Angelika fled the building. “Let me go,” she chanted as she ran across the lawn in the direction of the orchard, Will, anywhere but here. She felt like she could run all the way to Larkspur Lodge, to lie on her true childhood bed, until she worked out her new place in this world. “Let me go, let me go—”
Then, she saw him, on the edges of the forest, with a gold glint on one hand. The last man she ever expected, and he was looking right at her, and she imagined she saw compassion in his look.
It was Victor Frankenstein’s missing creation.
And because she did not know what else to do, she lifted her hand in a wave, and walked to him.
Chapter Eighteen
It made perfect sense in the moment.
If she could just get Will’s ring from this man’s hand, things might turn out all right today. Even better if she could end this day with this big chap tucked into a bed in the manor, full from a hot meal. She indulged in determined daydreams as the lawn turned to meadow, and then tussocks, then rocks.
Tonight, the entire secret society could regroup by the fire to study the ring. There would be a pat on her shoulder from Victor and a grateful look from Will. Christopher would be speechless at her bravery. Clara would exclaim, I say! Angelika and Mary would exchange apologies in the hall, and Angelika would bring a cup of tea to her for once. Lizzie would catch her sleeve later and say something like, I could never replace you.
It was all going to work out.
If Angelika could manage this one little thing.
“Hello,” she puffed as she hiked over the difficult terrain. “Do you remember me? I’m Angelika.” The sun was at an awkward angle above, casting such a black shadow line between the forest and clearing that she had a terrible feeling she had simply imagined him. She shaded her eyes, squinted, and saw he’d retreated further into the trees.
He was bringing something up and down into his mouth. It was a deeply familiar action.
“You’re here for some apples.” She stepped across the shade line, and once in the cool dim light, she could study Victor’s friend properly.
The size of him took her breath away. While Angelika was choosing the most handsome body parts, Victor was sorting through for the biggest. This man was clothed, and what a good thing, too. He wore stolen garments, with the pants calf-length and stiff with mud. His peasant shirt was designed to be worn loose in the heat. On this man, it was a vest. He wore no shoes or hat.
He was in a distressed state; equal parts dirty, tired, hungry, and hopeless.
Also, wordless.
“Can I please assist you?” Angelika asked, wincing at the sight of his feet. They’d covered many hard miles. Her advance frightened him; he shook his head and backed against a tree, furiously biting the apple, even chewing the core. Juice and seeds ran down his chin. “It’s quite all right, do not rush. Please, be easy. Sir, do you have a name?”
He said nothing but looked down at her boots. She did, too, and saw an apple by her toe.
“Here.” She picked it up and held it out. He was a color she did not think would wash away: ashy gray, with bruise-purple tones around his eyes and mouth. She tossed him the apple, but it dropped into the grass uncaught.
Those hands were Will’s hands. She found herself staring at them intently as he fell to his knees to search in the grass. They were beautiful, despite the filthy nails and deathly tone.
Oh, to travel back to that moment, alone with Will as he lay on the slab. She should have fought Victor more vigorously and kept him utterly perfect just as he was. She deserved to lose her own hands for what she had done to him.
Victor’s man was eating the apple on his hands and knees now. His bunched fist was right there, adorned with a thick band of pure, glowing gold. The insignia was tantalizingly close. Angelika had once purchased a tiara out of another woman’s hair; this should be even more straightforward. She ventured closer, spooking him.
“Can I see?” She touched a fingertip to her opposite hand. “Sir, please can I see your lovely ring?”
This man uttered his first vocalization, and whilst it wasn’t a word, it was definitely a no.
“I would like to buy it from you.”
No.
They both heard a shout far away: “Angelika! You found him!”
“Ignore it,” she urged the man as he flinched and gathered himself into a low crouch. “Come, take my hand, I will help you to your feet.”
He managed it on his own, towering over her again. He was deeply suspicious now, his eyes darting over her shoulder, cupping his ring protectively. He was twice her size, and the fact he thought her capable of forcibly removing it gave her a shameful rush of power.
“I understand it is your one true possession, and I’m sure you love it dearly,” Angelika said, stepping closer. “But I will pay more than it is worth. I will give you a cottage, and I will ensure an entire wardrobe is tailored for you. Food. Apples. New gold rings. Anything you want. Just name your price.”
“Angelika!” another voice shouted, closer; it was Will.
“Angelika!” Victor again. “Keep him there! At last, my friend!”
“No, no, go back,” she shouted in response, then said to the startled man soothingly, “Ignore them. I can see you will not negotiate. If you could just let me look at the ring, enough to draw a sketch of it, you can keep it. And I’ll help you create a comfortable life. Just come with me. You can have a bath, and we are cooking lunch.”
She got a hand around his wrist, and he was as cold as death.
With an almighty scream of surprise, he flung out his arm and Angelika was weightless, and the tree canopy spun like firecrackers. There was a moment that rattled every bone in her body, and the air in her lungs was pressed out by the impact.
Black. No dreams.
*
When Angelika opened her eyes, she was in a bed in an unfamiliar room. The first thing she saw was oak beams across a white ceiling. There was a sharp, bad smell. She tried to raise a hand to her forehead, but her arm was floppy and she grasped the pillow instead. The light was different now, a blue evening tone. Time had moved on without her.
“What happened?” Her voice was hoarse. No one replied. “Did I die?”
She could hear distant male voices arguing. When she rolled her head to one side, she saw an object that made her instantly orient herself. It was an old leather book, with Institutiones Rei Herbariae printed on the spine, set on the nightstand like a Bible.
“Finally, I’m in Will’s bed,” she croaked, then laughed, and regretted it.
She could find no wound on her scalp, only a lump. She pushed back the blankets and sat on the edge of the bed, holding her spinning head. She took in Will’s cottage in short glimpses, in between closing her eyes and swallowing back vomit.
It was bright and spartan. The smell was the fresh whitewash. The floor was made of dark brown flagstones, scrubbed clean, and the fireplace was stacked with fresh kindling awaiting a match. A washbasin and ewer were on the wide windowsill, along with a single bar of her special French soap. Some shelves were inset in a corner, revealing a small collection of food baskets, a loaf-shaped cloth, and a jar of preserves.
Other belongings included a knife, a single wooden cup, a row of apples, and an upside-down bunch of herbs on a hook. His clothes were hung from a rail, wedged between the fireplace and wall. Everything about this place was the exact opposite of her opulent bedroom. If this was how he preferred it, she could now understand why he felt so uncomfortable in the main house.
“Would he like just one small tapestry?” she asked herself between gulps and groans.
“You’re awake,” Will said from the doorway before kneeling between her feet in a dizzying movement. “How do you feel?”
“Dreadful,” she said. “How are you?”
“How I am does not matter,” Will replied shortly, cupping a hand at her throat and encouraging her to lift her head. “Angelika, what were you thinking?” He didn’t expect a reply and she gave none. “Victor has gone mad. He’s running around searching for Mary. She’s the one who will know what to do.”
“We had a row; I think she’s hiding. I just need water.” She managed to drink a few mouthfuls before patting Will on the cheek and crawling back into his bed. “You live like a monk,” she told him, before she fell back into the black place.
Chapter Nineteen
Angelika stayed in Will’s bed, and clung to it when they tried to remove her. Every time he, or her brother, attempted to question or scold her over the events in the forest, she pretended to be sick and closed her eyes.
But it wasn’t pretending.
Her bones felt bendy and the room became unfriendly; the beams on the ceiling were sickening, and she asked for air more than water. The shutters stayed open throughout the night, with a candle sputtering in the cold breeze.