This Dark Endeavour (with Bonus Material) (4 page)

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 had 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 parent’s 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 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 centre 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 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 re-enact 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 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. When we all finally sat down at table, masters and servants united into one very large and unusual family, my twin brother effortlessly struck up conversations with everyone. 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 fought a bloody battle and lost several toes; Celeste, my mother’s maid, had served an evil duchess in France who would beat her with her slipper if the cake tasted stale.

Afterward, as we helped the servants clean the dishes and pots and pans, I marvelled 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 favourite 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.

Tonight, 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 can 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 him, 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. “Victor, I doubt you’re truly an atheist, and if you are, it’s only because your father taught you to be.”

“And you are a Catholic because your mother taught
you
to be. And some nuns too!”

“Nonsense,” she said. “I have considered it carefully, and find no other possible explanation for”—she waved her hand at the night sky, and the lake, and us—”all of this!”

“There is no proof of God,” I said, quoting Father.

“There is
knowing,
and there is
believing,”
said Elizabeth. “They are two different things. Knowing requires
facts.
Believing requires
faith.
If there were
proof
of God’s existence, it wouldn’t be a
faith,
would it.”

This puzzled me for a moment. “I simply don’t see the point,” I said. “Faith seems worthless to me, then. One might have faith in any fancy. Singing flowers or—”

“Worthless?” cried Elizabeth. “My faith has given me sustenance for many years!”

“Victor, enough,” said Konrad. “You’ll hurt her feelings.”

“Oh, Elizabeth can take care of herself,” I said. “She’s no delicate blossom.”

“Certainly not,” she retorted. “But in future I will only argue with my intellectual equals.”

“I’m considering pushing you into the lake,” I said, beginning to stand.

“I’d like to see you try,” said Elizabeth, with a flare of the wildcat in her face.

“Please,
please,
don’t dare him,” said Henry, gripping the sides of the rocking boat in alarm. “Victor always does dares. Remember what happened last time?”

“We nearly capsized,” Konrad recalled, as a bit of water splashed over the side.

“Getting wet upsets me,” said Henry. “Victor, do sit down.”

I narrowed my eyes at Elizabeth; she narrowed hers back.

“I’ve read,” said Henry quickly, “that if you stare long enough at the heavens, your future will become clear. Have you tried it, Victor?”

It was such an obvious ploy that I couldn’t help laughing. I slouched back comfortably against the cushions.

“And what is it you see for yourself, Henry?” I asked my diplomatic friend.

“Well,” he said, “the view is clear for me. I will become a merchant and in time take over my father’s business.”

Elizabeth pushed herself up on her elbows, indignant. “That’s dismally practical of you, Henry.”

“Nothing wrong with being practical,” Konrad remarked.

“But, Henry, what of your interest in literature?” Elizabeth demanded.

“You can’t eat it, that’s the problem,” he said. “I’ve tried, it’s very dry, not at all nutritious. And a man does have to earn a living.”

“But look at the applause your play won!” she reminded him.

“I felt like an imposter taking credit,” said Henry. “The idea was
yours.”

This was true. But Elizabeth had thought the audience might be horrified to know that a young lady had invented such a violent and bloodthirsty tale.

“Well,” said Elizabeth, pleased, “a story comes easily enough to me, but the writing was all yours, Henry. You have the soul of a poet.”

“Ah, well,” said Henry. “A merchant does not need to rhyme. What do
your
stars tell you?”

“I will write a novel,” Elizabeth said with decision.

“What will it be about?” I asked, surprised.

“I don’t know the subject yet,” she said with a laugh. “Only that it will be something wonderful. Like a bolt of lightning!”

“You’ll need a pen name,” Konrad said, for the idea of a woman writing a novel was scandalous.

“Perhaps I will shock the world with my own,” she said. “‘Elizabeth Lavenza’ has such a literary flair, don’t you think? It would be a shame to waste it.”

“And what of marriage?” Konrad asked.

“It would take a remarkable man to make me marry,” she said. “Men are mercury. Always changing. Look at my father. He remarried and just sent me away. I was packed up like a bit of furniture. And he visited me only once in two years.”

“Scoundrel,” I said.

“Not all men are so bad, surely,” said my brother.

She laughed. “No doubt. I will have a fabulous husband and many beautiful, talented children. Now, I have embarrassed myself enough. Victor, what do you see in your future?”

I thought a moment, and then said, “When I see the stars, I think of the planets that must orbit them, and I would like to travel among them. And if we could do so, would not we be gods?”

“A modest goal, then,” said my twin. “Victor just wants to be a god.”

Laughing, I elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m imbued with high hopes and lofty ambitions. And if I can’t travel between planets—”

“Always good to have a backup plan,” Henry interjected.

“—then I will
create
something, some great work that will be useful and marvellous to all humanity.”

“You mean a machine of some kind?” asked Konrad.

“Yes, perhaps,” I said, thinking more seriously now. “An engine that will transform the world—or a new source of energy. It seems scientific discoveries are being made every day now. In any event, I will be remembered forever.”

“Statues and monuments will bear your name, no doubt!” Konrad said with a grin.

“Very well, let us hear your
little
dreams!” I said.

Konrad stared at the sky. “I will follow Father’s example,” he said thoughtfully. “I would like to help govern Geneva, to make it even greater than it is now. But I’d like to see the world too. Perhaps cross the ocean and see the new America, or the British colonies to the north. They say there are still vast landscapes there, untouched by Europeans.”

“Then you would abandon us all,” Elizabeth asked, “and marry some exotic native princess?”

Konrad chuckled. “No. I will make my journeys with a soulmate.”

“You’d just want me to carry all your supplies,” I joked. “You’d best find another travel companion.”

But I loved the idea of having a grand adventure with Konrad.

It had always been a favourite game of ours, since we were very young, to lie side by side on the library floor with the great atlas before us, picking the countries we would visit together.

I still yearned for such a trip, just the two of us. West to the New World: to some remote, wild place—where no one would compare us.

“E
n garde!
” I panted, lifting my foil.

Konrad and I were near the end of our match, and we were tied. Whoever scored next would be the winner. In the chateau’s armoury, Signor Rainaldi, our fencing master, watched over us, as well as Henry and Elizabeth, both suited up on the sidelines, awaiting their own match.