The Frankenstein Murders (18 page)

Caught unawares as I had been, I replied with a question not as well formulated as I might have wished: what could he tell me of the monster?

“I can tell you only that of which I have direct knowledge. Victor Frankenstein appealed to me to help find a monster he claimed murdered Elizabeth Frankenstein. When Victor Frankenstein came to me, he behaved as one under the influence of a strong drug or one suffering from the effects of delirium. He kept repeating the same words over and over. He told me that it was his fault that his wife Elizabeth had been murdered and that we had to catch his wife's murderer,”, the magistrate stated. “I did not really believe Frankenstein's story, however, I did promise to find the villain. No monster, nor evidence in support of this theory was found, and so the
matter was left unsolved. It was much easier to believe the crime to have been committed by someone in search of valuables.”

As he spoke, the magistrate's eyes did not rest. He constantly monitored our surroundings as if at any time he expected someone or something to emerge from the growing shadows of the graveyard.

I demanded to know if he had any other cases of people murdered in the manner of Elizabeth Frankenstein.

“There is nothing more I can tell you. Perhaps you will gain something from reading this. If, however, you want your life to remain untroubled, take what it says as fact. Leave here and never return,”, the magistrate said, ignoring my question, and handing me an article from a paper. “Do not judge me. Alphonse Frankenstein was a powerful man not to be thwarted.”

When a rat scurried across the stones of the path, the magistrate was startled and began to tremble to such a degree that I worried he was in fact succumbing to some sort of apoplectic fit. I was, in turn, affected by the man's fear to such a degree that for a moment I could have believed that something furtive, spectral, cadaverous, preternaturally swift, and strong would arise from behind one of the stone monuments. A diversion from these unhealthy and unproductive thoughts came from the magistrate, who thrust towards me another, thicker, folded piece of paper that he had pulled from yet another pocket of his coat. Unfolding the sheet revealed a series of sketches of a man's head in profile. Each profile showed the next stage in decomposition, with the eye becoming more sunken and the flesh darker. Not only was I certain of whose hand had crafted these images, but also the identity of the man in profile: Henry Clerval. Before I could even utter one word in response, the magistrate thrust his hands out before him as if to ward off a blow.

“You will have to be content with what I have given you. I will leave you now. Please do not follow me or look for me after I am gone.” His thin legs bore him away before I could stop him, and only the remembrance of the imploring look in his eyes as he spoke stopped me
from running after the figure that had appeared and disappeared so furtively among the gravestones.

With a long and deep breath, I diverted my attention elsewhere. Looking towards the mountains momentarily captivated me: the beauty and magnificence and menace — for the Frankenstein family, a very real menace came from the mountains. The words of the magistrate still filled my head, yet did little to aid my endeavours to envision that which Victor Frankenstein claimed to have created. The monster, alone from his birth, taught himself the way of the world, and learned language by listening to others. Abandoned by his maker, the monster fled from Ingolstadt and lived for a while in a hovel near the DeLacey cabin and did good deeds for them without their knowing. The monster spoke with the father, who was not repulsed by him, because the old man was blind. When Felix saw the monster, he chased it away. The monster was heartbroken, particularly when Felix, Safie, Agatha, and the father all fled their farm. Soon after that, the monster saved a woman from drowning, but was shot by someone who believed him to be harming her. It was then that the monster decided to hate mankind and extract revenge on the one who had made and then abandoned him. This is the point in the story where Victor Frankenstein's creature truly becomes a monster, for up to that part only the creature's birth and appearance were monstrous.

After leaving Germany, the monster headed to Geneva, passing the splendid mountain, Jura, and eventually ended up at Plainpalais, where he met William Frankenstein, his maker's youngest brother. The monster then strangled William in a fit of anger — the first murder. How could William, but a child, have defended himself from a monster capable of scaling Mt. Saleve as easily as I would mount a set of stairs? In addition, there remains the interesting coincidence that Victor's creature should stumble across William, and the fact that the creature knew that in Geneva it would find Victor. To my mind, it seems an unlikely coincidence at best.

All this I had learned from Victor Frankenstein as transcribed in Robert Walton's journals, and yet it told me none of the details I needed in order to know who or what the monster truly was. Looking down at Victor's sketches of Henry Clerval's decomposition, I supposed that it would not be any wonder that a mind such as Victor Frankenstein's devised anything other than the monstrous. The magistrate's description of Victor as distraught and out of his mind with worry hinted at much more. The only pity is that the magistrate was too distraught himself to speak with me more.

Then the monster waited in the mountains for Frankenstein, from whom he begged a monstrous partner. According to Victor, it was at that moment that the evil, latent within the creature, emerged fully. Victor acquiesced to the monster's vile threats, which ultimately led to Victor and Henry's trip to England and Scotland, and ultimately Henry Clerval's murder.

The magistrate's nervousness had affected me, and I had not completely rid myself of the irrational feeling of being watched. The day had grown damp and chill, the sky dark and dull, warning of an imminent rainstorm. I resolved to take my meals in my room when I returned to the Clerval home, where I might consider the papers the magistrate had given to me without fear of interruption.

What should have been a day of celebration and nuptial blessing instead became one of tragedy and sorrow. After his return from a lengthy trip abroad, Victor Frankenstein, the son of esteemed syndic Alphonse Frankenstein, and Elizabeth Lavenza were married.

Upon the completion of the wedding ceremony, a large party assembled at the Frankenstein castle. From there, the newly married couple commenced their journey to Italy, stopping for the night in Evian. The day was fair, the wind favourable, and all smiled on their nuptial embarkation. They landed in Evian at eight o'clock, whereupon they strolled for a while along the shore, before retiring for the evening at the Lakeside Inn. They had been given the best rooms, one that overlooked both the water and the mountains. The weather altered dramatically and a sudden rainstorm descended, churning up the water that had been placid after the setting of the sun.

The innkeeper described Victor Frankenstein as anxious and watchful, and noted how the young man carried both a pistol and a dagger upon his person. Upon his urging, his wife, Elizabeth Frankenstein, retired to their room, while he walked up and down the passages of the inn, inspecting every corner.

Suddenly, a shrill and dreadful scream was heard throughout the inn, and it was determined that the scream
came from the rooms occupied by the Frankensteins. Before the innkeeper could reach the room, the scream was heard again. When the innkeeper entered the room, Mrs. Frankenstein's body lay lifeless across the bed, her head hanging down and her face covered by her hair. Mr. Frankenstein lay equally lifeless on the floor, but gradually he revived and was able to stand. He looked out the window and, to the innkeeper's astonishment, pulled out his pistol and shot at the windows.

Mr. Victor Frankenstein explained to the group now assembling that he had seen the murderer outside the window, and that this murderer was escaping to the lake and that they must all of them follow and catch the villain. The men went to the spot by the river where Mr. Victor Frankenstein had seen the murderer disappear into the lake. Boats were launched and nets were cast, but no murderer was caught. After landing, the group attempted to search the country and woods, but Mr. Victor Frankenstein could not join them as he had collapsed with exhaustion. Later, Mr. Victor Frankenstein was able to make it back to the room where the corpse of his new bride lay.

Mr. Victor Frankenstein left Evian and returned to Geneva where he was certain the murderer had gone to kill his father and brother. There were no horses to be procured as was Mr. Victor Frankenstein's preference, and so he was forced to travel by boat, although the rain had not let up. The murderer was not apprehended.

My last stop before Ingolstadt was the Lakeview Inn, where Victor Frankenstein and his bride Elizabeth were to have spent their honeymoon, and where she was murdered. Although Victor had been warned by the monster that it would be with him on his wedding night, he paid no heed and married Elizabeth. Why would he seal her doom? What could have been his state of mind? Had he convinced himself that with only a pistol he could defend her against the monster? Why would he leave her alone when he knew of what the monster was capable? Only too well would Victor have known its ability to travel great distances, suffer great hardship, and also of its immense strength.

Why then did Victor not take greater precautions to protect Elizabeth and himself from what he knew better than anyone was a great threat to their very lives? He armed himself, but could he not have had guards, or have chosen a place to stay with greater fortification? Perhaps this kind of behaviour would have brought on unwanted attention and caused people to ask embarrassing questions — questions Victor was not prepared to address. Was it because the answers would ultimately point an accusing finger at Victor himself?

If the creature truly were possessed of superhuman strength, could it have been deterred by a lone man armed only with a pistol and a blade? According to Victor, the monster himself spoke of being shot, and yet he walked away from it, injured, yet not mortally. If the
murderer were not in fact a monster, but a human, then the pistol would have been effective. This may be an inadvertent indication of the truly human nature of the monster.

Not only were both the innkeeper and his wife available when I called upon them, but both were quite willing to speak with me. Their friendliness and openness diminished noticeably when I asked about Victor Frankenstein. They did, however, take me — she in the lead and he following behind me — to the very room in which the ill-fated newlyweds had stayed so briefly and so tragically.

When Victor and Elizabeth came to the Lakeview Inn, the innkeeper and his wife had not long before that taken over the establishment. Since that time, much of the rest of the inn had been painted and decorated. The great pride which they took in their inn was evident in the bearing of the man and his wife. Indeed, the whole establishment was extremely well-kept, right down to the floors that had been polished to a shine.

“This is the room in which the Frankensteins stayed. It is much the same as the night of the murder,” the innkeeper told me in a hushed whisper, as if he feared being overheard. He pushed open the door that I might enter, yet did not enter himself. Even after I had stepped into the room, the innkeeper chose to remain in the hallway, glancing only furtively at the chamber. His wife on the other hand was not so inclined and stepped past him. Placing her hands on her hips, she scrutinized every corner of the room as if daring something to be out of place.

“He spent little or no time in the wedding chamber, abandoning his new wife almost immediately,” the wife stated bluntly, returning her husband's worried look with a defiant glare. Her outburst went against their previous descriptions of the evening's events, which otherwise had matched closely those accounts given by both Victor and the newspaper.

“Victor Frankenstein spent the evening walking the halls, carrying a weapon at all times as he believed they were in danger,” I prompted,
looking only at the wife. “Victor fired out the window at a figure he had seen.”

“Weapon,” the wife scoffed, even as her husband showed increasing signs of agitation. “He carried no pistol or knife, nor any such thing. No shot was fired and no window broken. That is the very same window that was there the night that poor young lady was strangled.”

Turning my attention to the window, I could find no physical indication of any part of it ever having been broken. In fact, the windowpanes were so clear as to give the impression of not being there at all, thus giving an unencumbered view of the trees outside. At night, these well-tended windows would appear as still and reflective as dark pools of water.

“Mr. Frankenstein was in a fit. He shouted at us that he had seen his wife's murderer and that we must go after him,” the husband said, swallowing convulsively with most every word he spoke. “Mr. Frankenstein convinced others to follow, but he collapsed soon after starting. We had to carry him to bed.”

“And now the room is cursed. Many of our guests refuse to consider staying in it, not for any price, not even when the inn is full, the weather is bad, and it is very late,” the wife complained.

“Some who have stayed overnight claim to have seen a monstrous face at the window looking in,” the husband said, his voice one again growing much quieter, as if he feared that the monster might overhear him.