Lady Frankenstein

By Jodi Chow

Lady Frankenstein follows up where the original left off. Join Sonia in her quest for knowledge. This novel follows the same themes as the original Frankenstein, but with a female twist. Will she push everyone she loves away for the sake of her work, or will she rise above?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Book Boutique
• Release date: Apr 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869303165

Book preview

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Lady Frankenstein

From the Lady Frankenstein Series

Jodi Chow

Dedication: To all of the monster-lovers of the world. To Mary Shelley, who bridged the gaps to bring about inspiration and change to the literary community with her masterpiece, Frankenstein.

To my family and readers who have supported the ambitious task of bringing Frankenstein back to life.

Chapter One- Margaret’s Daughter in Geneva

He was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance.- Frankenstein

That is how Victor Frankenstein perished. Robert Walton, disbelieving in Victor’s madness, acquiesced and regained his composure at the scene. What wretched possibility could have convinced a man to be callously driven out of his mind with such ferocious and ignited energy? Walton had come to the North Pole to photograph polar bears, not to witness the extinction of a scientist. Shaking his head, a silent cry escaped his frigid lips. However, confused as he was, he was certain that nowhere on God’s green Earth could a demise like that have been unagitated in its unfolding.

As he settled his nerves to calmly navigate his way back to his campsite, where he would develop his albumen prints of the day’s journey, a sudden yet compelling vision caught his attention. There, in the forest underbrush was a grisly creature that looked almost human. Walton’s eyes began to tear up as he tracked the crooked figure stumbling along the forest edge. A black tattered suit covered gangrene inflicted skin patched together like a quilt. The creature moaned as he lurched into the wood before Walton could submit to his own cowardly nature. He breathed a sigh of relief as he turned on his heel back towards the snow drenched path.

Walton, who was visibly upset by this point, recoiled and sprinted back where he had come from, following his previous footsteps stride for stride before they could be lost to the snow drifts forevermore. The heinous creature had become a fixture in his mind, an axis, keeping his temper from dying down and drowned out any hope for peace. He continued to trudged through the snow and ice, past the point where Victor floated away. Victor had every right to be frightened and furious at the monster, Walton was convinced.

Before dusk, he arrived back at camp, a small fire started by one of the members of the expedition. He slowly sat down, his wet boots encased in brittle ice. His breathing was hot and menacing against the bitter air as puffs of steam evaporated off of him like a steam engine. Slowly, he began to warm up his blue fingers and toes. He was shaking.

Fellow, are you alright? William, a good friend, stooped low with a dingy metal cup full of hot broth. It clanked against the metal arm of his chair.

Yes, but I am afraid I have seen a monster. Walton replied shockingly politely. He looked down at the mug, grateful for the thermal ambiance it exuded, yet not quite sure of the proper disposition one should exhibit, when bombarded with the startling reality of nature’s own might. Walton, a man of sound mind, wasn’t sure how, but he had to tell the world what he had just escaped from. They may not believe him, but it was his sworn duty to protect the public.

A monster you say? Is it the beastly kind that would eat human flesh? William nonchalantly inquired.

No. no. Walton said with a serious shake, almost wishing the memory would fly out of his mind.

The kind that imitates the worst of sinners so as to have you believe he is not so bad. The truth of what Walton was saying struck a chord in William. Together they huddled around the fire, a silent understanding spreading through the camp. Vigilance ruled the evening as the crew warmed up. The group was parsed thin, as one by one, the men went back to their respective tents to retire for the night.

There, in his military-grade canvas tent, curled up tight in thick blankets of fur, Walton sat down to write. He reflected on the day’s stressful events and scary encounters. He pulled out his leather-bound journal with a shaky hand, where war-torn pages of letters to his dear sister Margaret were inscribed. He had made a habit out of writing to her on his escapades.

Dear Margaret,

Victor’s monster got the better of him today. There, in the Arctic, he lost his life to the sea on a piece of ice no larger than ten feet wide. I am still shaking at the memory. It had broken off of the shore, and there was no way I could reach him in time. He was badly hurt, and at last, he looked heartbroken and exhausted.

Oddly, when I turned to leave, I followed a set of tracks into the wood. I believed they looked to be human, and once I breached the forest, I horrifically observed that they were not. A green monster-like creature was howling and seemed to be in great anguish. In my fear, I could only begin to understand that this was, in fact, Frankenstein’s Prometheus.

I was lucky to have survived the encounter, and I can tell you without doubt, that Frankenstein’s stories are true. The monster did not want to hurt me, and I believe he is dead now of self-inflicted methods. I beg of you, please go to his family in Geneva with a partner. There, please share the sorrowful news of Victor’s demise. I have included the train fare and boat passage for you and your companion. Bronson, I assume. I will be home in the next few months. Tell the children hello from me.

Your affectionate brother

As soon as his signature was penned, he gathered the necessary documents and monies to assist his sister in her travels. His internal voice sighed with finality and fragility as he quickly tore the letter from the beloved journal, careful not to rip the edges, and placed it in an envelope. He silently put to rest and sealed shut the story of Victor Frankenstein in his mind as he licked the envelope closed. Satisfied, he placed the envelope in an outgoing mail slot carved into the side of his desk. The expedition crew had decided earlier to use his desk as a communal place to organize their written communications. A ship would whisk the letter away, and Margaret would be on an adventure of her own in no time. Content, but not comfortable, he settled in his cot for the evening.

The night turned into day. The day soon gave way to the week. Soon, the letter was aboard the HMS Resolute and en route to Margaret. Her family had become Walton’s own, since he had decided long ago not to have a biological family of his own. He thought about her and her children so much as his own that he dreamed about them as he was photographing wildlife and during his blistering cold hikes. He was sure they were cozied up in their English townhome, enjoying the more domestic sides of life. Each stab at the ice was a personal reminder to his commitment to unbridled exploration. One day, he would see them again, his family, and he knew their eyes would light up with joy. He was the only man left alive on Margaret’s side, and he promised his father he would always support her. He imagined the letter leaving the North Pole, journeying on the ship, and being delivered to London.

A month had gone by, and soon the tattered letter turned up on a cheerful yellow doorstep in the suburbs of London. The letter looked badly beaten. It stood out as worn amongst the freshly painted front doors and vibrant floral arrangements guarding the meticulously maintained side street of Parker Ave.

A delicate and finely manicured porcelain hand reached down and picked up the magical note. The dainty gesture was a trademark move orchestrated by none other than Margaret Saville herself. She delighted in receiving her brother’s good will, and she wondered what he had in store for her this time. Her beautifully feminine features were complete with a contented and graceful aura as she clicked the door shut behind her. Elegantly, her attention turned to the living room where her teenage daughter sat sewing in the diffused light of the afternoon sun. Their loving smiles were enough communication even for their intrigued hound dog, Boris.

Full of energy, he got up from his spot at the young girl’s stockinged feet. He sniffed the letter in Margaret’s hand and she chuckled.

Look what the cat dragged in, my dearest. Margaret spoke to her daughter in soft tones.

Her daughter eagerly put her work down, and stood up to meet her mother. They were both petite women with cascading brunette hair. Light powder and blush showed off their natural beauty and only their radiance shone through.

Oh! A letter from Uncle Robert! Sonia, her daughter, exclaimed.

The pair gaily sat down on the sofa together, reveling in the attention and anticipation of what was to come. The two had become enamored with Frankenstein’s stories, so much so that they had to hold their tongues and bite back the hints of gossip that played on their gorgeous lips with every cursive word they read.

I’ll do the honors then. Margaret said with an air of authority. Corrected, Sonia sat back in the sofa to take in the news.

Margaret dove head first into the writings of her brother, the Captain of the Arctic expedition. She knew his letter would not disappoint, so she optimistically began reading. Soon, the smile on her face curved downward as she processed the fact that Victor had died. A detached sadness washed over the women. Margaret set the letter on the end table, which was placed on the right side of their floral pastel sofa.

Upon the conclusion of the communication, Margaret and Sonia looked dumbfounded. Boris was languishing at their feet now, consumed with a bone whilst also quietly consuming their psyches. As he ate away, the women became aware of the magnitude of the transmission’s directive.

Mummy, Sonia looked at her mother expectantly. Does this mean we get to go to Switzerland? Her upturned and innocent face was nothing short of a miracle. Her mother’s hand flew to her child’s chin, and held it briefly.

Let’s ask your father at dinner tonight. Margaret said matter-of-factly as she gazed in her daughter’s beautiful blue-green eyes. They were full of wonder and hope, just as Margaret had designed. Margaret made the decision then to treat her daughter to a fantastic Swiss getaway. Sonia was mentored by Thomas Holloway in the fields of arts and sciences. Not only that, but he said that she exhibited signs of genius in a field that mainly focused on brilliant men. Sonia didn’t mind, as she focused on her own research and observations. It was, in fact, Sonia’s last year of studies and Margaret thought a vacation would be an excellent reward.

Margaret, grappling with the strong emotions of seeing her daughter struggle due to the lack of resources in their region, stood up convicted. Sonia, awestruck, bent down and gave Boris a big hug and kiss. She hid her excitement in his smooth marble coat as she watched her mother glide into the kitchen, where she would master a beautiful French hen for dinner.

Soon, Sonia found herself back at her sewing. The intricate patterns wove together to create a lapdog- a companion she secretly desired. Her fingers deftly moving the needle as she pondered life’s most pressing concerns. Acceptance seeped in as she began thinking of creative solutions to her own dilemmas. Her tongue knocking the side of her cheek all the while.

Margaret, tying her apron around her waist, covered her demure petticoats. She was not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. Robert’s education had cost her family nearly every last penny they had. If it were not for Margaret’s successful engagement to a banker, she would be peddling her wares on the street. This thought always encouraged action in Margaret, as the assumed fate of poverty reaching her own daughter brought tears to her eyes, and, was considered by her, to be a worse fate than death itself.

As she maneuvered around her comfortable kitchen and danced to a beat unheard, she expertly prepared and crafted a mini-feast for her family of four. It was so savory it would have made the King himself envious. She smiled to herself, her mind focused on how to sell the Geneva trip to her husband, Bronson, who would surely not agree with the unethical practices of Victor Frankenstein. She mused to herself and tended to her internal turmoil all while cooking up the most delightful of dinners. She worked up the courage to approach her grumpy husband when he got home that evening.

This trip would be remembered for the ages, she envisioned. The thought made her smile. The family would take a much-needed vacation from their busy English life, and they would trade it in for a rich Swiss experience. Margaret didn’t need to mention Victor explicitly, she decided. She would sell this as a luxurious escape hosted by wealthy friends of the family. As she covered her hands in flour and began vigorously kneading the dough on the counter, she began to formulate a plan to finance their affair.

Skip, her youngest child true to his name, came traipsing through the kitchen with mud caked on his knickers from playing with the pig bladder in the backyard with his fellow eight-year-old friends. He ran up and hugged her, laughing so loudly, Sonia looked up from her sewing.

What is the meaning of this? His mother happily exclaimed. Sonia looked at her mother with an inquisitive eye. A sense of knowing enveloped her as she thought about her own children. She sighed to herself as she turned her focus back to the lapdog at hand.

Mum! You should have seen it. Richey was in the back of our huddle, and the bladder broke on him. It still had juice in it! He was laughing almost hysterically now, and he looked to his mother for reassurance and comfort.

Margaret, silently cursed Richey. The thought of the pig bladder exploding added a layer of disgust and intrigue to her day that she was not prepared for. She held up her flour-filled hands, and threw some at Skip.

Out with you! Go clean up for dinner. She teased as Skip ran up the stairs. Margaret swore to herself that if he wasn’t freshly dressed in time for dinner, he would be hearing about it before bedtime. She smiled to herself as she placed the sweet treats drizzled with chocolate into her oven.

Heavy ideas began to bog down her mind as she cleared the muddy footprints from her white tiled floor. The whole kitchen had been designed by Laurie Devous, a popular interior designer at the time. She was a regal woman who believed that the aesthetics of a home directly impacted the quality of life of those who resided inside. Margaret had agreed, and work began foraging her kitchen into a fresh and cozy culinary chamber.

Now that the hen was roasting and the dessert was baking, she made her way up the wooden stairs to her and her husband’s master retreat. It was a large room towards the back of the house with a view of the London Bridge behind it. The view was painstakingly beautiful, almost making her cringe at the thought of leaving it for a couple of months.

She undressed down to her silk slip. The slick white fabric was cool against her toned body. She was an avid croquet player as a child, and the athletic and social endeavor had paid off long into her adult years. Bronson was the brother of one of her fellow croquet enthusiasts. They met on a grassy lawn in front of the finishing school she attended on a breezy spring day. She could practically smell the lavender as she changed into a gold evening dress.

Her father had worked tirelessly as a barley farmer. They had a small homestead in the more rural parts of London, an inheritance from his own father. Since her mother died of disease after Robert left for college, her father was barely able to keep their small-scale operation alive, given new industrial standards that he could not meet.

He worried about his only daughter, Margaret. He was terrified she would meet a rugged man who would cause her more harm than good, or worse- an American. This spurred him to call social services. The social worker came one hot summer day in the middle of June. Margaret was out in the chicken coop gathering eggs. Her torn dress and broken-in shoes were no match for the professional attire worn by the middle-aged woman who came calling.

Margaret, brought back to reality by her son’s laughter and unfocused attention, peeked outside of her door. Skip was running up and down the stairs with his clean clothes flapping behind him like a makeshift flag. He could not settle down long enough to dress himself properly.

Hurry, son, or your father will be disappointed. Put on those slacks and wash your face in the basin! Skip could tell she meant business, and he ran by her door to his room. He slammed it shut and Margaret winced.

She gently shut her own door, and began putting on a decadent jewel encrusted necklace that Bronson had given her for their twentieth wedding anniversary. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, and looked down lovingly at the piece. He was a kind and thoughtful man, just like her father had been.

Her thoughts went back to the farm as they always did when she was alone. That hot summer day, all Margaret had hoped for was that the social worker would stay and marry her father so that they could live like a happy family did. When her father approached her later that evening with a flyer for a boarding school in her hand, she had uncouthly laughed in his face.

He nodded at her, and she could tell he was serious. It wasn’t but a few weeks later, Margaret found herself sitting on a stench-filled fabric seat heading to none other than Queens College on a scholarship. She was uncomfortable and she knew she would not fit in. Her father had purchased three cotton dresses for her to wear during her first week, where uniforms would be provided.

The uniforms at the finishing school were navy and uncomfortable. She paused at the thought. Her life had been her own, and she could hardly remember sacrificing for it. That Spring, she had met Bronson, and he had taken her under his wing. They became inseparable after that. The gold dressed flowed to her ankles as she purposefully marched down their family’s wooden staircase and into the pristine white kitchen.

Just then, Bronson shuffled in with his briefcase in hand. He looked like he had just been to battle when he bent his stocky frame down to give her a kiss. He had a long and tiring day listening to aristocrats go on and on about the advances in banking. His bank was the number one producer in the city, and trailing him were numerous men vying for his position. He pushed the idea of work out of his mind and refocused his affections on his wife.

She smiled up at him when his firstborn, Sonia, stood up in the living room and sashayed across the room to greet him. He always got a kick out of watching her imitate her mother. She loved welcoming him home, and they settled down together talking about the day’s triumphs.

The three of them moved around the dinner table. Bronson could hardly believe how much Sonia had grown this past year. She was of age to marry, and the family was beginning to make plans regarding her future nuptials. She brought the food to the table alongside her mother, and called up the stairs to Skip.

Skip came barreling down, dressed in his finest, with a proud grin on his face. His father’s face lit up with joy, and the foursome sat down to dinner to engage in a lively discourse. By the end of the meal, they were all happy and full.

Margaret took this opportunity to discuss the letter she received from Richard. Bronson, knowing the love the two had for each other, sat up with rapt attention.

Bronson, it seems as though Richard had befriended a wealthy scientist on his expedition. The man perished at the North Pole, and Richard wants us to share the news with his family. They live in Geneva. She looked down after she fervently exhaled, waiting for his reply with bated breath.

After a few moments, Bronson responded with understanding.

My love, I cannot leave. He looked at her, disappointed.

I can go with mum, dad! Sonia suggested.

Bronson looked at Sonia with a steely gaze, as if assessing her fitness and acuity. His head cocked to the side as he smiled to himself. Margaret looked at him and grinned. Sonia sat, barely able to contain her excitement. After another moment, he happily responded.

Yes, that sounds nice. It would be good for the both of you. As if reading Margaret’s mind, he settled on the idea. You may go with your mother to share this tragic news. You must be home in time for school. Bronson placed this limitation on the two women, which they accepted with gratitude and grace.

Their dessert was extra sweet that evening. They devoured the cakes and ice-cream with greedy indulgence. The details would sort themselves out later, tonight the Saville women were on cloud nine.

The following week, Margaret made it her mission to sort the trip out. They would leave for London and arrive in Geneva via train and boat. She fancied the idea of Sonia becoming an expert at international travel. The money that Richard provided was plenty to cover the cost. She telegraphed the Frankenstein’s on Monday and was delighted to have heard back from the matriarch by Friday.

Dear Margaret,

Hoping this wire finds you well. Your impending visit brings light to our somber abode. The Frankenstein hearth welcomes you with open arms. Two rooms are prepared, warmed by the hearth's glow, anticipating your arrival. Stay as long as your heart desires; our home is yours for these upcoming months. We find solace in your company during these trying times.

Awaiting your presence in patience.

Warm regards,

Elisabeth, House Frankenstein Geneva

She and Sonia were going to stay in Geneva at the Frankenstein Estate for two months as they delivered the news and took time to sightsee and experience all Switzerland had to offer. Bronson, noticing their growing excitement chipped in 4,000 pounds so the ladies could shop. Margaret felt proud and resolute, and with the mission complete, on Saturday she sat back in exhalation, determined to make this the best vacation of their lives. Sonia was going to be married and would have little time for her doting mother, and Margaret didn’t want to show any vulnerabilities along the way. Her mind raced as she thought of every possibility for failure as she concocted the elaborate plan to stay in Geneva for two months.

Just then, the marvelous Sonia entered the foyer with a large stack of haphazard text books in her arms.

Mum! Mr. Holloway gave me these on my last day in class. He says they are the best science textbooks of my time. Sonia paused, giving her mother time to interject her exclamations. Her mother patiently waited for Sonia to continue, a trick Bronson had taught her.

"I have A System of Human Anatomy by Erasmus Wilson, Elements of Physiology by