pass. Percy was fretting for Solomon and wouldn’t stop neighing.

It was the first time in her life she’d sighed with relief to be riding up to a church. She tied Percy to a wrought-iron railing near the rectory and loosened his girth-strap. “You’re a foolish nag,” she scolded him, and he began stripping leaves off an untidy hedge. She found herself unable to leave him and sought the attention of a sweaty young man sweeping the path in religious garb.

“I will pay you a shilling to watch my horse for a short while. The villagers look like they’d steal the shoes clean off his feet.”

The disciple snorted a laugh, then looked skyward to mentally apologize. “If you donate it to the collection plate, consider it done.”

“You need a groundskeeper here,” Angelika remarked as she took off her gloves. “I know from experience that if you let ivy creep an inch, it will smother everything.”

“Our work is never done,” agreed the young man. “We almost did engage a groundskeeper, but we have had to make sacrifices. Father Porter is inside, if that’s who you are here for.”

Everything was arranged. She was here at the very place she had avoided for weeks. Years. Inside was a man she had not seen since the worst moments of her life. But if she could arrange this wedding, Lizzie would smile again, and Victor would perhaps increase his hugs to biannual.

There was nothing else to do but enter the big dark doors.

She had a premonition.

She was walking to her doom.