Father was one of the four magistrates of our republic. His expertise was the law-but there was no subject under the sun that didn’t win his interest. Indeed, so great was his respect for learning that he had resigned many of his public duties and business dealings so that he could devote himself to our education. The chateau was his schoolhouse, his own children his pupils-and that included Elizabeth, too.
Every day Elizabeth took her place between Konrad and me in the library to receive our lessons in Greek, Latin, literature, science, and politics from Father and Mother and whatever tutors they thought fit to teach us.
And there was one other student in our eccentric classroom: Henry Clerval.
Henry was exceedingly clever, and my father won the permission of Henry’s father to allow our friend to be tutored in our home. He was an only child, and his mother had died some years ago. As his merchant father was often away on business for weeks, or even months, at a time, Henry spent many of his days-and nights, too-at our home, and we considered him practically one of the family.
I only wished he were here right now to help me peel potatoes.
No other family I knew did this. I admired my parents’ high-minded ideals, but was this bizarre Sunday ritual really necessary? Sometimes I wondered if our servants felt entirely comfortable with it. Some of them, the older ones especially, seemed a bit ill at ease, even faintly grumpy, at seeing us take over their kitchen. And often they’d start lending a hand when they saw us bumbling about or doing something wrong.
For my own part, I did not look forward to Sunday nights. I would much rather have had my meal made for me, and served upstairs. But Konrad had never confessed such unworthy feelings, so I would not reveal mine.
A pudgy, starfish-shaped hand suddenly reached up onto the kitchen table and dragged off a handful of peelings. I looked down to see little William cramming them gleefully into his mouth.
“William, stop!” Konrad said, snatching away the remaining scraps. “You can’t eat those!”
Instantly, William began to wail. “Tay-toe! Toe!”
I put down my knife and knelt to comfort our littlest brother.
“Willy, you’ve got to wait till they’re cooked. They’re yummier that way. Much, much yummier.”
William gave a brave sniff. “Yummier.”
“That’s right,” I said, giving him a hug. His plump arms squeezed tight around my neck. I was tremendously fond of Willy. He’d just learned how to take his first steps, and was a complete terror. He was loud, often annoying, and loved being the center of attention, like me, so I had a soft spot for him. And amazingly he seemed to prefer me to Konrad. I wondered how long that would last.
“He’s teething,” Mother said from across the room. “He probably just wants something to chew.”
I saw a clean wooden spoon on the table and passed it to William. With touching gratitude he grabbed it, and promptly shoved it deep into his mouth. A look of utter bliss crossed his face.
“Works like a treat,” I said.
“How’s your foot, young sir?” one of our new stable hands asked me.
“I am recovered, thank you,” I replied.
“That play of yours was something,” he said.
“You enjoyed my villainy, did you?” I asked, pleased-and hoping for more praise. Many of the servants had watched the play from the back rows.
He nodded. “Oh, yes.”
“That swordplay at the end took a long time to master. No doubt you saw that spectacular roundhouse swing I did at the end.”
“Please don’t encourage him,” said Elizabeth, with a roll of her eyes, “or he’ll want to reenact the entire scene for us again.”
“I liked the pretend parts,” the stable hand said, “but the way young master Konrad rescued you at the end, that was real heroics.”
“Ah, yes,” I said, looking back at my potato. “It certainly was.”
“How did you do it, sir?” the stable hand asked my brother in utter admiration. “I couldn’t have done it for gold, not with my fear of heights.”
“Oh, it wasn’t so high, Marc,” Konrad told him with a chuckle. He knew the fellow’s name-of course. Konrad always knew all of the servants by name. “And how are you finding Bellerive?”
“The countryside’s very fine,” said Marc.
“When you have a chance, you should take one of the horses up into the foothills, and admire the view of Geneva and the Jura Mountains.”
“I will, sir, thank you.”
One of the reasons I disliked these dinners was that Konrad was so much better at them than I was. When we all finally sat down at the table, with masters and servants united into one very large and unusual family, my twin brother effortlessly struck up conversations with everyone. I wished I had his gift.
He asked Maria, our housekeeper, how her nephew’s broken arm was healing. He asked Philippe, the groom, how Prancer, our pregnant mare, was faring. And before long the servants were telling their own stories, which I truly did love to hear, for their lives were so unlike my own. Kurt, our footman, had once been a soldier and had fought a bloody battle and lost several toes; Marie-Claire, my mother’s maid, had served an evil duchess in France who would beat her with her slipper if the cake tasted stale.
Afterward we helped the servants clean the dishes and pots and pans, and I marveled at the work they did for us each and every day.
And I was very glad we did this but once a week.
Floating on the lake, gazing up at the clear night sky: perfection. It was Tuesday after dinner. Henry, Elizabeth, Konrad, and I were drifting on the lake in a rowboat, lying back on cushions. It was one of our favorite pastimes.
We’d grown up so near the water that it was like a second home to us. Konrad and I had learned to sail not long after we’d learned to walk. So assured were our skills that our parents never worried when we spent time on Lake Geneva. That night we had reason to celebrate, for Henry was to stay with us an entire month. His father had just embarked on a lengthy business trip, and our parents had happily invited Henry to stay with us for the duration.
“I wonder why Wilhelm Frankenstein suddenly left like that,” he said, after we’d finished our tale of the Dark Library. “It has the makings of a wonderful play.” When Henry was excited, he reminded me even more of some strange pale bird. His blond head flicked quickly from person to person, his eyes very bright, his fingers sometimes fluttering for emphasis like he might take flight at any moment.
“Maybe he was bewitched,” Elizabeth said. “Driven mad by all he’d learned!”
“Intriguing,” said Henry with an approving nod.
“More likely he met with some misfortune on the road,” Konrad said.
“Brigands who murdered him and bundled his body off the mountain,” suggested Henry eagerly. “I like brigands. They make for an excellent plot.”
“Or perhaps,” I said, “he truly discovered the secret of eternal life and went off to begin afresh.”
“Oh, that is good,” said Henry. “I like that very much as well.” He patted his pocket for a pen and bit of paper and sighed when he found neither.
For a moment we were all silent, enjoying the gentle rocking of the boat, and the scented air.
“Look, another shooting star!” Konrad pointed out.
“God’s creation is very vast,” Elizabeth murmured, staring at the night sky.
“Father doesn’t believe in God,” I said. “He says it is an outmoded-”
“I know very well what he says,” Elizabeth interrupted. “An outmoded system of belief that has controlled and abused people, and that will wizen away under the glare of science. How original you are, Victor, to mimic your father.”
“You’re wiser than he, of course,” I said.
“You two, please,” sighed Konrad.
Elizabeth glared at me. “I’m not saying I’m wiser. I am saying he is wrong.”
“Oh-ho!” I said, looking forward to a quarrel.
“Can’t we talk about Wilhelm Frankenstein some more?” Henry said. “I really do think his story has the makings of-”
But Elizabeth wasn’t about to be thrown off the scent.
