The Remarkable Miss Frankenstein (29 page)

Opening the door, she entered the lab to find her brother scribbling something in his large maroon journal. It was a book Victor Frankenstein was never without.

“Victor, Victor, do you know what day this is?” she asked pettishly.

“The eighteenth,” her brother answered absentmindedly, continuing with his writing.

“Good. Now that we know the date, can you tell me what is important about this date?” Lady Mary jibed, her eyes narrowing as Victor continued scribbling.

“It should have worked perfectly,” he grumbled. “Just perfectly. I used the right-sized corneas for the eyes. All the muscles and nerves were attached precisely. The patient could see just as clearly in the day as in the night,” he muttered to himself.

Lady Mary sighed. Her brother was talking about his latest scientific work. He had taken the eyes of a jaguar and transplanted them into a blind man’s eye sockets. The results had been remarkable. The blind man had not only been able to see perfectly well in the daytime, but he had gained uncanny night vision as well. But it appeared a glitch had been thrown into the wheels of the experiment, and Victor never handled glitches very well. In fact, Frederick had learned his temper-tantrumming from Victor, his adopted father.

“The last time we spoke, your patient was doing incredibly well. What has happened, Victor?” Lady Mary asked worriedly. Her brother’s transplant operations could give hope to so many.

Her brother raised his head wearily. “Side effects. Who would have thought a jaguar’s genes would be so similar to those of an ordinary house cat? Every time my patient sees a mouse, he chases it about the room, then tries to scale the drapes.”

“Oh, dear. That is unfortunate.”

“It gets worse. He wants milk for every meal and has the unfortunate tendency to groom himself by licking his arms and hands.”

“Yes,” Lady Mary conceded, “I can see how that would be a great disadvantage at a dinner party. You can’t have your guests licking themselves at the table.”

“Quite,” Victor agreed morosely.

Lady Mary leaned over and patted her brother’s arm. “You’ll correct the problem. Perhaps you can give your blind patients the eyes of owls. They have remarkably clear sight.”

“Hmm?” Victor managed, his forehead creased in thought. “Hmm,” he said again. “It might just work.” He thought some more, looked momentarily hopeful, but that look was soon replaced with a crestfallen expression. “Owls wouldn’t groom themselves at dinner parties, true, but there is still the mousing side effect.”

“Oh dear, you’re quite right.” Lady Mary paused; then, leaning over to look her brother in the eye, she asked archly, “Victor—besides the eighteenth, do you know what day this is?”

Her brother focused, truly focused, on her words, and his eyes widened in recognition. “Good grief. It’s Clair’s wedding day to that baron fellow!”

Good! Lady Mary rejoiced. She had finally gotten through to her brother. “Yes. And you need to prepare yourself for the ceremony. After all, you are giving the bride away.” And with those words, Lady Mary burst into tears. She had just realized for the first time that her niece would be leaving the Frankenstein home—the niece whom she had loved like a daughter, whom she had raised since Clair was four.

Mary remembered the first frog Clair had tried to make fly after attaching paper wings to its back. Grimacing slightly, she also recalled the frog’s rather ignominious landing, after it was dropped from the top of the house. Clair had been in tears and never again tried to get any creature to fly unless its wings were already built in by nature. Lady Mary would never forget her niece’s horrified expression as the frog fell thirty feet and made a terrible splat.

What if the baron didn’t treat her beloved Clair right? Mary wondered. What if he was the type to sip brandy all night long? What if he had warts?

And would the baron leave Clair free to be her wonderful, inquisitive self after they were wed? Would he cherish her forever? Would Clair ever come visit her old aunt again? Would she ever see Clair’s children? What had she done by succeeding in her stupid Plan A, To Catch a Baron?

Awkwardly, Victor patted his sister’s shoulder. “Come now, Mary. All chicks leave their nest.”

“My darling girl is leaving me!” Lady Mary said. And she cried harder.

Embarrassed, Victor prodded her. “Come, my dear, you are a Frankenstein. Buck up.” He did so hate seeing women cry. It made him feel helpless, especially when his aid merely made his sister grab a handkerchief from her pocket and sob harder.

Growing desperate, he hit upon a grand idea. A brilliant Frankensteinian plan. “Eureka! I know, Mary. I will make you another niece,” he stated grandly.

Six
figures dressed all in black entered St. George’s Cathedral and joined the congregation. The oldest of the group marched to the front of the altar and bellowed in a voice at odds with the size of her diminutive figure, “Where’s the funeral?”

Lady Mary, clad in her blue wedding finery, hurried to the old woman’s side and explained, “Lady Vandeover, you have your days confused. Tomorrow is the funeral for Mr. Pugsley. Today is my niece’s wedding.”

“Wedding, did you say?” Mrs. Vandeover asked, lifting her hearing horn.

Lady Mary nodded, motioning for one of the ushers to come and escort the wizened woman to a seat. “Here, let Mr. Sleet help you and your party to the pews.”

Beside her, Ozzie asked, “Is Mr. Pugsley a relative?”

“No, her pug.”

“She’s using St. George’s Cathedral for a dog’s funeral?” the duke questioned, amazed.

“She’s very well off, you know.” Lady Mary told him all about the woman as he escorted her back to her seat.

Glancing about, she felt her spirits revive. The church was still like one in a fairy tale, decorated beautifully with gardenias and orange blossoms. The smell was heavenly. White stuffed turtledoves and lovebirds were placed strategically all around.

Over a hundred and fifty guests—Mary’s compromise with Ian—sat in the pews. The Frankensteins and their friends sat on the left; Ian’s family and friends were seated to the right, staring over at Frederick.

Lady Mary decided their awe must be due to such august company.

As Ozzie seated then took his seat beside her, Lady Mary proudly surveyed the assemblage. Frederick was dressed in a rust-colored jacket, which toned down the greenish cast of his skin. He looked remarkably fine, Lady Mary decided, studying him, for a man who was wearing someone else’s face.

Next to Frederick sat Victor and Professor Whutson, both talking shop. Beside them, Clair’s uncle Tieck busily scribbled more notes, having confided earlier to Lady Mary that he was writing a sequel to his last novel.

Lady Mary frowned. She’d had enough of all this vampire business. It had almost gotten her beloved niece killed. And if it weren’t for the fact that Clair had met Ian through the whole nasty business, she would be quite put out.

“Let them eat cake!” Lady Abby cried from next to Lady Mary. She was dressed to suit her role as Louis XVI’s queen.

Mary patted the woman’s hand. “We will, Marie. Soon. And it will be delicious. Ozzie made it, you know.” She smiled fondly at her lover.

“That’s ‘Your Highness’ to you,” Lady Abby huffed.

“Yes, dear,” Mary replied.

At the back of the massive church, another famous figure entered. Dr. Durlock Homes. He stood for a moment surveying the scene, stifling a smile. It wasn’t something he did very often. His work was so serious and grave that he had a hard time finding humor in anything but the most absurd.

Beside him, the tall, mustachioed Artie Doyle appeared and asked, “Which side is the bride’s?”

Holmes lifted an eyebrow. “Rudimentary, my dear chap. Rudimentary.” He pointed, then went and seated himself beside Professor Whutson in the seat vacated by Victor, since it was time for Victor to escort his niece to the altar.

The church grew quiet as the wedding march sounded, and the bridal procession began their walk down the aisle. A collective gasp came from the assemblage upon seeing the bride standing in the entrance. She was indeed a vision, dressed in yards of creamy satin with pearl inlays. Clair carried orange blossoms in her hand, and on her head was the Frankenstein wedding veil—a monstrous creation of lace, feathers, and flowers, with a towering crown topped by a tiara.

Yes, what a vision I am, Clair thought glumly. How could she have let them talk her into this hideous costume? She knew it was custom. All Frankenstein brides were married in this nasty veil. It was said to bring good luck.

“In a pig’s eye!” she muttered.

“What’s that?” her uncle asked, leaning as close as he could with the offensive veil. “You aren’t regretting your decision to marry Ian, are you? Even though he is not in a scientific profession, I find myself rather liking him.”

In fact, Victor had been estatic over Clair wedding Ian. So much so that he had gotten drunk and fallen into one of the graves he was robbing. Luckily, Frederick had come along and rescued him.

“No. No doubts whatsoever,” Clair said.

Her uncle Victor smiled and patted her hand on his arm. “Stiff upper back, my dear. Let’s give them the old Frankenstein show.”

Clair smiled bravely, even though her knees were shaking, and she began her triumphant walk down the aisle. Soon the festive mood caught her spirit and she forgot about her hideous veil, reveling in her good fortune.

On this day of all days, Clair felt only love for Ian, her family, and her friends. It was a very special day, one she would remember when she grew old and gray. Yes, this was a very special day. Like the day she had discovered sodium sulfate could make exploding gas. Her uncle had shown her, and he had been so proud when she repeated the experiment all by herself, even though she blew up his favorite beaker.

Glancing to her side, she took in her uncle’s proud visage. He had always encouraged her to fly to the stars, in spite of the fact that she was only a female. And when she had fallen, both he and Clair’s aunts had been there to pick her back up.

As she made her way down the long carpeted aisle strewn with flowers, Clair passed Lady Delia and Delia’s mother. The pair wore matching scowls. Clair grinned.

This reminded her of the time Delia fell into the mud at a picnic after Clair showed around her collection of spiders.

She passed Frederick, who had tears running down his cheeks like after the great electrical storm of 1819, when he had first drawn breath at the grand old age of thirty, twenty-one, thirty-five, etcetera.

Clair passed Lady Mary and Ozzie, both crying quietly, which reminded her of all the times her aunt had been present to dry her tears. It reminded her of all the times her aunt had encouraged her explorations and her curiosity, enriching her life with soft laughter and love.

Next Clair walked past Great-aunt Abby, who majestically held up her quizzing glass, nodding. The gesture took Clair back to the time her great-aunt knighted her, when she’d been Henry II. At least today, her aunt was impersonating an appropriate queen. For when she said, “Let them eat cake,” they could.

Finally, Clair’s attention was drawn to Ian, and her heart melted. He was so handsome, standing tall and kingly at the front of the church. She knew with an instinct as old as time that he and she had found a grand love that would transcend borders and lift winged souls to flight.

She paused longer to study him. He looked magnificent in his dark gray velvet jacket, and his long black hair was tied back in a queue. He wore a green vest underneath his coat, and it matched the color of his eyes. Those eyes were filled with unconditional love for his bride, even in her hideous veil.

Victor placed Clair’s hand in Ian’s when they arrived at the end of the aisle; then he stepped away as Ian lifted the veil from her face and flipped it back. “Now I can see you,” Ian said softly. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever beheld in my life.” His tone complemented his serious expression, for his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Thank you.” She grinned, joyful tears of her own spilling down her cheeks. “For the compliment, but more for getting that beastly veil out of my face.”

Ian chortled.

“Who gives this woman?” the bishop asked, frowning at the levity of the wedding service.

“I do,” Victor answered after a slight pause, sounding a bit choked up.

“Do you, Harold Ian Huntsley, take Clair Elizabeth Frankenstein to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the bishop asked.

Giggling, Clair nudged Ian. “Harold?”

“Hush, Clair. Now is not the time.” Ian felt a blush travel up his face. He truly despised his first name. It had been a curse throughout his life.

“Harold.” Clair giggled again. She couldn’t imagine such a whimsical name for such a formidable man. But all that mattered was that they were to be wed.

Despite Clair’s giggles and the oddity of the bride’s side of the family, the wedding turned out to be the usual, traditional, emotional affair. Afterward in the receiving line, Ian stood with his arm wrapped around his bride’s waist. He proudly introduced her for the first time as his wife to his family and friends. His life was now complete in a way that he had never known. He felt a sense of complete well-being. Clair was his. He had found his one true mate.

“Take care of her, young man. She has been a daughter to me,” Victor warned kindly. “My Clair is special.”

Ian nodded. “Yes, they broke the mold when they made her.”

“No. That was Frederick, not Clair,” Victor replied. He looked mildly confused as he moved aside to let other well-wishers congratulate the bride and groom.

Ian shook his head. He would have to get used to this. But as Clair smiled up at him, her eyes shining with pure joy, he decided she was well worth putting up with living around a nest of odd ducks and a few quacks. He’d mostly only see them at family gatherings, anyway. “I love you, Clair Huntsley,” he said.

Clair grinned mischievously. “I love you too, Harold.”

Hmm. Perhaps he would have to rethink the matter. Playfully, he swatted his wife on her nicely rounded behind. Harold? Just wait until he got her alone tonight.