Jane Vows Vengeance

“Yes, once or twice,” Walter agreed.

Jane sighed. “I don’t know how you can put up with me.”

“Because I love you,” Walter said. “If I got upset every time you did something odd, I would have given up years ago. But I’ve gotten used to it.”

“You get used to ugly carpeting,” Jane said huffily. “And Jennifer Aniston’s new haircut. You make it sound as though I need to be endured.”

“Are you saying that you want me to be disturbed by your behavior?” asked Walter.

“Of course not,” Jane replied, wondering how the conversation had gone so horribly wrong.

“Look,” said Walter. “I don’t always know what goes on in that head of yours. And yes, on occasion you do things that are, well, unusual. But that’s what makes you who you are, and I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

“All right then,” Jane said. “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Walter said.

“I’m probably going to get odder, you know,” Jane told him.

“I’ll be surprised if you don’t,” said Walter.

Jane looked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“And here we go,” Walter said.

Half an hour later they passed Courmayeur, entered the Mont Blanc Tunnel, and emerged in France. Another hour brought them to Geneva, and then they were driving up a long, narrow road. Jane, who had been napping, awoke when she felt the car stop. She opened her eyes and promptly uttered a very unladylike word.

“Is something wrong?” asked Walter, who had gotten out of the car and was stretching the stiffness from his limbs.

“No,” Jane said quickly. “I’m just surprised is all. I didn’t know we were coming here. I mean, I knew we were coming to Geneva. I didn’t know we were coming to this particular house.”

Villa Diodati had changed little since her last visit nearly two hundred years before. As Jane got out of the car and looked at the house, she remembered quite clearly walking up the drive and seeing Byron standing on the pillared porch. Only a few roses had still been in bloom, and the lavender had been cut back for the year. The cool touch of autumn had brought out the color in the leaves, and the days were growing shorter. But in her heart it had been summer.

“You know who lived here, don’t you?” Walter asked.

Jane nodded. She was staring at the green-shuttered windows, imagining a face looking back at her. Then she realized there was a face looking back at her. It was Lucy, and she was waving. Jane raised her hand and waved back.

“I do,” Jane said, answering Walter’s question.

“We’re really lucky that we get to stay here,” said Walter as he opened the trunk and removed their suitcases. “It’s not open to the public. But Chumsley knows the—”

“We’re staying here?” Jane said, whirling around.

“Yes,” said Walter. “Chumsley is friends with the owner. He’s not here, so we have the run of the place.”

“Couldn’t we stay in a hotel?” Jane asked.

“I thought you would be thrilled to stay here,” said Walter. “How many people can say they slept in the same house where Mary Shelley dreamed up Frankenstein?”

Jane didn’t know how to respond. After all, Walter was right—anyone with any literary inclinations at all would jump at the chance to spend a night in such a fabled place as Villa Diodati. It was the center of much fascination, all of which Jane understood all too well. That same fascination had brought her there when she was still mortal.

She took a deep breath and walked with Walter to the front door, where they were met by Lucy. As Walter carried the bags inside, Lucy hugged Jane.

“Are you all right?” she whispered in her ear.

Jane nodded. “I think so,” she said.

She looked around. Although the outside of the villa was mostly unchanged, the inside had been greatly renovated. This brought some measure of relief, although Jane could still envision exactly where a chaise longue had been and where a painting of cows in a field had once hung. It was as if two houses existed, one inside the other, and wherever she turned she caught glimpses of the older house peeking through.

“Where is everyone?” she heard Walter ask Lucy.

“All over,” Lucy told him. “There’s really nothing planned. Everyone is just kind of hanging out. Chumsley, Brodie, Sam, and Orsino are playing cards and smoking cigars in the living room. Enid and Genevieve are looking at the gardens. And Ben’s taking a nap.”

“What about Suzu?” Jane asked hesitantly.

“Gone,” said Lucy.

“Gone?” Jane said. “As in gone to town?”

“As in gone,” said Lucy. “She had us drop her at the airport. She said something about needing to get back to Tokyo tonight.”

“Well, I guess you don’t have to worry about seeing her again,” Walter said to Jane.

“I suppose not,” Jane said. She looked at Lucy. “Any other interesting developments?”

Lucy shook her head.

“Are we in any particular room?” Walter asked.

“We saved you the one next to ours,” Lucy said. “It’s just up those stairs, on the right.”

“I’ll take these up then,” said Walter.

When he was gone Lucy said, “Did you know we were coming here?”

“No,” said Jane. “It’s a bit of a shock.”

“I know you’re wondering, so I’ll just tell you—they think you were off your meds this morning.”

“My meds?” Jane said. “What meds?”

“The ones for your bipolar disorder,” said Lucy.

“But I don’t have—” Jane began.

“You do now,” said Lucy. “And when you don’t take your meds you start to imagine things.”

Jane opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. She opened it again, and again shut it. Finally she said, “That’s not a bad explanation.”

“Thank you,” Lucy said. “I thought it worked rather well.”

“Am I on my meds now?” Jane asked.

Lucy nodded. “Walter made sure you took them,” she said.

“Good,” said Jane. “Do they still think I pitched Ryan over the wall?”

“That’s unclear,” Lucy answered. “I think they kind of like the idea that you might have, though, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“This morning went rather badly,” said Jane. “And now what am I supposed to do about Suzu? She demanded that I give her Crispin’s Needle in exchange for Miriam. But if she’s run off, how can I possibly give it to her? Never mind that it either has disintegrated or was a myth to begin with.”

“Somehow I suspect she’ll turn up again,” Lucy said. “There’s no way she’s just disappeared. I think she was just trying to make everyone believe she was gone.”

“You’re probably right,” said Jane. “I’d just feel better knowing where she is.”

“Jane!” Walter called from upstairs. “You have to see this room.”

“Should I tell him I already have?” Jane murmured to Lucy.

She went upstairs and pretended to be appropriately awed by the room. She was relieved that it wasn’t Byron’s room, which was down the hall and was being occupied by Orsino. She then endured a tour of the house narrated by Chumsley, who not surprisingly focused on the summer of 1816 and the visit paid to Byron by Percy Shelley, Mary Godwin, and Claire Claremont.

“It was the eruption of Mount Tambora the year previous that caused what was later referred to as the ‘year without a summer,’ ” Chumsley told them. “It was perpetually gloomy and rained nearly every day.”