Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(62)

Christopher put his teacup on the table. In a quiet voice that would inspire a weary soldier to take one final charge, he urged:

“Kiss me.”





Chapter Twenty-One


It was remarkable how some words hung in the air longer than others. These two—kiss me—hung like a puff of pink smoke, and Will and Clara walked right through it. In this quiet house, Christopher’s voice would have definitely carried.

“I was just hoping for an opinion,” Clara said faintly, bouncing Edwin higher on her hip.

Christopher did not attempt to wave away the lingering moment. He sat there, marvelous legs splayed out, and stared back at Will. The air seemed to leak out of the room. Edwin chortled at everyone’s discomfort.

“Just hoping for an opinion on my sketch,” Clara tried again, fainter yet. It was her embarrassment that knocked Christopher back into himself. He made a visible effort to concentrate, and addressed her with warmth.

“It’s ready? That barely took you a minute. Grand. Let’s see it, then.”

“You told me to keep it simple.” Clara gestured backward. “I left it on the easel, in case you think it is not a good likeness.”

The four (plus Edwin) went back to the library to look at Clara’s efforts.

“It’s beautiful,” Angelika told her honestly, and with a lot of relief. “You have drawn him well. I’m sure eyes are not easy, but you have got him exactly right.” There was something she didn’t like about it. The sketch of Will had a haunted quality; a tension to the jaw and in the direct stare. “I’d much rather a happier portrait, though,” Angelika added. “If I could ask you to sit a second time for Clara, that would be grand.”

“She has depicted my stress levels accurately,” Will said with a hand in his hair.

“Should we talk outside?” Christopher asked him in a polite threat.

Angelika sighed. “Stop it, both of you. You forgot to sign it,” she said to Clara. “Artists always sign their work.”

Clara inscribed CH at the bottom of the piece.

“I will be meeting the local magistrate tomorrow morning,” Christopher said, rolling up the drawing and inserting it into a leather portrait case. “I will send a message afterward to let you know what the outcome was.”

“Can I have it back when you are finished with it?” Angelika asked.

“No,” Christopher told her evenly. “Clara, would you and Edwin like to come back in my carriage?”

“I think that would be wonderful,” Clara said, grabbing up her belongings, clearly wanting a speedy exit. Angelika watched the men walk on ahead, and relaxed a fraction as they began what looked like a civil conversation.

“I should like to pay you for your work,” Angelika told Clara as they walked through the house.

Clara was surprised, and offended. “I thought I was an equal part of the secret society.”

“You are, and you have performed an integral part. I want you to be compensated as my valued consultant.”

“I don’t like feeling like one of your staff.”

Angelika had anticipated this argument. “Men are always paid for their work and talents; it is important to me that women are, too. Edwin demands that you say yes. The things he likes best in the world cost money.”

“His favorite toy is a pine cone.”

Out of her pocket, Angelika took the folded envelope she had prepared earlier, with ten pounds inside and sealed with the family crest in wax. She made Clara take it. “Just open it later, and feel happy that you are so very talented. You have earned this by doing something none of us could achieve. I am hereby requesting a further commission, in oils, and I will pay ten times what is here.”

Clara very nearly said no. But then Edwin chirped and reached for the envelope, causing them both to laugh. “I never expected a thing. I was happy to just feel included in something. Thank you.” She hesitated. “Who would the oil painting be of?”

Without thought, Angelika replied, “Will, of course.”

Clara was rightfully puzzled. “I thought you hadn’t decided upon him.”

“I shall let the winner fight his way into the gilt frame in my bedroom.” Angelika slowed her step, forcing Clara to dawdle with her. “Who loves me best, do you think?”

“Edwin,” Clara deadpanned, unwilling to give her the satisfaction.

Angelika grinned at that. “And I’m mad for him in return. Did you find new lodgings? I am sewing a few more pieces for my little beau, and I will personally deliver them to you.”

“That’s kind, thank you ever so much. He’s growing at a cracking pace.” Clara reluctantly tucked the money away. “And this will help the house-hunting cause. I may have to go back to my hometown. Here, the properties are of two qualities: pigpen or manor house. The village is no longer a safe place, either. Would you believe the women are afraid to go out past sunset? They say there is a monster in the trees.” Clara hesitated, and then added, “But I feel like you already know about that.”

This was why Victor kept them isolated for so long. The more people coming into this house, the greater the chance of exposure. Just as Angelika began to panic, Clara added, “I was making a joke. You and Victor lead such adventurous lives.”