The Monster's Wife(14)
The drawings, or diagrams, were unlike anything she had seen in the volumes of natural history that lined Hamish Yule’s walls. A man who stood with legs and arms spread wide, his belly cut open. A small child curled round on itself in a sack, tied at the belly with a cord. A dog whose wild, round eye gazed down at his own half-peeled face, the tongue lolling through its teeth. That last made Oona think of Toby, the trusting way he padded across the yard behind her when she hid the girl’s hand.
The doctor broke away from his whispered conversation with May, running his fingers through his messy hair as he walked to Oona. “The machines here are rudimentary, nothing like those I worked with in Ingolstadt, but I have reconstructed them with what May has been able to procure for me, from this house and the bounty of the island.” He smiled at May, nodding.
She pulled a rope that dangled by the side of the dust sheets. They began to part raggedly like the curtains of the puppet theatre in Hamnavoe and Oona had a feeling that their intended purpose was similarly dramatic. For some reason Frankenstein wanted to make his work more mysterious rather than less. A pretty housemaid added nicely to the effect.
“The most abstract inquiries can be made simple through the art of practical discovery, though one must be wary of letting experimental work become an obsession, an addiction. There are always dangers, to a man’s own soul, to the flesh itself. I often work here until the stars fuse with the dawn light.” He gestured theatrically to the ramshackle stage behind the curtains.
Upon it lay scenery that had clearly been assembled through theft. Oona recognised objects from the rubbish heap on Cormick’s beach, the manse and even Stuart’s boat: cogs and beams, harpoons and hooks that had been fashioned into great interlocking structures of glass tubes and beakers clutched by metal arms. Springs like those that hung from the broken clock were twisted together with fishing line, great lengths of which ran from the large glass pane in the centre of the ceiling to a great wooden crate in the middle of the room. A circular hatch was cut in the front of the crate, the door that hung open revealing only darkness. Oona looked at May, who stood rapt, staring at Frankenstein. She had never seen her so quietly obedient. She found it hard to imagine chatterbox May working here in the gloom with the mad scientist and his ‘machines’.
As if he sensed Oona’s unease, Frankenstein came towards her. “I’m sure you must be wondering what all this is in aid of,” he smiled roguishly. “Would you like me to explain all of this in layman’s terms? I’ve done as much for your friend.”
Oona avoided the grey-eyed gaze that made him seem so sure of himself. She looked at May again, feeling for the threads of lifelong understanding that ran between them.
May glared back a warning at her. She seemed blind to what was obvious to Oona: for all his easy charm, the doctor had brought trouble to the island. Perhaps he was being friendly to them both because he wanted some help up here in the big house. Or perhaps he desired to make them accomplices to whatever dark arts he was in the habit of practising. May had more to live for here and more to lose than the doctor. And Oona? Dead girl walking, she had nothing to lose.
She met the doctor’s eyes. She could see he was surprised at her pause and that his smile had faded a little.
“I want to know why our fishermen are hauling in catches of frogs. Can you explain that, Sir?” She didn’t look at May because she didn’t want to see her mouth fall open or the colour climb up her neck.
For the first time, Frankenstein frowned. Oona’s muscles tensed, poised to give as good as she got if he lost his temper with her like Dod had. It seemed to be the only way to deal with men like this and she was in the mood for it. Maybe if he hit her, May would see sense and leave before any of the others realised where they were or what they had done.
He put his hand to his face, stroked his dimpled chin upon which a new growth of golden-brown beard was just visible. “That was a terrible mistake. I brought those specimens with me and they were already ailing when they arrived. I tried to bring them back... to help. But they were decomposing when I began work on them. There was no bringing them back.”
“So it seems, Sir, that you asked two girls to dispose of them for you.”
He laughed nervously. “You are quite different from your friend...very...direct. I... It’s refreshing. I apologise if you think I am exploiting you in some way, if I have done damage. I think the storm played a role, did something I could not predict, brought back... unpleasant remains...”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that more than frog remains had washed up on the beach, but something told her to keep that detail to herself. The girl’s hand hidden in the coop could be her secret for now. In any case, she would not find out from whence it came by simply asking.
He smiled. “I am truly sorry if I’ve caused you trouble, either of you. But really, I’m glad you chanced to visit, because I could usefully employ a woman of your skill. You can read and write, I am told? Even a bit of Latin.”
Oona shrugged, surprised that May would have imparted details she so often teased Oona for.
“Most girls are delicate.” He looked over at May with a comic grimace. “Not you though, Fr?uline Oona, I can see. If I handed you a knife, you’d know what to do with it.”
“My Da is gone, Sir, and I’ve no brothers.” She was deadpan, dismissing the skill, even though part of her was secretly pleased to meet with his approval. “The men ask me to gut fish sometimes or butcher a hare, because I’m neat with a knife and nothing bothers me.”