Hideous Love: The Story of the Girl Who Wrote Frankenstein (15 page)

William seems very susceptible

to the cold here this autumn,

and yet I will not ask Stepmother

to send the flannel I require for him

as she has once again been difficult,

angered like a jealous suitor

by my father’s visits

to see me.

Claire and Shelley live in London

part of the time, and I am alone

with the children like a nanny.

Shelley complains of bad health

as he did after the births

of each of our children.

I can’t fathom why

he must go through

such antics after I give birth,

perhaps he feels

sorry that he did not

have to go through

the pain of labor

and so contracts

his own feelings of distress.

I thought maybe my dear

childhood friend Isabella

might once again contact me,

but her husband, Mr. Booth,

ends that possibility

and spreads rumors that

Claire and Shelley

are having an affair,

and further that Allegra

is Shelley’s child.

We overextend ourselves

and are mired in debt again.

Shelley is arrested

because we cannot pay

all of our bills.

What shall I do if he

and I truly part?

He urges me to come

to London, but I fear

that like in Bishopsgate

if I leave the house abandoned

all of our property will be seized.

And we have so much more to lose now.

November brightens my spirit

as I let go my fears

and agree to travel

to London to be with my Shelley.

I visit Skinner Street

and the Hunts.

Also
History of a Six Weeks Tour
,

my first book, appears this month,

again with an anonymous author.

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ANONYMITY

Autumn 1817

Notoriety a distant dream

as scandal brands us

notorious,

I think that when

I can name myself

I shall use

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

in memory of my mother.

If I were a man

I might not wear the cloak

of anonymity.

The temperamental child

inside me

pounds her fists

in anger about this,

but the wiser, patient Mary

just keeps writing

without a name.

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BYRON’S REQUEST

Autumn 1817

Byron demands that we send

him his daughter.

He does not quite grasp

that shuttling a nine-month-old

off to Italy with strangers

might not be the greatest plan.

Still I will be glad to be done

with the scandal that has been caused

by having little Allegra around.

Claire will no doubt

act more sullen and complaint heavy

than she already behaves

without her little one.

But she should have known

when she became involved

with Byron

that there would be

a Faustian cost,

that she would barter away

part of her soul.

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THE RELEASE OF
FRANKENSTEIN

January 1818

Even though only five hundred copies

are published, some note

is taken of my book.

My friends shower me with praise

for my imagination and bold ideas.

The outside world

of course does not know

who authored
Frankenstein
,

only that the preface

seems masculine

and that the book is dedicated

to William Godwin,

my father.

If I receive no admiration

beyond that of my father

it would be more than enough.

He wrote that
Frankenstein

is “the most wonderful work

to have been written

at twenty years of age

that [he] has ever heard of.”

The reviews I am told

are happily mixed.

I do not read them

as we are preparing

to leave for Italy

to transport Allegra to Byron.

And honestly I can weather

no negativity at the moment.

We find someone

to take on the twenty-one-year lease

we made for Albion House.

I feel torn about leaving.

The weather chills the bones

and Shelley has been very sick here,

now with an eye infection

that makes it impossible

for him to read. However,

we took up residency here

and it was refreshing

to have a permanent address

in the country. I finished

my book in this house.

My daughter was born here.

It feels bittersweet to leave.

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RUMORS AND TRUTH

February–March 1818

I permanently board up Albion House

and join Claire, Shelley,

and the children in London.

I detest our current lodgings

but we could find nothing else.

We cannot stay at Skinner Street

as there is once again

turmoil over finances

like angry bulls huffing in a pen.

Shelley took out another

post obit loan, promising

forty-five hundred pounds

on his father’s death

for the receipt of two thousand now.

My father expected to receive

a good portion of that money.

I try not to mire myself

in money issues as I find it

a cemetery for creativity,

but I am not sure

how Father will get along

without Shelley’s help.

We can always just borrow more.

We delve into culture

and entertainment,

spend many nights with the Hunts.

We see the Elgin Marbles,

an exhibition of Salvador Rosa,

and the Appollonicon, an organ that sounds

like an orchestra. A large scenic view of Rome

makes us hunger for our trip abroad.

But rumors cast a pall

over our last days

in England. Word reaches

Stepmother and Father

that Allegra is Claire’s child,

and that Shelley is the father.

We explain that Lord Byron

is in fact the father of Allegra

and that we are taking

Allegra to him.

Stepmother yells,

“Claire’s downfall is all

the result of her following

you into hell, Mary,”

as if I had anything

to do with Claire courting Byron.

But Stepmother

must point blaming fingers

at me as she did when

I was a child in her house.

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HEAVEN OR HELL

March 1818

If there were but one

way to construct a life

perhaps the road

would be easier

for having no choice

of left or right,

but as free thinking

individuals we make

decisions.

I never chained Claire

to my leg.

She rides in the carriage

designating her own seat.

No road without gravel

and dust, no course

without twists,

the way is not always

smooth.

But the path has been

Claire’s choice,

and I respect her for it.

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A LETTER FROM CLAIRE TO BYRON

March 1818

Claire writes to Byron

of
Frankenstein
and me,

“Mary has just published

her first work … a wonderful

performance full of genius

… as no one would imagine

could have been written

by so young a person.

I am delighted and whatever

private feelings of envy

I may have at not being

able to do so well myself yet

all yields when I consider

that she is a woman

and will prove in time

an ornament to us

and an argument in our favor.

How I delight in a lovely woman

of strong and cultivated intellect.

How I delight to hear

all the intricacies of mind

and argument hanging on her lips.”

I blush and thank her

for her kindness

and we share a true

moment of camaraderie

as though the years

of swatting at each other’s hats

have been but child’s play.

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TRAVELING TO ITALY

March–April 1818

Much of the scenery