Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(4)

“I’m finished,” Angelika defended herself. “Why does everyone think I am slow?”

“I’ve told ’em,” Helsaw gossiped to Mary. “There’s twenty waiting. Any minute, the night watch might come around. Pick, pay, and get out.” Against the wall, the queue of young men huffed in unison. “But there ain’t no rushing these two.”

“You don’t know how hard my life is,” Mary replied bitterly.

“We’re done,” Victor reassured her with a smile. “I bought you a fruit bun at market today, my dear Mary, and here is an extra shilling for your time, Helsaw.”

Overcome by sudden adoration, both beamed at him.

Turning back to his sister, and instantly devoid of charm, Victor began to move the blacksmith. “Come on, Jelly. Get his ankles.”

“I will pay you to carry for me.” Angelika tried to bribe Helsaw, but he turned away with a sniff. “What is the difference between my brother and me? We both pay well, just the same.”

“Does our heart good to see you lift a finger,” Mary said. “Get a little sweat on that pretty brow, my lady.” It seemed to be true for the entire waiting queue. They laughed and heckled, egged on by Mary, as Angelika helped to lug their first pick outside. She wouldn’t lower herself to respond and kept her eyes trained skyward. It was a full moon tonight, and there was something different in her favorite constellation.

“See, I’m telling you. There’s a new star.”

Victor didn’t even look up. “Scientifically unlikely.”

“I’ve been looking at that constellation since I was a child. I know what it is supposed to look like.”

Her brother shook his head. “Not now. One, two, three—” They hoisted the man into the cart. “Let’s go back for your dream man. We can’t forget him.”

Angelika wished again on the new star for luck. “I couldn’t forget this one if I tried.”





Chapter Two


The Frankenstein siblings worked most of the night, and the following day.

Angelika, skilled from years of needlepoint lessons, was able to make the tiny sutures that Victor insisted on. She remembered his joke in the morgue: Other women order lace and hat trimmings. Arteries were like the fine satin cord on a hat brim; muscle fascia was a textile suited to a cheap petticoat. Everything was silky with blood, but she was used to it. All night, all day, she sat in a seamstress pose, while the tailor watched over her shoulder, intolerant of one incorrect stitch.

Now her midday mutton stew was long digested, and the sunlight was fading from the room. She could not feel her thumbs. “I need to rest my hands.”

“With your project fully stitched and complete, and my own in a hundred pieces.” Victor gave her a mean look as he jumped up to grab the iron bar spanning the top of the door. Pulling his chin up to the bar with muscle-shuddering effort, he grunted: “Typical—Angelika.”

She wasn’t in the mood. “Look at all I’ve done, you ungrateful lout.”

Another chin-up. “You—sad—little—spinster.”

The locals said similar things to her turned back. Unmarried. Unwanted, unusual, ungodly. Her hurt must have showed, because Victor dangled and added on a heavy sigh, “Sorry. I’m tired, too.” He continued his chin-ups. Angelika knew he was expecting her to count his repetitions, but she never did.

“Nothing is stopping you from learning to sew, Vic.”

“I’ve—already—tried.” Many years ago, a handkerchief was ruined by his attempt, and his dots of blood. Victor had no tolerance for tasks that he wasn’t immediately excellent at. Dangling and huffing, he added, “Anyway, I don’t need to learn. I’ve got you. How many’s that?”

“Just ten more,” Angelika said cruelly, and picked at her cuticles as he performed many, many more of his groaning, trembling chin-ups. When he looked half-dead, she said, “Done.”

Victor dropped to the floor, and through gasps he said, “I can’t wait for Lizzie to see all my hard work.”

“I do hope you’re not referring to yourself.” Angelika grimaced.

“I’ve noticed that ladies like muscles. He could have posed for Michelangelo.” He gestured to Angelika’s project.

The siblings sat on windowsills near each other. Fresh air was vital. “How long will you rest?” The strain was evident in Victor’s voice as he leaned out to check the weather. “I can smell the storm. And they’re starting to smell worse, too.”

“I’ll just take five minutes,” she said, and her brother nodded, drinking from a flask of liquor. She put her hand out for it, sipped, and winced at the taste.

“You did such a good line of stitches there,” he admitted in grudging admiration, getting to his feet again to study the neckline of Angelika’s project. It was roughly as long as he ever sat still. “If he always wears his cravat, no one would know.”

“Thank you, he turned out nicely.” She looked at Victor’s workspace. His scientific hopes and dreams were currently facedown in a metal bowl. She took another sip from the flask and handed it back. “I’ll do yours as neat.”

“Mine only needs to be functional.” He produced an apple from his pocket, taking a huge bite. “Did you see your elegant stranger had a gold ring on? How Helsaw missed that, I have no idea. I took the hands for my project.” Angelika put out her flat palm. Victor flicked it.