Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(38)
Angelika thought about Will. He was quick and dry, ready to assist with servants’ tasks, and she could imagine him holding court at a table of amused diners. She scanned the room again for any paintings of Henry Hoggett. There was no locket at Clara’s throat. “And was he a tall, imposing man? Or short and stocky? Fair or dark? I wish to picture him.”
“Unusually handsome,” Clara said with feeling. “His coloring was striking. Wouldn’t you agree, Commander? I’m sure it’s what you noticed first about him.”
Christopher nodded. “A fine fellow in every possible way. The church service was a very fitting tribute, do you agree? Father Porter paid great homage to his accomplishments, and I feel I knew him well now.”
A shadow crossed Clara’s expression. “It was fine indeed.”
Angelika replied without thinking: “But you do not mean that.”
Clara looked up, surprised to have been so easily read. “I wasn’t able to say goodbye to Henry in the way I’d hoped.” She took a minute to gather herself before she continued. “I’d asked Father Porter for a quiet moment before the proceedings, but he would not allow the casket to be opened. I begged, and got quite upset.” She licked her lips nervously. “He said I wouldn’t want to see.”
It sounded like Father Porter did not have a body in that coffin at all.
Beside her, Christopher shifted in his seat. “Perhaps he was right—” he began, but was cut off.
“He was wrong.” Clara’s eyes were blazing. “Now I have to imagine what my Henry had suffered, and believe me, my imagination is supplying things that have me awake at night. I would have seen for myself and known, and kissed his cheek one last time, if it were not for Father Porter.”
Angelika had once grandly declared to Will that his wife had not loved him, because she had not tried to bring him back. But she knew now that she was deeply wrong to dismiss the depths of another’s love.
She leaned forward and clasped Clara’s hand. “I wouldn’t have been so polite as you. I would have pushed him aside.” She made a mental note to visit the church to find out what kind of body-selling scam the good father was involved in. Her part in the trade now made her feel ill.
“I was hardly polite,” Clara admitted. “He accused me of being hysterical. I do not know if I am welcome back.”
Christopher said, “I saw Henry after the accident, Clara. He looked like he was merely sleeping. Not a mark upon his face.”
This comforted her significantly, and Clara patted Angelika’s hand before releasing it. She was exhausted by her outburst. “Father Porter also promised to call on me, but has not. No one has, except you both.”
Angelika’s lip curled with dislike. “Unless you have a gold coin in your purse for their collection dish, you are soon forgotten and left to your grief. I know that firsthand.”
Clara’s bleary eyes refocused on Angelika. “I’m not sure why you have been so gracious, considering we have never met?”
It was a good question, and Angelika reflexively thought of Will. Not of his personal mystery, but the words he had said to her: I have faith in you.
“I realized that I should be doing more good in our village, as my mother did. And whilst a basket is barely anything, I thought I should try to make you feel like you are not alone. I have been struck by unexpected loss myself and have felt alone many years, living up on the hill. It isn’t nice. I don’t wish for anyone to feel that way.” Angelika was surprised by how easily this speech came; more so that she meant every word. “If you have need of a new friend, I volunteer myself.”
“I am grateful,” Clara said through fresh tears. “I haven’t a single soul.”
“You do now.”
Christopher was ashamed. “I’m sorry it has taken me this long to visit. And as I said, Clara, you are able to stay here as long as you need; we are in no rush.”
This comment put a great deal of worry into Clara’s eyes now, but they were interrupted by a high-pitched squeal and then some wailing. “He’s awake.” Clara’s eyes were on the door. “I’ll go fetch him. He’s the absolute image of dear Henry. It will be like meeting his father, in a way.”
Angelika pictured Will’s beautiful dark eyes, the copper glints in his dark brown hair, and wondered—would he put his stamp upon his progeny? She felt sure he would, and she braced herself for the pain she felt looming.
Christopher took advantage of Clara’s absence and turned to Angelika. “Would you like to attend the tavern with me for a glass before we ride homeward? I promise, it is quite respectable.”
Angelika felt a flip of energy in her stomach when he looked into her eyes, even as she felt guilty at the memory of Will behind at home, anxiously awaiting the news. But she had always wanted to go to the tavern, and life didn’t hold many chances for it. And frankly, if this baby was proof of Will’s former life, she’d want to drink every bottle they had.
She had no sooner said, “I should like that,” when the door opened and Clara came through, holding a tear-stained baby.
Without ceremony, she handed the baby to Angelika. “This is Edwin.”
“Exactly like his father,” Christopher remarked, his eyes crinkling as a stunned Angelika took the infant in her arms. “Even has the same bright red hair.”