‘The ploughed-field shall then be conducted to the appropriate area of the sty for monitoring by the captain of mid-wives over the following two menstrual months for signs of a successful serving. Any growing crop shall then await harvest under guard in…’
Chapter 5: SISTINE SOLUTIONS
‘Infamy!’ said the priest, loud enough to be heard beyond the confessional. ‘Satanic infamy!’
How could Frankenstein contradict him? What other response was there to this judgement on the book’s contents? From where Julius sat it seemed the priest’s review was spot on.
‘And the child!’ the tirade continued, born on by moral momentum. ‘The end product of such a loathsome process! An abomination! Your companion took it? And you permitted that?’
They’d been here before and Julius welcomed the repetition—maybe it meant he’d almost drained his recent life-story of sin. Perhaps absolution and a fresh start might follow in its trail.
‘She did,’ he replied concisely. ‘I did. And Lady Lovelace said…’
‘Evidence,’ said Lady Lovelace, in response to Frankenstein’s reproving look. ‘Evidence of what is going on here.’
Out on the roof and under the sun, she clutched the snatched baby to her breast. It lay there unmoved and unmoving.
Julius looked again, unable to believe it first time round. He’d never seen anyone in that situation look less maternal.
His face must have continued to express profound doubts. Surprisingly, Lady Lovelace brazenly conceded she’d lied.
‘Very well then,’ she said. ‘Call it insurance. ‘Your soft heart will guarantee it—and thus us—a supply of good serum.’
She had a point. The flask bandoleer which was the child’s only clothing, the huge butts of serum around the roof garden, were evidence of a hearty appetite; indeed, a monstrous dependence.
As if it heard and knew and agreed, the babe turned to look at Frankenstein.
Julius almost took a step back; he had to tighten his grip on the book lest it fall.
The eyes were those of an infant but they were windows into its soul—if applicable. The mind behind them looked older and wiser and colder than mankind.
‘No more,’ said the priest, admitting defeat. ‘Not today. It is… It is too much for me. I cannot.’
Frankenstein boggled. Somewhat like the priest, he’d never heard of such a thing!
‘What? No absolution?’ he protested.
From beyond the grill came authentic tones of panic.
‘Not now…,’ said the priest. ‘I… must seek advice. Come back tomorrow. In fact, I insist you come back tomorrow. Ask for Father Cornelius. At peril of your soul, ensure you find me again! But not today… Tomorrow!’
A wash of something spiritually chill swept through Frankenstein’s guts. Lest it pool and settle inside him he rose in haste.
‘Do not forget!’ urged Father Cornelius to the departing sinner. ‘Be sure not to forget!’
‘How could I?’ thought Julius, as he stepped back out into the sunshine. It seemed less intense than before: as did all the scents and colours. ‘Even Gilles de Rais, the infamous child murderer was shriven before they executed him—slowly. So what does that make me?’
Far more than the bad things he’d done or gone along with, Frankenstein now repented of his snap decision to confess. It had brought things to a head and coalesced the chaos of events into awful summary. If only he’d marched on by he could still have pleaded ignorance. Now he appreciated with greater force than ever just how much ignorance was bliss!
‘Damn!’ he cursed, causing people to stare. ‘Damn!’
Then, more softly but with no less conviction: ‘And damned.’
For all his lengthy absence, Frankenstein found Lady Lovelace still in the Sistine Chapel, still transported. Foxglove, leaning against a far wall, was still keeping patient watch.
Nor was he alone in that. Ada’s prolonged meditation had attracted attention. Two Swiss Guards had her under scrutiny and were in conference with a priest. Passing tourists were pointing her out and the more frivolous elements giggling.
The likelihood of Hellfire, perhaps its inevitability, should have made Julius more, not less, reckless, but common sense is a tough yoke to chuck. The scene before him screamed ‘time to go.’
He crossed straight to her.
‘Come on.’
Ada did not respond. In his upset he shook her shoulder like no gentleman should.
That broke the trance—and had Foxglove been more mobile that might not have been the only thing broken. Yet there was less Lovelace resentment than Julius expected, and no hysterics at all!
‘I almost had it…,’ she told him—or possibly herself. ‘Almost.’
‘Had what?’ asked Julius.
So it was to herself, because she didn’t bother to explain.
‘Don’t worry, mein herr,’ said Ada, acknowledging him for the first time. ‘You didn’t ruin things. It never was going to come; not if I lingered there till Doomsday. It was close but there’s an element missing from the equation…’
Even so, she was pleased about something, to the point of smugness. Frankenstein sensed the balance of power between them had shifted in her favour (or even more in her favour). Not that he was worried about that. Julius didn’t share Ada’s insistence on one-upmanship as integral part of the game of life.
But speaking of life, and by implication its continuation…
It was easy to forget here, in this the oldest of human institutions, about trivial day to day things; like the fact that they were fugitives with an Emperor in pursuit of them. And that Julius might have just added another party to the pack in pursuit.
‘We have to go,’ he said. ‘Now!’
Foxglove had hobbled up to join them. It added little to their safety quotient, though Ada fondly seemed to believe otherwise.
‘Why?’ she enquired. ‘They have not molested me after that initial impudence. Foxglove—and yourself, I suppose—could deal with them if they do.’
In his unshriven state Julius felt no need to mince his words.
‘You are an offence here. Simply by being. We’ve outstayed our limited welcome…’
Lady Lovelace had her shrewd look on. She smiled and studied Julius up and down, still capable of coquetry despite everything.
‘There’s more, isn’t there?’ she teased him. ‘What have you been up to?’
Earlier he’d compared himself (unfavourably) to a notorious child-killer. It recalled to him their present responsibilities.
‘We have an infant, of sorts, in our—no, your—custody. We should attend to it.’
Ada shook her head and smiled artfully again.
‘No. We pumped it full of serum sufficient for hours to come. And you’ve never been so concerned before…’
Another priest, then another, then two more Swiss Guards joined the mini conference by the entrance.
‘Madam…,’ reproved Foxglove, deploying maximum diplomacy against Ada-erism. She ignored him.
She was toying with Frankenstein, her girlish voice almost sing-song.
‘I won’t stir till you tell me…’