Page 69 of Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match
“It would be sacrilege to write my name in such a special book. So, where are we going?”
It was another love declaration gone unnoticed by a man sheblindly adored; there was a trail of similar gestures throughout the years. This was the first that was permanently inked. Imagine his gentle pity when he noticed it. Perhaps he would have to hide the book from his wife, or tear out the page.
Angelika tried to sound cheerful, even as her cheeks warmed and her throat tightened.
“We always went to church in town, but the estate originally had a chapel. I haven’t seen it since I was a child.”
Will looked up, startled. “I know where it is.”
“Does it still have four walls and a roof?”
“I’ve never seen it in daylight, but I’ve woken up there three times now. We should make sure to get back before nightfall.”
Angelika nodded. “Yes, I have something I need to do before it gets dark.” She’d asked Mrs. Rumsfield to make some small vegetable pies; it would be nice for Victor’s man to find them still warm. Like Will, he would not touch meat, and the sausages she had left in his baskets were tossed into the leaves. “Did you make any progress on your mystery when you rode to the village?”
“Christopher’s information on the travelers’ inn was useful. I went there and met with the landlady but found it too difficult to explain myself. The story of my twin brother is increasingly unbelievable.” He put his hands on his knees and stood with a groan. “I have walked around Salisbury long enough to believe I am a stranger to the village. But sometimes I see a maid look at me a second time, and I begin to doubt again.”
Angelika’s eyebrows lowered. “That is because you are terribly handsome. I will come with you next time.”
“Jealous,” he chided, but his eyes glowed with pleasure for several minutes as they began their walk. “I think I might have to expand my search for myself to London. I don’t suppose you feel like accompanying me on my trip?”
“I would follow you anywhere,” Angelika replied, and she did, into the darkening forest.
The path up the hill was roughly laid with crumbling stone stairs in some places, and in others it was nothing more than deer tracks traced into the fallen leaves. They fell into a companionable silence as they walked, and it was a good thing, too, because Angelika soon found her fitness was not up to this incline. “I’m hoping—it’s in a reasonable state—Victor and Lizzie—” She bent over, hands on knees, and huffed unintelligibly about marriage.
“I know how Victor feels about churches. I suppose he wants to hide away up here to wed her.” Will was unaffected by the terrain and stood patiently until she regained her breath. “Take my arm.”
She gladly obliged, pressing her cheek to his biceps as they pressed onward and upward. A noise caught her attention; she looked back and saw a solitary piglet trailing them. “Is that Belladonna’s runt?”
Will was sheepish. “It’s terribly friendly.”
“This is exactly how it starts. A basket. A water dish. An apple core, here and there.” To distract herself from the incline, Angelika said, “Tell me what trees and plants I have here on this hill.”
He began to name them. “These are blackthorn shrubs, but don’t even try to taste those berries. They’re only good for gin, but I have made a syrup to treat rheumatism. I’m not sure how I knew to do it, but I did.” He patted her hand. “When Mary returns home, I think it will help her immensely.”
“I’m sure it will make her feel better.” The rabbit holes and slippery leaves were easy to traverse when she had both of her arms wrapped around his. “Maybe you are a doctor, my love. They have to know a lot about herbs. You certainly have thecalm disposition, and you cared for me perfectly when I hit my head.”
“It is a possibility.” Will pointed out more trees. “You have hazel trees up here on the ridge, and walnut down in the grove. These huge, twisted trees are called yew, but I think you knew that.”
She did. “I just like hearing you talk about what you love.”
He patted her hand and continued the lesson. “Yew trees represent immortality, but also death. I rather relate to them.” He put his hand on one as they stepped under its low branch.
“Perhaps you are a teacher. A botany professor.”
“One could go mad wondering.” It was a quiet warning to drop it.
On the steep slope, these mossy yews hugged the incline, casting their branches in fairy-tale shapes. In several places on the estate they formed tunnels. They were horrifically beautiful. Angelika asked, “Why do they mean immortality?”
“They’re ancient. These would be hundreds of years old, and I could show you some that look like they could be a thousand. They regenerate themselves. Inside the old hollow trunk, a new one will grow. Then the old trunk will fall away. Your grandchildren will have reborn yews to walk beneath. That is the nature of their immortality.”
He did not sayour grandchildren, and the pang was acute. “And why do they represent death?”
“Many folktales exist, but mainly because they are poisonous. The Romans believed yew trees grew in hell.”
Angelika was despondent. “Guess what type of wood my bed is made from. I suppose my nature makes sense now.”
Will tried to jolly her. “Must be why I woke up that first morning after we met feeling regenerated.”
