Page 103 of Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match
“A good thing?” Angelika wiped Arlo’s mouth. Her voice rose. “A good thing? You know what I see? You, standing about, being absorbed in yourself, jogging in the forest, working on your own precious body, doing absolutely nothing to improve this situation. Is it because he was originally a priest? Or is it because he loves me?”
“Jel—”
“You’ve never wanted anyone to love me. You’ve always laughed at my infatuations, and told me I am a fool, and nobody would ever want me.”
“I never laughed at you,” Victor said uneasily. “All right, maybe I did. But I was joking.”
“You were never joking, and you weren’t joking when you said it last night. But he loves me, and it’s not for my fortune or my face. He loves my flaws. He makes me feel like I could be a better person. We are connected, at a blood level.”
“I do not doubt the depth of your love.”
She ignored that. “You are going to be right, as always. Being dead is the ultimate in unattainable, wouldn’t you say?” In her rage, she was calmer than she’d ever been. “I will die of heartbreak. There’s a plot vacant beside his grave. Put me there. That is my wish.”
Victor’s complexion turned ashen, and he said nothing.
She turned her back on him. “Get out, and don’t come back until you can do something useful.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
The following morning, the foyer of Blackthorne Manor was well-occupied. “I can’t get a word out of her,” the cook, Mrs. Rumsfield, was saying like a complaint, before she jumped and clutched her chest. “Christ almighty, missus!”
Angelika was descending the stairs. She was gray, droopy, and her eyes were sunken into her skull. She smelled. If anyone had been able to look past this ghastly apparition, they would see that the portrait of Caroline was highly concerned.
“You look ruddy dreadful!” Mrs. Rumsfield hollered. Sarah appeared in the doorway to the kitchen hall, wiping her hands on a cloth. At the foot of the stairs, Angelika was surrounded by all the house servants, Jacob the stablehand, and even some of the garden laborers. She searched in vain for the face she ached for the most, and then dropped to sit on the bottom stair.
“He lives. Again.” She wrung her hands. “We must all rally together these next few hours.” She was touched by the worry in the faces looking down at her. Every single one of these people had been impacted by Arlo in some way; his kind leadership had brought them to Blackthorne Manor and, in turn, awoken the estate from its deep sleep.
Mrs. Rumsfield said, voice rich with self-importance, “I have some broth ready for when he wakes.”
“Very good,” Angelika replied, even though her hopes were fading. “But now, while he is asleep, we must make Arlo—ah, you know him as Will, but he is now called Arlo Northcott—we must make him proud, and do our best to run the house—”
She stopped when Mrs. Rumsfield tutted. “You are all done in, miss. Time for something to eat and some sleep.”
“There is no time. Boys,” Angelika commanded the ragtag crew, now knowing what needed to be done, “I want you all to begin planning the apple harvest.”
“Will told us it’s not something you do up ’ere,” one nameless laborer said, confused. “Everyone in the village knows that.”
“I am tired of waste. It’s something I would like to do from this season forth. Is it possible? Are there more folk in the village who would like to be hired for this?” Angelika saw every head nod. “I know this seems like an odd thing to occupy ourselves with, given the circumstances, but I feel that Arlo would be so pleased to hear we had done this fine thing without him. He is the one who gets everything done around here, isn’t he?” Again, more nods. “Let’s show him that he has taught us well. Jacob, you shall be the organizer. Our neighbor may have a groundskeeper you could ask for advice.”
The young boy nodded.
“What else?” She turned her face to the girls. “The remaining three cottages beyond the orchard require cleaning and whitewashing. One is for Sarah, one is for Jacob, and the last is for Adam. Mrs. Rumsfield, could you please keep everyone fed as they work?”
“’Course. But, miss, you need to eat, too,” the cook entreated, and someone muttered, “Who’s Adam?”
Angelika’s stomach wasn’t likely to hold on to a meal. “Let us make him proud.” Tears began to threaten as she saw everyone straighten their spines, with fresh purpose shining in their eyes. She slipped out the front door, and then felt a hand on her sleeve.
It was Sarah. Blushing, she forced out: “I misunderstood. I’m to clean a cottage for Jacob?”
Angelika said, “You are to clean the cottage that will be yours.”
Sarah took a step back, eyes huge and confused. “Like the ones where Will and Clara live?”
“Yes. Didn’t I tell you that a long time ago? I’ve got to start telling people what is theirs. If it is comfortable enough, you can move there now. No more cold boardinghouse room. This is your home now if you wish it.”
Sarah grabbed her, and hugged her hard, squeezing out Angelika’s tears. The relief of this human contact was staggering, and Angelika babbled over the girl’s shoulder. “If I organize everything just so, he will wake and be proud. He will be so proud of me, and us, Sarah. We must arrange everything.”
Sarah rocked her employer in her arms, and repeated to the ivy-covered porch that everything would be all right.
