Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(79)
Angelika had to shout to get through to him. “We know nothing until we have proof.”
He shouted back, “How? Angelika, how?”
“Go into that door and lock it behind you. Search the office as quickly as you can for anything bearing the name of Father Northcott. Files or letters. They may be locked in a drawer.”
She felt in Father Porter’s pockets, found a ring of keys, and tossed them up to Will. His hands did not grasp properly, and the way they landed in the grass reminded her of Victor’s wretched man, dropping the apple. She passed the keys back up, and compressed the feeling she had in her gut. “Will, go right now.”
Will backed away from the scene and managed to get inside before the aide from the front path sprinted up.
“What happened?”
She was truthful when she replied, “He looked like he saw a ghost.”
*
“So, let me get this straight,” Victor said, grinning. “You went to arrange my wedding but almost killed the priest? Typical Angelika.”
The members of the Frankenstein Secret Society had reconvened in the library of the manor that same evening. They were eating bowls of stew off their laps, dipping into it with crusty bread. Christopher was the only one who looked somewhat elegant doing it and showed no signs of having ridden in a forest full of spiderwebs for ten hours.
Victor, on the other hand, most certainly did.
Christopher was subdued and apologetic to have come home without his quarry and kept heaving sighs as he stared into the fire. It wasn’t his fault. He had no idea that he was essentially hunting a huge forest sprite.
Angelika addressed her brother haughtily. “Father Porter is ninety. A strong gust of wind could have killed him. And as a matter of fact, I saved him. He swooned into my arms like a lady.” She was lying on her back in front of the fire, with her bowl scraped clean and Edwin sitting astride her stomach. She bounced him up and down. “I caught that nasty old man, didn’t I, Winnie? Didn’t I catch that old bag of bones?”
Edwin let out a belly laugh.
Will leveled a flat look at Victor. “Typical brave, generous Angelika, cool under pressure, and saving people left and right.” It was a comment designed to defend her, but it also made Clara drop her gaze back to her stew.
“Sowwy, Jelly,” Victor said with his mouth full.
“Do you know why he fainted?” Lizzie asked. She was sitting on the floor, leaning on Victor’s leg, and patted the rug to get Edwin to crawl to her. He headed in her direction with cheerful determination. A competition was brewing between the two women. Lizzie looked up frequently to see Victor’s reaction to the little boy; he was too busy stuffing himself with stew to notice.
Hopeless, Angelika sighed to herself. To Lizzie, she replied, “He fainted almost certainly because he is ninety. He was roused after a few minutes, so we felt sure he would recover.” The moment his eyelids had fluttered, she’d left him in the arms of his aide, rushing to find a frazzled Will pacing near the horses.
Clara was happy to share her son and sat with her feet tucked underneath herself. Sitting beside Christopher, she looked like his relaxed wife, and a rather pretty one at that. It was amazing what a bath, and an afternoon nap, could achieve. It was the second time Angelika had noticed they looked like a well-matched pair. She stared at the distance on the chaise between them, and calculated the width of her own behind.
Angelika continued. “I have also considered the possibility that he grew light-headed from trying to wheedle some new marble from the Frankensteins.”
Victor was scornful. “Marble? What does he want with that?”
“He’d like white marble for the altar, to give it a fresh new look. And his Italian artist friend needs to come for a working holiday, to touch up Christ’s eyeballs.” The word artist inspired Angelika to reach over to the bookcase for a blank journal. Wordlessly, she passed it up to Clara, Lizzie passed her a pencil, and after a minute, the young widow took the hint, and began to sketch.
“He can keep dreaming,” Victor said. “If he says it’s a choice between marrying there or not at all, I’m sorry, Lizzie, but we’re having a bastard.”
She did not laugh, and the entire room went silent.
“What grand adventures you have had today, Angelika,” Clara said to break the tension after processing that statement. “Tell me again what you told Mrs. Winchester. The part with the penny.”
Angelika grinned up from the carpet and mimed flipping a coin. “‘Invest in a new attitude.’ I forgot to tell you this part: at the same moment, Percy grunted out some dung on her doorstep. It was the best moment of my entire life.”
“What a frightfully good line,” Lizzie said, writing in her IDEAS FOR PLAYS notebook. “I’m stealing it.”
“I’m happy to be a muse.” Angelika patted the floor and Edwin came scuttling back, quick as a crab, his blue eyes bright.
She was wrong. This was the very best moment of her entire life.
She was surrounded by her friends, full of good food, warm from the fire, and a baby was pulling her hair. Sitting in the church pew today had reminded her to notice every moment with those she loved, no matter how mundane.
She looked up at Will. He was withdrawn and rattled by the day’s events, but oh, to witness the firelight in those eyes was an honor. The entire moment was unforgettable. If only Victor would start to think this way. He was blithely unaware of Edwin’s presence, and equally unaware of how much it must hurt Lizzie.