The Frankenstein Murders (13 page)

My daughter Patience has such fine handwriting; only today she sent me a note and I could not but derive a certain consolation at her penmanship. The note also bore sad tidings as she and the children have been inconvenienced by colds. At first I was vexed by this news, as I had fully intended to visit her home to speak with her gardener, who is in possession of some plants that were to be given to me. Another day will do just as well, I suppose.

Robert is headed for St. Petersburg and expects to reach there by the end of the month, but you shall read all this in the letter. Such a short letter too, not at all his usual style. I can assure you if
he arrives no more inconvenienced than the last voyage, then I shall have nothing to wish for. Perhaps once Robert has returned we will be so fortuitous as to receive another visit from you.

Muffin and her family are doing quite well, although last week she had something of a persistent cough. Patience has many a time assured me of Mr. Talbot's excellence as an apothecary, yet he could give no advice for the improvement of Muffin's health beyond rest and quiet.

I have only just written Robert of your visit and felt he would not mind if I sent his letter to you.

Yours etc.,

Mrs. Margaret Saville

My Dear Sister,

Forgive the shortness of my letter, for indeed I write these few lines in haste. Much remains to be done. Once again I long to be in the country of eternal light, with the cold northern breeze once more playing against my face. The cold north wind beckons me to seek out that place which I had been so close in attaining. You alone are the one most affected by the knowledge that I am upon the commencement of yet another such enterprise as I once before involved myself. The forebodings that you felt at the outset of my last voyage were in many ways confirmed by the unusual happenings I encountered while at sea. Let me assure you that, in every way, what I embark upon now is a new and different endeavour.

I have received counsel from one whose judgment I have come to trust. He recommended a postponement of operations at sea until I had become more experienced with nautical and geographical detail. This I have acquired to my full satisfaction and am now more than ever eager to be at sea again. This time, however, I am more certain of success, for I now have at hand experience, knowledge, and understanding of which I was not before the possessor.

How I wish I were able to pass on to you my own understanding so that yet one more person might comprehend that this is the voyage I
was meant to take, and is something I must do. My ardent curiosity to seek a place never before visited has not been vanquished, but rather has lain quietly waiting for the appropriate moment, and that moment is now. I am determined to discover a place of solitude, where men may live as they must without the prying, interfering eyes of others upon them.

Margaret, I am saddened to know that my unfortunate first voyage is not forgotten here in the north and that its shadow hangs over me. It would appear that few of the men from the previous voyage are available, and those who are will not consider sailing north with me again. I can only mark it as part of a superstitious nature too often found in sailors, but I shall prevail. I must look further afield to find good men, perhaps from other lands. I will not be daunted by misguided beliefs anymore than I shall be by the dangerous presence of the ice.

This time I shall persevere and shall not turn back. Indeed, I am not so alone, for at this moment I know I have more support and faith in my ability to attain my goals. Keep with you my full assurance that every precaution shall be taken and that this time I enter this adventure with a much greater awareness of what I shall face and achieve.

Your affectionate brother,

Robert Walton

Victor may have known that the murderer had followed them to England, and that Henry was planning to go to the Orkneys. Could it have been that Victor tried unsuccessfully to intervene, and then devised the story of his wandering at sea in order to cover-up his failure to protect his friend? How and by whom had Henry Clerval been brought to this shore in Ireland? Had he placed his faith in someone who promised to take him to his friend in the Orkneys? There is every evidence that the murderer was known to Victor Frankenstein and that he masked his own actions as well as those of the murderer. Perhaps, with the not inconsiderable help of his father, Victor even conspired to keep the witnesses quiet.

That the murders of William Frankenstein, Elizabeth Frankenstein, and Henry Clerval were actually attacks on Victor Frankenstein, this much I will concede as a likely possibility. The murderer followed Victor Frankenstein, and so Henry Clerval, to England. What must be discovered is who would have had reason for such extreme action, and what that reason was. Money? Jealousy? Revenge? I have an overabundance of questions and as yet so few answers. There is no reason to believe the murderer was local, and that Henry's murder was as a result of robbery seems unlikely.

In Geneva, Victor Frankenstein had allowed the servant girl Justine Moritz to take the blame, but in Ireland there was no servant to take
responsibility. To save himself, Victor would have had to tell of the creature, which would also require that he confess all that he had done and in a way incriminate himself, if only by association. Was the monster-murderer Victor Frankenstein's retelling of reality or a fantasy? And if fantasy, why create such an elaborate tale? Was it his intention to hide or protect someone? As he lay in prison on a wretched bed, surrounded by gaolers, should not his greatest sorrow have been that he was wrongly accused of murdering his dearest friend?

As had been the case in Geneva, Victor Frankenstein found himself involved in the murder of someone dear to him, and as with his younger brother's murder, there was an inquiry. The most significant difference between the events in Geneva and those in Ireland might have been that Victor's own neck and not that of a simple servant girl was in danger of meeting the hangman's noose, and yet he remained silent about the monster. Did Victor fear being thought a madman? Would it not have been better to be thought capable of madness than capable of strangling the life out of a friend?

Sadly, the magistrate's notes on the happenings of the night of Henry's murder, and the subsequent arrest of Victor Frankenstein, have provided me with no new information. There seems to be no evidence of anything unusual or monster-like about the man spotted in the boat after Henry Clerval's murder. Admittedly, I am dissatisfied with the investigation thus far, having been hampered by the reticence of most of those with whom I have spoken. I have done all I can here. An exhaustive search of every town and village along these shores might produce only a small piece of information. I am not of a mind to undertake such a momentous task, although I am confident Mutt could accomplish such a thing. The murders did not begin in Ireland; it is not surprising that I did not find answers. I am expected in Geneva.

Day dawned, and I directed my steps towards the town. The gates were open and I hastened to my father's house. My first thought was to discover what I knew of the murderer and cause instant pursuit to be made. But I paused when I reflected on the story I had to tell. A being whom I myself had formed, and endued with life, had met me at midnight among the precipices of an inaccessible mountain. I remembered also the nervous fever with which I had been seized just at the time I dated my creation, and which would give an air of delirium to a tale otherwise so utterly improbable. I well knew that if any other had communicated such a relation to me, I should have looked upon it as the ravings of insanity. Besides, the strange nature of the animal would elude all pursuit, even if I were so far credited as to persuade my relatives to commence it. And then of what use would be pursuit? Who could arrest a creature capable of scaling the overhanging sides of Mont Saleve? These reflections determined me, and I resolved to remain silent.

As had been requested, upon reaching Geneva we went directly to Mr. Clerval's place of business. The clerk, who met us at the door, recognized my name and promptly escorted us to his employer's office. Although I did not have ample time to inspect fully the establishment, I did note the simple, practical furnishings and the quiet efficiency with which each undertook his tasks. Having first removed my hat and gloves, I entered the well-furnished main office. Mr. Clerval's greeting to me involved a lengthy shaking of my hand; he at once made as if to question me, but then, reminded of his surroundings, announced instead that we would be leaving immediately.

Mr. Clerval, having that day left his own carriage at his wife's disposal, hired a cab to convey us to his home. While in Geneva, we were to reside with Mr. Clerval; however, I had already decided that Mutt should remain in Geneva but a short while before making his way southwest to Germany, Swabia specifically, to find the family with whom the monster was said to have hidden itself. When Mr. Clerval and I arrived at our destination and alighted from the cab, I was caught by the relative newness of the neighbourhood and the air of prosperity and new endeavour. These houses were inhabited, I suspected, by many families who, like the Clervals, had made their fortune in trade. Mr. Clerval
attired himself in fine vestments with few adornments or embellishments, and his home was similarly austere.

A tray of refreshments came unbidden, the servant entering silently and efficiently, and I could not help but admire how everything was simply yet elegantly presented and served. Soon after, the lady of the house joined us. Mr. Clerval went immediately to her side; his business manner was dropped as he inquired gently after her health and made her as comfortable as possible in a chair near the fire, arranged the fire screen to her liking, and set the footstool for her. Mrs. Clerval quietly accepted his ministrations until he was about to ring for a maid to bring her another, warmer shawl. Mrs. Clerval halted his actions only by assuring him that the one he had so carefully arranged about her shoulders was more than sufficiently warm. Finally, her husband believed her to be well-settled in the room and so turned to the activity of formal introductions.

“My dear, may I present to you Mr. Edward Freame from London. He is an associate of my good friend Sir Arthur Gray. Mr. Freame is here in Geneva as part of a sightseeing tour and has kindly come to visit us and pay us Sir Arthur's respects.”

Although Mr. Clerval's introduction held some of the truth of the matter, I might have wondered at his wish to avoid any mention of my true occupation. While he had been ministering to his wife, however, I had made careful examination of Mrs. Clerval, whose delicate condition gave me a clue as to why her husband chose to deceive her. Mrs. Clerval was all but an invalid, delicate by nature, made frail by external influences. The chair she had taken was directly below a portrait of both her and her husband, so I could not help but compare her to that earlier version. In the intervening years since the painting had been completed, Mr. Clerval had changed but little, with only his posture having become slightly less erect and the lines about his face more prominent. Mrs. Clerval, however, had lost all her plumpness and
grown quite thin, the skin hanging loosely on her arms and neck. The portrait showed colour in her cheeks and a small smile upon her lips as she gazed up at her husband, who stood to one side of the chair upon which she sat. In the intervening years, the smile had become less full, and an unhealthy pallor now dominated her features. The generous and fair locks that had once spilled out from beneath her cap had thinned and lost much of their curl.

Any difference between model and her image could not have been the sole result of a portrait painter more concerned with pleasing his patrons than painting the truth. In the time between the painting of the portrait and my sitting, their son had been murdered; sorrow had sped up nature's aging process and made her more frail than she should have been. Only a glimmer of the woman she had been remained in her eyes, and this visible only in her rare smiles.

Other portraits upon the wall showed two pretty young women posed becomingly, each one bearing a strong resemblance to the other and also to their parents. What was of more interest to me was the complete absence of any picture of Henry Clerval. The lack of a portrait of the Clerval's only son could not go unnoticed, and I contemplated that a framed mirror hung by the door had taken the spot where once a portrait of Henry had been displayed proudly for all to see.

As Mr. Clerval had given his wife the impression that my primary reason for visiting was to see their beautiful city, it fell to us to share conversation of the sights of Geneva. Mrs. Clerval kindly told me of the places I should most particularly take the time to visit, including a variety of historic churches. I promised her I would follow her counsel. The very instant that his wife seemed to tire, Mr. Clerval rang for her maid to escort her back to her rooms. Once this vital act had been properly seen too, my host then indicated that I should follow him. We moved to the library, where he also kept his office. It was there in the library that the
missing portrait of Henry was found, and it alone presided over the room.