Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

The following morning, the foyer of Blackthorne Manor was well-occupied. “I can’t get a word out of her,” the cook, Mrs. Rumsfield, was saying like a complaint, before she jumped and clutched her chest. “Christ almighty, missus!”

Angelika was descending the stairs. She was gray, droopy, and her eyes were sunken into her skull. She smelled. If anyone had been able to look past this ghastly apparition, they would see that the portrait of Caroline was highly concerned.

“You look ruddy dreadful!” Mrs. Rumsfield hollered. Sarah appeared in the doorway to the kitchen hall, wiping her hands on a cloth. At the foot of the stairs, Angelika was surrounded by all the house servants, Jacob the stablehand, and even some of the garden laborers. She searched in vain for the face she ached for the most, and then dropped to sit on the bottom stair.

“He lives. Again.” She wrung her hands. “We must all rally together these next few hours.” She was touched by the worry in the faces looking down at her. Every single one of these people had been impacted by Arlo in some way; his kind leadership had brought them to Blackthorne Manor and, in turn, awoken the estate from its deep sleep.

Mrs. Rumsfield said, voice rich with self-importance, “I have some broth ready for when he wakes.”

“Very good,” Angelika replied, even though her hopes were fading. “But now, while he is asleep, we must make Arlo—ah, you know him as Will, but he is now called Arlo Northcott—we must make him proud, and do our best to run the house—”

She stopped when Mrs. Rumsfield tutted. “You are all done in, miss. Time for something to eat and some sleep.”

“There is no time. Boys,” Angelika commanded the ragtag crew, now knowing what needed to be done, “I want you all to begin planning the apple harvest.”

“Will told us it’s not something you do up ’ere,” one nameless laborer said, confused. “Everyone in the village knows that.”

“I am tired of waste. It’s something I would like to do from this season forth. Is it possible? Are there more folk in the village who would like to be hired for this?” Angelika saw every head nod. “I know this seems like an odd thing to occupy ourselves with, given the circumstances, but I feel that Arlo would be so pleased to hear we had done this fine thing without him. He is the one who gets everything done around here, isn’t he?” Again, more nods. “Let’s show him that he has taught us well. Jacob, you shall be the organizer. Our neighbor may have a groundskeeper you could ask for advice.”

The young boy nodded.

“What else?” She turned her face to the girls. “The remaining three cottages beyond the orchard require cleaning and whitewashing. One is for Sarah, one is for Jacob, and the last is for Adam. Mrs. Rumsfield, could you please keep everyone fed as they work?”

“’Course. But, miss, you need to eat, too,” the cook entreated, and someone muttered, “Who’s Adam?”

Angelika’s stomach wasn’t likely to hold on to a meal. “Let us make him proud.” Tears began to threaten as she saw everyone straighten their spines, with fresh purpose shining in their eyes. She slipped out the front door, and then felt a hand on her sleeve.

It was Sarah. Blushing, she forced out: “I misunderstood. I’m to clean a cottage for Jacob?”

Angelika said, “You are to clean the cottage that will be yours.”

Sarah took a step back, eyes huge and confused. “Like the ones where Will and Clara live?”

“Yes. Didn’t I tell you that a long time ago? I’ve got to start telling people what is theirs. If it is comfortable enough, you can move there now. No more cold boardinghouse room. This is your home now if you wish it.”

Sarah grabbed her, and hugged her hard, squeezing out Angelika’s tears. The relief of this human contact was staggering, and Angelika babbled over the girl’s shoulder. “If I organize everything just so, he will wake and be proud. He will be so proud of me, and us, Sarah. We must arrange everything.”

Sarah rocked her employer in her arms, and repeated to the ivy-covered porch that everything would be all right.

* * *

Everything would be all right. Wouldn’t it?

It was dawn again. Angelika didn’t know how many dawns had tried to creep past her drawn drapes by this point; all she knew was Arlo had died twice more, and his breaths were so shallow she couldn’t hear them over her own heartbeat as she lay beside him with her head on his pillow. She could no longer lift her heavy limbs, and she only sipped at water or broth when forced.

“Should I let you go now?” The question she asked Arlo broke her heart. “Am I being cruel to you?”

“Nobody has ever fought this hard,” Lizzie said from the armchair. “And nobody has ever loved a man this much. But, Jelly.” She choked up then, coughed, and wiped her eyes. “If he goes one more time, you need to let him.”

Angelika knew there were no more arguments she could make. “Victor would call that natural science. But I will miss you,” she said, putting her cheek into the wasting dip on his chest. “And I will join you soon,” she added, too quiet for Lizzie to hear. Louder, she asked in a rasping voice, “Is it unscientific to request a miracle?”

“I don’t think so,” Lizzie said, and the door handle turned.

A miracle was speedily supplied.

“Dark as a tomb,” Mary said with evident disgust from the doorway. “And the smell.”

“Mary,” both women gasped.

“I heard I’m required,” Mary replied primly. She rounded the end of the bed, took ahold of the drapes, and threw them apart with violence, letting in the pale dawn light. Wiping at the condensation on the glass with her ragged sleeve, she continued. “I heard there’s a young woman in this household dying of a broken heart.”

“It’s true,” Angelika said. She felt herself being rolled by the shoulder, and now she was looking up at Mary. “You’ve been out in the forest, and I have cried every moment since.”

“You’re always embellishing,” Mary countered, but she had a faint smile on her face. “So you’ve decided to just give up, and follow him? They tell me downstairs that you have stopped eating. And bathing.” Her gaze flickered over to Arlo, and she winced at what she saw. The old woman thought for a minute, and then apparently made a decision. “My husband died on the eve of my thirtieth birthday.”

“That’s young,” Angelika replied. “I didn’t know you were ever young.”

Mary ignored that. “And when my William died, I had a decision to make. Would I lie down and die next to him, too?”

“You obviously didn’t,” Lizzie said, when the pressure of the silence was too great. She winced under the stare Mary cut in her direction. “I will go and get Angelika some broth, and some more cloths . . .” She was gone in a blink.

“I have done nothing but keep him alive,” Angelika confided, her parched throat barely able to finish the words. “I’ve kept him alive, and I’ve waited for you, Mary. I am more sorry than you’ll ever know.”

Mary put a hand on Angelika’s forehead and smoothed back her hair. “I do know.” She put a hand into her apron pocket and produced a brooch. “I took this, and you are within your rights to hang me.”

“I don’t care about a green stone.” Angelika was out of tears. There was little liquid left in her body, but she allowed Mary to lift her up on the pillows to take a sip from a cup. “I don’t tell people things in time. I say things in the wrong order, or assume that people know. The emerald is yours, and I was making you a cottage.”

“I know. Adam told me.”

Under the blankets, Angelika slipped her hand into Arlo’s icy palm. “How is Adam?”

“He will follow Will in a few days, I think.” The old woman was brisk, but Angelika could see a glassiness in her eyes. “We did our best, miss.”

“I didn’t.” Even as she said it, Angelika realized it wasn’t true. “No, actually, I did all I could.”

“Did you tell him, then?” Mary nodded at Arlo. “You said you don’t tell people things in time. Did you tell him everything you needed to?”

Angelika nodded. A sensation began to unfold in her chest: an easing of a tightness she had held and nurtured for days. “I did tell him, Mary. From the minute I brought him back that first time, I told him that I loved him, in different ways, and he knew it.”

“Then you have done well, and it is time to lay him down.” Mary cupped a hand on Angelika’s cheek, just like she used to do when she was a child. “You will be all right. I’m here now. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She glanced up, and her characteristic fierce frown formed. “Get that pig out of here.”

“Mary. Jolly good, we may need a third hand for this.” Victor stumbled into the room, looking every inch as exhausted as his sister. Belladonna was indeed in the doorway behind him. He set a tray of implements on the bed, where they slid around and clanged. “Oh, holy hell,” Victor cursed, putting a hand into his hair.

Angelika’s heart squeezed in sympathy. “Vic. It’s time.”

“Yes, exactly. I’ve only just gotten this finished now.” He held up a long, strange strip of what appeared to be flesh. “I can’t sew half as well as you, and I have failed so many times, but I think this is the one.” He gave Lizzie a kiss on the cheek when she came to his side. “Hello, Lizzie. We are going to give him one more turn around the mortal maypole.”

Angelika shook her head. “Listen to me. It’s time to let him go. It’s time to just . . . pray. We will be with him as he leaves, and we will let him rest in peace.”

“You can do that,” Victor said, and then held up a thick sewing needle. “But you got me thinking, Jelly. You said you’re connected at a blood level. That’s what he needs. Not broth, not prayer. Blood. Do you want it to be me or you?”

Angelika lifted herself up onto her elbows with difficulty. “You’ve made a tube?”

“Out of a rabbit’s intestine,” Victor said. “The thinnest, most impossible thing to sew. I have gone through an absolute pile of them. So many times I almost came in here and asked you to do it. And that’s when I knew how much I have taken you for granted in everything I have ever done.” He was unbuttoning his shirt, but Angelika stopped him.

“Me.”

Victor assessed his sister. “You don’t look so good.”

“It has to be me.” The press of the needle into the bend of her elbow was so painful that she shouted, and beside her, Arlo’s body twitched. They all watched with morbid fascination as the blood began to leak, spurt, and then fill the tube. Lizzie croaked. Mary fainted onto the bed. Angelika winced. “Wait, we should have put down a muslin cloth. Blood is so hard to soak out of linen.”

But then the Frankensteins did not notice anything except the neat squiggle of red that charted a course across the bed, captured in a membrane thinner than an eyelash. One wrong stitch would undo it all, but Angelika saw that her brother had applied himself thoroughly.

“You always said you cannot sew,” she said to him. “But you have done well. Whatever happens next, thank you for trying. I will never forget it.”

“This is the only tube that I managed to completely suture, and I don’t think I can reuse it. So you are going to have to hold on tight, Jelly. I just put this into him here.” Victor plunged the other needle into Arlo’s vein with detached calm. “And we wait. And we pray.” He held his sister’s gaze and put out his hand to her. “I will pray with you, my beloved sister.”

Mary was revived, Lizzie helped her into the armchair, and they both watched the impossible.

“Dear Lord,” Victor said, with his eyes closed. “Dear Lord, save him. I will do anything. Whatever it takes, I will do it. I will bleed myself into him every day if it means my sister can live with her only true love. He is better than all of us put together, and I know that sounds like a strange thing to say about a man who is completely put together.”

Everyone laughed.

Victor continued, still with closed eyes. “I have not prayed once, in my entire life. I did not pray for my parents; I did not pray to find Lizzie. I trusted the natural order of things. I trusted science, and I still do, clearly. But for the first and only prayer I will make in my life, I ask you to save him.” His eyes opened and locked on Angelika’s. “God, I am asking you to let us have him. One lifetime’s worth will do, and when he is an old man, he can return to you.”

Angelika felt a curious sensation: a sparkling, a pulling, a star sensation. She looked across the pillow. “Is he coming or going?”

“He’s right on the edge,” Victor said. Mary rounded to his side, still waxy from the sight of the blood, and her eyeline carefully averted. She assessed the man below. She put her hand on his forehead. She patted his cheek, and then put her thumb on his pulse, and was silent.

“Well?” Lizzie ventured timidly.

Mary replied with dignity, “I am praying, too.” And in the silence that followed, they all thought of the life they wished for him.

Victor wanted a brother at last, to ride horses with at sunset, stomachs full of ale. He wished for a nephew or niece so hard that he brought himself to tears.

Lizzie prayed for Angelika’s smile. She prayed for a blanket laid beneath an apple tree, and the faint buzz of bees. More than anything, she wished that a baby would look at her with Angelika’s same tart, direct gaze.

Mary’s prayers were not exactly centered on Arlo, but she prayed she would find the courage to say important words out loud. That was the fault Angelika had with herself, wasn’t it? They were cut from the same cloth, because Mary had never once told either of these children that she loved them.

Angelika prayed for a heartbeat, and anything beyond that would be a bonus.

They were all so lost in thought, holding hands and making promises to themselves, that they did not notice the new tinge of pink on Arlo Northcott’s cheekbones. And when they did, Angelika Frankenstein refused to let up; she drained herself into the only man she had ever loved, until he opened his exquisite eyes on a new day.

His head turned on the pillow. Everyone remained silent.

“Where am I?” His words should have been terrifying, but there was a dry humor in the question.

Angelika was so weak, the quality of her voice alarmed everyone. But she was smiling now, too. “You are in the bed of a spoiled, wealthy heiress who has realized her privileged position and will work for the rest of her life to deserve you.”

His mouth twitched before he looked down at their linked arms. “What have you done for me?”

“She has at least halfway died for you,” Victor interjected, efficiently pulling the needle from Arlo’s arm, and then his sister’s. The fragile tubing promptly disintegrated, and Mary roared at the mess it made on the bed. As Lizzie began to mop, and Victor began to crow about how Jürgen Schneider would take the news of this latest scientific breakthrough, Angelika used the last of her strength to put her cheek on Arlo’s chest, the one she had personally selected.

“My dream man. The one I have waited for. The one I will live and die for. I think we have found a way to keep you with me forever.”

“Forever?” Arlo’s lips, growing pinker by the minute, quirked into a tired smile. “Forever is a long time, my love.”

“I know.” She tipped up her face to his, and they gave each other a kiss. “Do you doubt me? Have you forgotten who I am?”

“Angelika Frankenstein,” Arlo said, “if forever is what you want, you shall have it.”

He glanced up at the smiling faces that were beginning to appear in the room: Sarah, Jacob, the cook, and the gardeners. Mary was telling Sarah loudly how to soak a sheet. Mrs. Rumsfield was ladling out broth. Lizzie put her hand to her stomach, then laughed and took Victor’s hand, pressing it to her side. “Like stars,” she told him.

Dropping his voice to a whisper, Arlo said into Angelika’s ear, “I think we will have some peace and quiet at Larkspur Lodge.”