Dr. Frankenstein's Daughters (2 page)

FROM THE DIARY OF
GISELLE VON DER WIEN

June 7, 1815

What an exhausting journey this has been and how relieved I am that it is finally coming to an end. Let my foolish, ignorant decisions stay back in the past, where they belong. There is no returning to Ingolstadt now that I have made my decision regarding our father’s inheritance and angered our grandfather so greatly. My humiliating behavior over Johann can now be buried forever under the ground of this new life. Daunting as this new venture may be, it is better to forget and be happy.

Soon I will see Ingrid again and meet this mysterious Baron Frankenstein on the isle of Gairsay in Orkney. I am dying to view
the castle that has fallen to us by way of our inheritance from our enigmatic father.

This morning when I arrived in Kirkwall, the largest city in the biggest of the island chain, I was eager to continue on to the much less inhabited island of Gairsay, where Castle Frankenstein is located, but was informed that the sea was too wild to afford a safe crossing. And so, I had to wait until late in the afternoon today.

The captain of the small skiff I hired for the crossing is a man in his fifties named Captain Ramsay. He speaks little. His weather-beaten visage looks like it has never smiled and disapproves of all it sees.

Thankfully I have you, Diary, to write in, otherwise I would now be face-to-face with this taciturn captain as he steers this two-sailed craft, laden with the supplies he is bringing to the island. I am his only passenger.

This long journey has been an adventure in itself, as a female traveling alone attracts every sort of attention. I have learned to keep my head down, my eyes averted, and the brim of my bonnet decidedly forward so as not to make contact with strange men. A mere glance can invite all manner of unwanted conversation. I am grateful that I am nearing my destination and will once again be with my sister.

I don’t like the way this man, the captain, keeps looking at me. Perhaps I was foolish to get into a boat with a man I don’t know,
but he had a for-hire sign up and it seemed reputable enough. I’m probably worrying over nothing and will not look at him. I will occupy myself with my writing.

As we sail past the small islands I see that the landscape here is largely untamed, with high rocky cliffs overlooking crashing shores and green fields dotted with thatched cottages. I am over-heated in my long navy-blue high-waisted coat and gray fur hat. My hand muff sits at my side. I assumed a chain of islands north of Scotland and not far from Scandinavia would be cold, even though it is spring, but I was wrong; we are treated to a balmy breeze, which I am told is thanks to the largess of the Gulf Stream. The weather is unusually temperate. In fact, I will break my writing here to divest myself of these heavy garments.

June 7 (continued)

I am back, feeling much better with only my Indian-design shawl over my brocade dress. My bonnet became impossible to keep on in the misty ocean spray and wind. My hair is fast coming undone, but I don’t mind. In fact, this coming apart makes me feel newly set free from my old, mundane life back in Germany. I am ready to embark on a new journey.

Grandfather has always been grumpy, but he was becoming increasingly oppressive as my longing for independence grew by
the day. It is difficult to say if it was his advancing years or my own growing maturity that was causing the trouble. At every turn, he blocked my desire to enter adult society, despite the fact that I will be seventeen in two weeks’ time. He was especially obstructive in anything that had to do with Johann, as though he felt it his duty to protect me from my own heart’s desire.

Its own foolish, foolish desire.

I still blush to recall the evening when I encountered him on the street and confessed my love to him … only to be rebuffed. He told me it was a childish fancy, although he is only eighteen to my sixteen. I have never felt so humiliated!

I loved him with my heart and soul. And he rejected them both — heart and soul. With just a few harsh words, he bled them from me, leaving a shell of a girl.

I can never face him again. Had he accepted my heart and soul, had he entwined his future with mine, I never would have left. But as soon as that part of me died — killed with the very weapon I’d handed to him — I knew I had to leave at once. And that, Diary, is why I left, under the cover of darkness, to meet Ingrid and Baron Frankenstein. It is so fortunate that this unexpected inheritance has given me a reason to leave Ingolstadt, otherwise my shame and hurt would have made my life there unbearable.

How I wish I could purge Johann from my heart, and more urgently from my mind, for he plays there endlessly, laughing in
my face. I have run all this way to be free of my foolish love for a boy who never paid attention to me. Here in Gairsay I hope I can wipe the memory of him clean.

We have just entered Millburn Bay, and the rather small Gairsay Harbor has now come into view. I see no town, only a few wooden harbor buildings and one main dock.

I am too excited to write any longer and must tuck you, Dear Diary, away in my bag as I prepare to disembark. I’m anxiously awaiting a sight of Ingrid and Baron Frankenstein….

FROM THE JOURNAL OF
INGRID VON DER WIEN

June 7, 1815

The wind is so wild here! It blows and blows and blows. Everything is flying around, always! The sound of it has gotten into my head and almost stops me from thinking. I hope I get used to it, otherwise I don’t know how I will survive living on this island. And I’ve only been here several hours.

It was nearly five in the late afternoon when a small two-sailed boat entered Millburn Bay, its sails filled. Uncle Ernest (I have come to refer to Baron Frankenstein as “uncle” as he has asked me to) and I were sitting on a bench at the end of the long dock. The tails of his coat beat against the bench like a flag rapping its pole
in a hard breeze. For me, just keeping hold of my black, brimmed bonnet was a challenge.

Standing, I shaded my eyes from the still bright sun, since my hat was not wide enough to do the job. “She’s here!” I cried.

“Good God! Your sister is a great beauty,” Uncle Ernest noted as Giselle waved from the bow. Men, old and young alike, are often transfixed by their first view of Giselle’s startling looks.

“And you are identical twins, you say?” he asked, looking at me critically.

It wasn’t the first time someone had noted how different Giselle and I are in personal style. And it is never to my advantage. Where we both have the same abundant, nearly black curls, hers are piled high on her head with delicate coils at her forehead. I wear mine more simply, swept back in a braid, plaited from the upper quadrant of my skull, falling down my back.

We couldn’t be more different in our manner of dress either. Giselle adores rich fabrics, stylish empire-waist dresses, and fashionable feather-trimmed bonnets, while a simple smock over a comfortable skirt and top are fine by me. (Whenever I can get by without a hat, I avoid one altogether.)

“Yes, we are exactly identical, biologically,” I confirmed as Giselle approached. Having abandoned her luggage on the dock, she held her feathered bonnet in her hand, her dark hair uncharacteristically disheveled from the wind. “But we are entirely
different in personality and presentation. You’ll have no difficulty telling us apart.”

Uncle Ernest nodded. “You are the inquisitive one,” he said. Reaching over, he squeezed my shoulder consolingly, as if sympathizing with my plight as the less attractive sister. “You are lovely too, in your own way.”

“It’s fine,” I assured him. “Giselle is wonderful. We are very close.”

“Of course you are,” Uncle Ernest replied.

How happy I was to see my twin! We embraced, both of us delighted that the long months of separation were over at last. When one is a twin, it is more than merely having a sibling. Other sisters might be affectionate but they can never know the feeling of being one with another human that twins enjoy.

Giselle pulled back from my arms to scrutinize me. “Italy has agreed with you,” she pronounced. “All that wonderful Italian cooking has filled out your figure beautifully!”

This made me terribly self-conscious. “The food was divine, but I ate too much of it!” I confessed.

“Nonsense! You were too bony before, but now you can fit into some of the gorgeous dresses I bought while I waited for my connecting train in Paris. They’re crammed into my luggage and no doubt need a good pressing, but how could I resist? It was Paris, after all!”

“Of course! You could not be expected to resist.”

“Did you see the art in Italy?” Giselle wanted to know.

“Not very much of it, sadly. Count Volta kept me much too busy for trips to museums.”

“What a loss,” Giselle mourned. “If I had gone to Italy, it would have been the first thing I did. To have been in the land of Michelangelo and da Vinci … Caravaggio … and not seen —”

Baron Frankenstein coughed to get our attention.

“This is our uncle, Ernest Frankenstein,” I said, embarrassed that I had forgotten he was there.

Uncle Ernest bowed formally. “At your service.”

Giselle extended her hand and Uncle Ernest kissed it gallantly. “How wonderful to meet you!” Giselle said. “Do you resemble our father?”

“There is some resemblance, yes,” Uncle Ernest admitted.

I know this will sound strange, but I am still getting used to the idea of having a father. There are so many questions I have!

For Giselle, however, the questions moved quickly to the next topic. “How soon can we arrive at the castle?” she asked.

“It is not a long way,” Uncle Ernest assured her.

“No coach?” Giselle inquired, her dark arched brows lifting quizzically. She searched the area for a carriage we might hire.

Uncle Ernest indicated a roughly dressed farmer several yards farther off who wielded a pitchfork as he tossed hay onto the back
of his horse-drawn cart. “We might engage that fellow for a ride, if you would prefer,” Uncle Ernest offered.

Giselle wrinkled her delicate nose in distaste. “Where would we sit?”

“In the back,” Uncle Ernest replied.

“Too itchy,” Giselle decided, shaking her head.

“Perhaps he can bring our luggage to the castle.” Uncle Ernest left us and approached the farmer.

While he was off negotiating, I hugged Giselle once more. “Have you seen the castle yet?” she asked eagerly.

“No. We only arrived a half hour before you did. We stayed here at the harbor to await you. How was your journey?”

Before she could answer, Giselle was seized with a fit of violent coughing. She buckled forward, turning red. I became worried by the intensity of the attack.

“Are you ill?” I asked.

“I am exhausted and can’t get rid of this cough,” she confided when she finally stopped.

“Poor dear,” I said. “You can rest now. You have a whole castle in which to recover!”

This seemed to lift her spirits somewhat. “I can’t wait to see it,” she said.

As she spoke, I glanced to Uncle Ernest and saw that the farmer
was shaking his head. For his part, Uncle Ernest had taken out his wallet and was proffering more and more coins.

“The man doesn’t want to take us,” I observed.

Giselle sighed unhappily. “I packed only what I needed, but I can’t drag my bags all the way up there.”

When Uncle Ernest returned we questioned him about what had happened. “Did he refuse to take our bags?” I asked.

“He was unwilling at first, but I finally offered him more money than he could stand to refuse.”

“Why was he unwilling?” Giselle pressed.

“I’m sure that it’s no matter for concern,” Uncle Ernest assured us. “The man tells me that the people of this island think the castle is a fearful place. At least that’s what I think he said. Though I spent many summers on this island when I was young, I have not been here for some time, and the heavy dialect spoken by the people confuses me. He might have said it was a sinful place. I do not recall the locals having such a fear when I was a boy. Now they seem to think some evil surrounds the castle.”

Giselle and I exchanged a quick, worried glance. “Why would they think that?” I asked.

There was an anxious flicker in Uncle Ernest’s gray eyes that belied the confidence of his words. “It hasn’t been inhabited in a long time, and these are superstitious people.”

“How long has it been empty?” Giselle inquired.

“Your father was the last of the Frankenstein family to stay there, and then only briefly. It was back in seventeen ninety-eight, I believe. The farmer says they have seen lights on in the place, especially during the long dark days of winter, when they experience only six hours of sunlight here. But no one ever comes or goes from the castle.”

“Six hours of sunlight!” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“We’re not that far from Scandinavia and the Arctic Circle,” Uncle Ernest explained. “It’s spring, so now the hours of daylight will grow long. By the summer solstice, the sun will shine for up to eighteen hours.”

“What’s that like?” I asked.

“Those were happy times. Victor and I spent our summers here, running free. The long days only added to our fun.”

I placed a kindly hand on his arm. “Do you miss him?”

“Victor was never dull,” Uncle Ernest replied. I thought his answer evasive but it satisfied Giselle, who smiled and nodded. “Come!” Uncle Ernest said decisively. “This island is small. Our walk will be brief.”

We began to hike up a winding country road. I enjoyed the constant crash of surf interlaced with the squawk of seabirds. Low rock walls lined our path on either side. Beyond them were rolling fields upon which sheep and goats grazed contentedly. There were breeze-rippled carpets of verdant green with only occasional
patches of brown. Heather was scattered everywhere, as though some giant being had tossed it carelessly across the landscape.

A warm, humid breeze made my braid dance behind me and ruffled what was left of Giselle’s elegant hairstyle. Uncle Ernest took off his hat to keep it from blowing away.

The path grew narrower as we crested the hill. Finally we pushed our way through a patch of blueberry bushes that obstructed our view. Without meaning to, I gasped. Giselle gripped my hand, wide-eyed.

Castle Frankenstein towered before us. Backed by the brilliant blue of the sky, the minerals of its stone walls sparkled in the sunlight. Windows were etched so deeply into the rock that they seemed to me like small caves. Two wide towers looked out onto the tempestuous waters leading out to the Atlantic Ocean.

Uncle Ernest strode toward the massive castle. “Come, girls! Let’s see how this old giant has stood the test of time!”

Still holding my hand, Giselle pulled me forward. Suddenly frightened, I resisted her.

“What’s the matter, silly?” she asked, smiling.

Despite the crisp blue day, the castle was dark and foreboding. Something within me warned not to go near it.

Giselle looked over her shoulder to see Uncle Ernest hurrying away from us. “Don’t be nervous,” she said, turning back toward me. “It will be fine. Fine!”

“You’re not frightened?” I asked.

Bending forward with her arm to her face, Giselle began to cough once more. The deep hacking worried me tremendously. Giselle had always been delicate, and it did not surprise me that the long journey had depleted her health. I wondered how she would fare in this damp, windy place.

When Giselle’s fit had subsided, she came beside me, flushed from coughing. “Of course I’m frightened,” she said seriously. “But what choice is there? It’s too late to turn back now. Our only way is forward.”

For a moment, our eyes locked in silent communication. I knew that she was right. Grandfather had not wanted either of us to come to Gairsay, but we had defied him and been disowned for our disrespect. Now the inheritance from our father was our only means of support.

“Let’s get you inside out of this wind,” I said, rubbing between her shoulder blades. Nodding, she pulled in a deep breath in which I detected a shiver. And so we hurried forward, eager to discover what Castle Frankenstein would hold for us, yet afraid of what we might find.