“How’s he doing?” she asked.
Mother gave us a smile, though there was something brittle in it. “Not so bad. A small fever only. Two of the girls downstairs have the exact same thing,” she added reassuringly. “It has laid them low for a day or two, but no doubt they will be right as rain. In an hour or two I’m sure he’ll be awake and wanting company. Maria is watching over him for now.”
Mother walked off, leaving Elizabeth and me alone in the corridor. She started walking away, and I followed her awkwardly.
“Shall we get some breakfast?” I suggested.
She turned on me, livid. “When he fainted in your room, what were you two talking about?”
I cleared my throat. “If you must know, he came to reprimand me for the way I treated you on the balcony.”
Had there been some alchemical process to turn back time, I would have paid a fortune for it, so I could take back the hurtful words I’d said to Konrad. I’d come to his room just now hoping to make amends.
“Victor?” she said impatiently. “What did you say to him?”
“I told him that you and I kissed in the library.”
Her dark eyes blazed. “How could you?”
“I regretted it instantly. I told him I pretended to be him, that you were guiltless.”
“And the sleepwalking?”
I looked at her in surprise. “So you believe me now?”
“Answer my question!”
“No, I said nothing of it. And he remained very calm-until the very end. I was amazed.”
“He’s not like you, Victor,” she said. “He can master his temper. But you went too far, and put his blood into a fever.”
“You’re saying I’m responsible for his fever?” I demanded, though the idea had plagued me. “Listen to Mother. It’s a passing ague. Others in the house have it.”
Neither of us said a word. We both shared the exact same worry.
“I hope you’re right, Victor,” she said, “because if you’ve brought back his illness, I will never forgive you.”
And she walked away from me.
“I’d like to visit Saint Mary’s and light a candle for Konrad,” Elizabeth said as we were finishing breakfast.
The slightest flicker of irritation crossed Father’s face, but he said, “Very well. I’ll have Philippe take you.”
“I can take her,” I said quickly. I’d been planning on making a trip to the graveyard to check for Polidori’s note-and this gave me the perfect excuse.
Father looked at me closely, and I realized he was still reluctant to let me out of the house.
“To the church and back, Victor,” he said.
“Of course.”
Outside on the lake road, with the water sparkling and the heady smell of the fields in my nostrils, I ought to have felt exhilarated after my two weeks’ confinement. But I felt wretched. Elizabeth sat beside me, silent and reproachful.
My only thought, thumping in time with the horse’s hooves, was: Let it be there. Let there be a message waiting.
When we arrived, I watched her enter the church, then tied up the horse and ran through the tombstones to the Gallimard crypt, a huge pile of granite that had glowered there for centuries. I walked around it twice, scrabbling in dirt and leaves, looking for some kind of wallet.
Nothing.
I cursed and kicked at the crypt’s wall with my boot. Polidori had had two weeks. What could be taking the old fool so long? I wanted to ride the rest of the way to Geneva and box his ears.
If Konrad’s illness had returned I banished the thought, and walked inside the church. After the bright sunlight, it took my eyes several moments to grow accustomed to the dim interior. The church was nearly empty, only a few people at prayer scattered among the pews.
I took a seat near the back. I saw Elizabeth at the front, kneeling before a row of small lit candles, her hands covering her face.
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I looked away. On the altar a young boy was polishing the brasses. My knowledge of the Church was small, but I did know about how the priest was said to perform a miracle, turning the bread and wine into the body and blood of Jesus Christ.
From the stained-glass windows shafts of colored light angled through the stillness of the church. My thoughts drifted.
Wine to blood. Lead to gold. Medicine dripped into my brother’s veins. The transmutation of matter.
Was it magic or science? Fantasy or truth?
Two days passed, and the fever did not leave him.
His body ached. The joints of his right hand became swollen. Downstairs, our two servants were still laid low as well. We had a visit from the kindly, useless Dr. Lesage, who administered his usual strengthening powders and tinctures to help combat the fever.
“I am sending for Dr. Murnau,” Father said at dinner. William and Ernest had already been taken off to bed, and it was just Elizabeth and me with Mother and Father. For a moment there was silence around the table.
“But I thought this was just a passing illness?” Elizabeth said.
“Mostly likely it is,” said Mother, “but I think it best to be safe.”
I avoided Elizabeth’s gaze, for fear of the anger I would see there.
“Before he departed,” said Father, “Dr. Murnau left me a detailed schedule of his whereabouts, in case we needed him again. He’s currently in Lyon with another patient. I mean to ride there myself and bring him back as soon as possible.”
Lyon was in France, and the country was in the utmost turmoil. Mobs of revolutionaries still roved the land in a reign of terror, persecuting any who might disagree with them. I looked at my father, and for the first time he seemed old to me, and tired. My heart felt as crumpled as his shoulders.
“Is it safe for you, Father?” Elizabeth asked. “The stories we’ve heard…”
“I will take Philippe and Marc with me. The French people have no quarrel with the Genevese-we have no love of monarchy either. My only worry is how long the journey may take. I plan to leave tomorrow morning.”
Later that evening I found Father alone in his study, hurriedly packing a small valise.
“May I speak with you?” I said, closing the door behind me.
“What is it, Victor?”
I took a deep breath, let it out. “Father, given Konrad’s condition, is it not worth… at least considering the Elixir of Life?”
He looked at me as if I had gone mad, but I persisted.
“We need only one last ingredient and-”
He lifted his hand. “Enough. Dr. Murnau will advise us.”
“But he himself said he couldn’t give Konrad the same medicine so soon. What can he do? Maybe if you’d told Mother the truth, she’d be willing to pursue the Elixir of Life as well. If we at least had it at hand, we’d-”
“No!”
“You would rather let him die?”
“How often must I tell you? Alchemy does not hold the answer!”
My heart thudded. “How can you say that when you yourself have practiced it?”
His split second’s hesitation betrayed him. “Nonsense.”
My voice shook. “I saw your handwriting in Eisenstein’s book. You have transmuted lead into gold.”
Quietly he said, “It was not gold.”
I stared in confusion.
“It only had the appearance of gold.” There was bitterness in his voice.
“But in your notes there were calculations for some two hundred pounds. If it was not gold, why did you
