Preys and Predator Part II; the monster and witches' Chapter 23

 23.

“The detention of Ms. Moritz is for us to undertake an investigation into the murder of William Frankenstein.” Those were the words printed on the authorities’ report. The headline was more lucid: “Guest implicated in murder.” The gossips were vicious; ‘The slut must have told him off. She was on her monthly. My man does not take any refusal. He said, YOU GOT OTHER HOLES.”

“Well, tell him he has the prick.” The other lady cut in.

“No, tell him he is not the only prick you had.” Another lady snapped on. They all laughed.

Laughter was shunned at funerals, but there were the ones who were stunned there. After all, death was unwelcome to the living.

Elizabeth was stunned by the accusations against Justine. She knew in her heart that Justine was not a murderer. William was also not having any desires for the other lady. She had imposed conditions on him, but with her absence, he could have pursued alternative means. She recalled the incident in the living area; with the discovery by the aunt, it was embarrassing.

“It is fine by me, Liz. I was young before.” Her aunt's words stung Liz in the face.

Elizabeth went to look for Victor, but he declined to see her. He relayed to the maids that he was busy preparing for the wake on William. The funeral was a day ago, and it was supposed to be a family affair, but the villagers flocked there. The men were eager to see the old man, who claimed to be an eccentric geezer, while the ladies, eligible ones, were there to recall how the Frankenstein looks. The uni staff and students were told to stay away, but some did turn up to be kept at the perimeter by the village volunteers on maintaining the privacy of the Frankenstein.

“I can assure you, Mrs. Howe. I would not pinch your meat when you come over next.” The butcher was keeping them back and was accused of more misdeeds. With the death of the doctor cum priest, that was not an issue for Frankenstein. The old man himself was the one who performed the services.

“Spielsdorf, I had done these many times for our fallen comrades.” The Общий had dressed for the occasion. “He will be given the military send-off.”

Общий had arranged for a squad of soldiers from the military commander of a nearby camp. It was a rush request, and the soldiers were dispatched on horses. The ceremony involved the lineup of seven junior officers who stood at attention with full uniforms and sabres on their belts with the carbines rested on their shoulders. Spielsdorf himself, in full uniform without the ranking emblems of Общий, took command of the soldiers.

Seven succession shots were fired in three salvoes for the funeral of William Frankenstein.

The soldiers were dismissed, and they rode off past the onlookers, drawing many ladies to gasp at the fine young men on horseback.

“He could ride me anytime.” One lady said to her friend.

At the wake at the Frankenstein’s house, Victor was like a pillar in the mansion, seen and unheard then. He was dressed in the dark suit and had remained silent most times, except for the thank you greeting. He avoided the lady who was trying to get his attention.

Ernest was there too but chose to remain seated, citing his legs, and only replied when asked about other matters. Due to his disability, the ladies were not swarming him.

The old man was there with the other wealthy families and some from the city. He was at his best, sharing his collection of wine with the occasional direct to his guests to the portrait of his in the library. He held his walking cane in his hands.

“Smiths, thank you for coming.” The old man greeted the close friend. They were from the estate on the other side of the village and were rarely seen in the mansion, but they arrived on the sad event there.

“Mr. Hanson, thank you.” Another wealthy neighbour was there. The man was alone; his wife died some years back, and the old man sent William to offer his condolences then.

“Colonel Digby. A mighty honour to see you again. Was it three years ago when we last met?”

Spielsdorf was second fiddle to the host and mingled to meet the lowly guests. His daughter, Lauren, did not partake in the gathering. Sven and the other household staff were kept on their toes with the servings.

“Victor, my condolences.” Elizabeth walked up to Victor.

“Thank you. How are you?”

“I am fine. William and I; we are good friends.” Elizabeth placed on the smile. Victor looked at the lady. He was unsure to ask then. He had seen the interactions of the two, and it raised his eyebrows that she made such a simple statement there.

“I was away and had some thinking done.” Elizabeth saw the baffled expression. “Well, you know how things may evolve. We had our moments to think.”

“I am sorry. I did not know.” Victor looked at the other lady.

“Did you hear of Justine?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, I did. I suppose that the authorities are wrong. I had reported the injuries inflicted on William were by a great force, and Justine was unable to do that. She could not even …” Victor paused in his words. He then clenched his right fist. He was mentally calculating the force of the blow.

“I must go.” Victor looked at Elizabeth. “I …”

“Victor, tell me please.” But Victor was leaving the library. Elizabeth stood there looking.

“Will you ever see me, Victor?” Elizabeth asked herself.

Henry was not at the library that day. He was told to stay away by Sven. He went to the lab and sat there. He was accompanied by the creation.

“Why are you here, Henry?” The creation saw the bandaged right hand. “Are you hurt?

“I was not allowed to be in there.” Henry sighed. He looked at his bandaged hand. “Sven said I am too clumsy to do things there.”

“Clumsy? What is clumsy?” The creation asked.

“I may ……. Break things. I am not good at handling the plates or the glasses.” Henry looked at his hands. He has huge hands and feet, but not all were huge. He was short in comparison to William or Victor. Sven said he looked like a Barbary macaque. Henry asked him what that was.

“A small monster with huge hands and legs.”

Henry was hurt, but he hid his feelings.

“I break things too. I break the chair, the table, and many balls.” The creature showed its hands to Henry. They looked like any other hands, but the left one was slightly bigger. “Master told me to be careful.”

“Yes, you need to be careful.” Henry took the hands of the creation. It was cold but firm. “You may hurt yourself.”

“Hurt? I am unsure.” The creation pulled the hands away. “I cannot tell. How does hurt feel? I feel nothing.”

“All of us have feelings. I do, and you may have it.” Henry looked at the creation. “You … need to find it.”

The creature stood there looking at Henry. Then it raised a pertinent question.

“Can I have a name?” That caught Henry. “You have one. Why not me? Master says no. Why?”

“I … I am unsure. I did not have a name till Sven gave me one. I was called Henry by him.” The man looked at the creation. Over the weeks, he had seen the creation differently. The creation was no more a thing but something else. He had marvelled at the body parts, seen many different parts, but never once in the complete frame and… alive. He was the first to clothe the creation and later more clothes. They were not close fits but fitting for the frame of the creation. He smiled when he thought of the creation as a lady. Yes, the creature held the features of one, but it was dead.

“Henry, these are dead body parts. Whom they belong to, I am unsure.” Victor told him. “They are like … machine parts. We used them, and then when broken, we replaced them.”

“Can I have a name… please?” It was the latest improvement in the creation. It learned to be polite. It was part of Victor’s training to add in politeness to the speech.

“I do not know. I meant I have not named anyone before.” Henry shook his head. “I have named …”

“The animals. I know. You called them by name.” The creation looked to Henry. “I want a name, please.”

It was the rare moments when Henry was asked or told politely. Everyone in the mansion took him for a serf, as Sven called him at times. He asked Sven what that name is.

“In the old country, you are a nobody but a serf. A servant to the nobles.” Sven said then. He had drunk one too many gulps of mead. “The masters are nobles. We are the serfs. We are to serve them. Henry is a good name for a lad. I had it sewn to your shirt in case you ever forget your name.”

“Henry, please give me a name.”

“What do you like? Mary, Jane, or Anne?” Henry turns the question around.

“What do you like? I like Henry.” The creature looked at the man. “Can I call myself that? I will have a name then.”

“No, that’s my name.” Henry protested. He was without a name before Sven told him that name.

“Then give me a name, please.”

It was then Victor stormed in. He approached the creation.

“Did you kill William?”

“Or did you?” Victor looked at the creation. They were both capable of brute force.