The Frankenstein Murders (14 page)

Henry Clerval had been an elegant and handsome young man. Victor Frankenstein's descriptions of his friend's
kindling eye, animated glance, and restrained but firm resolve
were features all evident in the finely crafted portrait, and yet this description only touched on Henry's attributes. From what I had seen, all the Clerval children were handsome, but there was a quality to Henry's portrait that his sisters did not possess. He had a high, clear forehead, a strong yet not overbearing nose, intelligence showed in his eyes, and a strong chin like his father. He also had his mother's fair and curling locks. He was well and, like his father, simply dressed. Above all, Henry's portrait gave the impression of a composed young man with strong determination not unlike his father.

“We were surprised, no, more than that, we were horrified at the unexpected news of the death of our son Henry.” As he spoke, Mr. Clerval's gaze was upon the image of his lost son. “His mother often visits him here, and prays for him, but to gaze daily on his portrait and be reminded constantly that he is lost is altogether too much for her.

“And now it has come to this. I tried to learn more of what had befallen our son, but Alphonse Frankenstein would not see me. I could not leave my wife, she was far too ill. I could not risk losing her, too. I have not mentioned Captain Walton's journal to them at all and I hope that the unhappy truth about Henry be concealed from my wife and children as long as possible.”

As succinctly as possible, I provided an account of all that had been accomplished thus far in the investigation. Mr. Clerval appeared understandably disheartened by the lack of any concrete evidence in England, Scotland, and Ireland, but agreed with my strong belief that answers were more likely to be found in Geneva and Ingolstadt. He also told me of his own efforts towards an investigation.

“I have begun to select certain of Henry's letters that I believe will be of most interest and use. He wrote others. Henry was always very considerate in his treatment of his family. Those letters, however, are of a more personal nature, dealing with family matters that would be of little use to you,” Mr. Clerval told me as he took a letter that lay upon the desk and handed it to me.

“This one was sent to us while he was in England. As you can see, he was quite a proficient writer. The others were written while he was in Ingolstadt. These I will provide you after I myself have examined them to my own satisfaction.”

Although I would have preferred to have inspected all the letters myself, I could see that my host's mind was quite made up on this, and resolved not to disagree with him. We remained in the library only a short while longer. I was glad to be able to remove to the room I had been given, where I could examine the letter more fully. That I was not given complete access to Henry's letters was a disappointment, but rather than go against Mr. Clerval's decision, I determined to wait until after I had viewed all the letters he would provide for my consideration before requesting to see the rest.

Dear Father,

We have reached Scotland safely and in full health. The weather had been quite overcast and dismal, but the sun shone to greet us as we arrived in Perth and so our spirits lighten with the weather. Upon first inspection, I found this place not as interesting as Edinburgh, but then, I have had little chance to explore it truly, otherwise I would no doubt have come to find as much to love as I did in Edinburgh. Lyall Peacock's hospitality and generosity have been exceptional; my stay has been most pleasant.

In truth, I did consider joining Victor in his travels farther north, for I possess a certain fear for the security of his mind. He is too melancholy when alone, and allows himself to be haunted by private demons. He will not share his unhappiness when I have caught him staring pensively at the fire for many moments on end. He has not lost his tendency to brood, and his time in Ingolstadt did little to relieve this. The death of William also lies heavily on him, and on the rare times he has mentioned the incident, he speaks as if he feels he could have prevented his brother's murder. This is impossible, as Victor was many miles away when his youngest brother's life was taken, but I can only commend and credit the fine sensibilities of my friend and try to be every comfort to him.

You will like to know that John Melbourne has written from London to inform me that the negotiations entered into for my India enterprise are almost completed. Victor has said little, but I know he does not approve of my choice, although he conceals his displeasure. Victor would have me embrace poetry and literature with all my energy and devotion as I once did. He does not see that poetry and literature have not remained my only interest, although they will remain of importance to me always; I could never completely tire of them. The India enterprise, however, offers something quite different and thrilling. I go not merely for the commercial opportunities, but to be made acquainted with customs of places other than my native country and Europe. In a few weeks, I shall be able to know the customs of people from far-off lands. Any inconvenience, hardship, or even danger that this might involve I do not fear.

The heroic songs and tales of enchantment and knightly adventure that I penned as a youth shall develop into the first-hand stories of a true explorer; with your wise counsel I hope to be a success. In this way, I shall realize my childhood dream of being a gallant and adventurous benefactor to all. But to do this, I must first earn the right, and India is the place for me. In time, I trust that Victor shall see that the India enterprise is not my playing at being noble, but exactly the activity I require to fulfill my desires.

Victor would have me return to Geneva with him; that we should together retire to the house at Belrive and live an artistic life unmolested by outside interferences. I imagine he might even have us act plays and enter into masquerades as we did so often as children. Belrive is a wondrously fine place, and yet I do not share the passion Victor has for its spacious grounds and sparkling lake. Truthfully, I believe he pines for the time before his mother's death, and wishes to return to that simpler life. With time and patience I am certain he will come round. He has mourned her too long. This may seem a bit callous, and yet I have often wondered if it was not
in some way better that she did not live to see her darling son William so hideously murdered. Certainly, her heart would have broken irreparably at the knowledge; what mother's heart would not?

I have done and shall continue to do all I can to lighten Victor's mood; he has been in markedly less despair than when I first saw him in Ingolstadt. Nevertheless, he maintains an air of melancholy even when I do all that is in my power to raise his spirits. I am certain he shall rally again, but I also know that I cannot remain with him always, but take courage in the knowledge that another more capable will fill my place and take even greater care of my friend. Lovely and sweet Elizabeth shall see to Victor and make him well again. I have wondered at the rightness of my involvement in a journey that has taken him away from she who can most bring him happiness, although I would not for anything have parted with his company these last months. Soon, Victor and Elizabeth shall start a new life together exactly as was his mother's wish. They will have a family and children of their own, and I will be glad to have not remained an old bachelor imposing on their familial happiness. Far better for me to complete my plans for India and see to my own life.

The end of our travels has come quickly. I have written Victor entreating him to give up his reclusive life in the Orkneys and join me here in Perth, for I must now return to London, and from there embark on a much larger journey still. It has come much sooner than I originally conjectured. The letter to Victor has only just been posted, but I have resolved that it would be best for me to go to the Orkneys to escort him back. I will at this moment send Victor yet another note to let him know of my plans to join him. No doubt he is sunk in one of his dark moods and needs me to tease and divert him out of his gloom. Once I am there, he will not so easily resist me. I will convince him to leave his solitary island that we might travel south together. He will see the sense of our
departure, particularly as we have so little time left that we might spend together before I depart for India.

This letter to you I shall send with Lyall Peacock, who has promised to post it for me in Edinburgh; he assures me it shall reach you all the sooner. Lyall professes that he shall miss my company so much that he abandons his house rather than be left alone on his estate. His sentiments touched me deeply and I feel myself most fortunate to have been blessed by such caring friends as I have.

Ever your affectionate son,

Henry

Mr. Clerval left early for his office the next morning, to return again after I had lunched. Only then did we take his coach to the Frankenstein castle. On the way, Mr. Clerval provided me with some of the history of the castle. The central section had been built in the thirteenth century by Baron von Frankenstein. The outer walls were formed from a hoary stone and built in the shape of an L, with the shorter portion being the ancient family stronghold which had become disused with the addition of the longer and more modern portion. Another wing had been added by later generations, but much of that had burned to the ground soon after being built.

Mr. Clerval helped me to understand that after the death of Alphonse Frankenstein's wife Caroline, the Frankenstein castle had not been maintained. Since the time Alphonse Frankenstein headed the family, much of the building had continued to fall into disrepair, providing further indication that its inhabitants had long been preoccupied with other matters. Mr. Clerval made the observation that if measures were not soon undertaken to reverse the damage, the main section of the Frankenstein castle would follow the fate of its ruined wings.

Over the low, heavy, linteled door was chiselled the date 1634, but Mr. Clerval reminded me that the beams and the stonework
in some of the home were much older. I was interested in the enormously thick walls and windows set with wrought iron even in the more modern portion of the building. The housekeeper answered our knock and held the door open for us to enter. As I passed into the house, I felt the intensity of her gaze upon my face. It was evident that although Mr. Clerval had never remarked at it, she noted a resemblance between me and a former resident of this house. Wordlessly, she led us through an antechamber and down the main halls to a large gallery, where she asked us to wait until she returned with Mr. Witte, Ernest Frankenstein's agent.

Daylight shone through the diamond-shaped windowpanes, casting ghostly trails across the polished surface of the floor. The room was furnished with heavy, dark pieces of furniture, many of which showed scratches and worn cushions, remnants from the time when the place had been fully occupied by the family. Perhaps with crackling fires in the grate and the usual sounds of human inhabitants busy with various daily occupations, the place would have appeared less desolate. Otherwise, the Frankenstein home gave every appearance of an empty shell, with all the warmth and hominess of an immense crypt. In my mind, I tried to envision what the rooms must have been like in the days when filled with family.

While we waited for Mr. Witte, I examined the room more closely. The ceilings were high and so made for an excellent picture gallery. There were many fine paintings and some drawings. There were family portraits that would perhaps little fix the attention of most visitors, but I felt a sort of connection, for in these paintings I saw faces whose features were not known to me, but with whose character and actions, and often even deaths, I had become most familiar.

First to gain my attention was the Frankenstein coat of arms, figured centrally in amongst a collection of portraits of the heads of the family. The design of the coat of arms was simple; a golden
lion stood in profile against a backdrop of majestic white mountains, all set against an ice blue sky. Each of the surrounding portraits had the coat of arms featured prominently. Alphonse Frankenstein depicted in his official attire as syndic held a prominent spot in this grouping. His face was long, with a high forehead accentuated by the meticulous styling of his fair hair that might have, on another man, implied an element of vanity. On Alphonse Frankenstein, this demonstrated a certain carefulness and attention to even the smallest detail. Everything about his appearance gave an indication of a person of a stern and serious character, while also giving evidence of the regard he held for his official roles and his prestigious family name.

On the adjoining wall, I identified the image I sought: a portrait of Victor Frankenstein. His image in the portrait was in every way as I might have imagined him. Like his father, his looks were distinctive and striking. His hair was darker than I imagined, but his dark eyes were piercing and his strong jaw set in a long, serious face were as I expected. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders that gave hint of musculature and athleticism. Thinking back to the portrait of Henry I had seen at the Clerval home, I could not help but note the strong physical contrast between Henry and Victor, and that the differences between these friends had not simply been in temperament alone. Victor Frankenstein's portrait showed an energy in his bearing which all the world might see, but also an underlying air of superiority that only a special observer could detect. His portrait demonstrated all the pride evident in his father. Interestingly, Victor had been depicted leading a horse, although never once in his conversations with Captain Walton did Victor ever ascribe to any particular interest in the equestrian.