Monster Page 11

  “I don’t want to waste time,” says Edgar as they stop for a moment, waiting for two cabs to appear, “so I’m thinking we should find this H.G. Wells fellow and speak to him in the morning. He seems to know a great deal about vivisection and perhaps even about making human beings. Maybe he knows something about human-animal hybrids too, like the ones in his novel. Perhaps he’s seen one. And, Tiger, you might be right to think we shouldn’t go back to Godwin’s lab at night. He told me that Wells may have modeled a character after him. I think it’s Doctor Moreau.”

  —

  That night, alone in his room at Thorne House, Annabel fast asleep not far below, Edgar squirms under his bed, lifts the loose floorboard and gets out the most important item hidden there, a black leather journal:

  He turns to the entry about Frankenstein, passing quickly over the paragraphs concerning Mary Shelley’s life until he comes to the account of how she created her infamous story while half-dreaming in her bed in a spooky house on Lake Geneva in Switzerland. It was during the nearly sun-less summer of 1816, just days after she took up a ghost-story challenge with her poet-husband and his friends, one of whom wrote The Vampyre. There are entries that frighten him: a passage without a source about Mary actually seeing a “hideous phantasm of a man” being brought to life by the “working of some powerful engine”! Where could she have seen that? he wonders. And there is another note about her glimpsing a big, bizarre-looking man in the woods not far from where she was living. But there isn’t much Edgar can sink his teeth into in Allen Brim’s notes, no clues that might connect Mary’s fictional creation to what may be in pursuit of him and his friends in this London summer of 1897. Even if it were true that some real creature inspired Frankenstein’s monster, thinks Edgar, that was long ago.

  But could Godwin have somehow been inspired to attempt a hideous scientific trial by such stories?

  “Stop it,” Edgar says to himself. “Percy Godwin is a scientist and likely never so much as glances at fiction, probably finds it frivolous. You are making all this up. And Godwin expressly denied any interest when the subject of a Frankenstein experiment was raised; he was disgusted by it.”

  As he drifts to sleep, worrying that the hag will be with him in the morning, he thinks of the other novel upstairs in the lab, that H.G. Wells tome, and the scientist in it who does forbidden things very much like Victor Frankenstein…a doctor.

  —

  The four friends meet on Waterloo Bridge early the next morning, the rising sun casting the Parliament Buildings and that part of London in a lovely glow. Lucy is dressed up for her meeting with the famous young author, in a pin-striped black dress and hat. The others are as usual. They take the early South Western Railway train to Worcester Park, where Wells lives. Edgar had seen an interview with him in Pearson’s Magazine, complete with an illustration of his house on a street called The Avenue.

  They are facing each other in four seats and say little as the train rattles along. But when they are well out of the city, just past Wimbledon, Lucy speaks up.

  “When you are with Dr. Godwin in his laboratory, Edgar, do you ever talk about personal matters?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you ever tell him about your guardians and where you live?”

  “I suppose I have. Why?”

  “So, if there is something in the Elephant Man’s room, some creature, and it can hear just like you and I, and it is listening when you are there with Dr. Godwin, then it may have learned exactly where you live.”

  —

  When they get out at Worcester Park, they soon find The Avenue and in minutes are walking along it, all a little nervous, not sure what they will say to this great young man whose strange books and ideas are electrifying England and the world.

  It is a leafy street, wide and lined with big trees and nice houses, not mansions for the rich, but most certainly not homes for the poor either. They find the Wells property. It sits back a bit from the street, made of red brick and large, almost like two homes, two stories on one half and three on the other with a peaked roof on that part reaching into the sky.

  “I’m guessing he writes up there in the top room,” says Jonathan, “where he’s closer to Mars.”

  As they turn toward the front door, two people emerge from around the side of the house, a man and a woman: she small and somewhat plain looking, wearing a long dress hiked up to her calves and sporting a hat tipped back a little on her head; he also small, in a tweed suit and cloth cap. They come to a halt on their lawn while upon a new-fangled tandem bicycle they had begun to tentatively ride, their feet on the ground on either side, he at the front muttering instructions and she behind trying to do as he bids. They don’t so much as notice the four strangers on their front walkway.

  “Jane,” says the man, “you must never hesitate when upon a bicycle, remember that; you hesitated yesterday and that was unquestionably the cause of our crash.”

  “Yes, Bertie,” she says, “though your sudden change of speed was not what one might consider of assistance during our dilemma.”

  It’s Wells. Edgar is sure of it. He’s seen his face in the papers many times. But he can hardly believe it. Not just because he is suddenly in the presence of greatness but because this slight man, with the thick, straight dark hair parted on the side and the walrus mustache, is so unimpressive. He is not only small but looks rather unhealthy, like someone who is recovering from an illness, and appears somewhat short on muscle. And he speaks in a slightly high-pitched working-class accent that one would never associate with a man of letters or of such bold and forceful ideas.

  “Mr. Wells?” calls Tiger.

  “Who asks?” he says without even looking at them, staring down at the pedals on the bicycle as he tries to coordinate them and his wife.

  “I am Miss Tilley.”

  Wells looks over at her and does a double take. He scans her up and down, the gaze of a male examining a female of interest. She is wearing her trousers again. He lingers a bit over her lower half.

  “And I am Miss Lucy Lear.”

  Wells turns to Lucy and his smile grows a little.

  “Indeed,” he says. “You are not a traditionally beautiful young woman, my dear, nose a little long, your skin a little pale, interesting red hair, copper I’d guess, but you have a certain presence, shall we say. It is always good and exciting to tell the truth.” He offers her a little bow.

  “I am Jonathan Lear.”

  “And I’m Edgar Brim.”

  Jon strides toward the couple and reaches out to take Wells’s hand. The great man is still looking at Lucy and Tiger. Then he returns his attention to the bicycle pedals, leaving Jonathan standing there with his arm outstretched.

  “What would you like? I do not autograph books for strangers. Mrs. Jane Wells and I were just going out on a bicycling expedition. If your mission was to say hello, then you have had it. Good day.”

  “We want to ask you about Dr. Percy Godwin,” says Edgar quickly.

  Wells stops what he is doing. “Godwin?” His voice grows a bit shrill. “He is a scoundrel!”

  “Is he the model for Dr. Moreau?” asks Tiger.

  Wells pauses for a moment and looks to be gathering himself before he answers. “The Island of Doctor Moreau is a fiction, my dear,” he finally says. “That is the first thing you must know. But if I indeed in any way based that scum of a character—he who took the noble enterprise of science and ran with it until it was a bastard child of Satan—upon anyone, the aforementioned Godwin would be…” He pauses. “Perhaps he was in the back of my mind, shall we say.” He grins mischievously.

  “Why are you so harsh about him?” asks Edgar.

  “Why are you asking?”

  “I know him. I work with him.”

  “Then I pity you.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “Because he is a vivisectionist with a large brain and no heart. A human being, and humanity itself, must have both, you see. Vivisection may no
t be the worst of things, there are arguments that can be put forth in its favor. Godwin, however, is what is presented in our society as a leader of men, but he is a wanker.”

  “Bertie, language,” says Jane.

  “Mr. Wells, do you believe a scientist will ever make a new sort of human being, like Dr. Moreau did in your book?”

  “What a question! You are a rather intense lad, you are. I like it!”

  “Well, do you believe that could happen?”

  “Woe to us if it ever occurs.”

  “What if it already has?”

  Wells seems a bit taken aback by that. The bold, talkative personality he has been projecting appears to waver for a moment. He climbs off the bicycle, leaving his diminutive wife to hold up the whole contraption. She struggles with it. “I…” He clears his throat. “I doubt that.”

  “But you don’t entirely discount it?” asks Lucy.

  “How about the invisible man,” asks Jonathan, “was he real? Or at least based on someone?”

  Wells smiles. “Such questions!” He puts his hands on his hips and sighs. “I do not discount any possibility. There are many truths. And one indeed finds truth in novels.”

  “Dr. Godwin has invited us to visit him today, alone in his laboratory,” says Tiger, “and during our visit he will take us into a room that has been locked for seven years. It used to belong to the Elephant Man. Do you think we should go?”

  “I wouldn’t. You might find it sealed up again with you on the wrong side.”

  “Are you being serious?” asks Edgar.

  “Somewhat.”

  “I will be honest with you,” says Edgar, “since you have taken the time to speak with us. I sometimes believe that some of the villains, the monsters, in some fiction are based on real things, real aberrations. We believe we have encountered at least two.”

  Wells looks at him intensely with his penetrating blue eyes. “Fascinating,” he says. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Edgar Brim.”

  “That could work,” says Wells quietly to himself.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing. You were going to say more?” Wells steps closer to him.

  “I am worried that there is now in London a creature that has been made by a human being. I wonder, at times, if it has been concocted by Dr. Godwin himself. I am here to ask you if you think that could have happened.”

  Wells steps even closer to the four of them, who are lined up listening intently. He takes Lucy’s hand and then Tiger’s. He is not much taller than the latter. He looks back and forth between the two of them. “Science, my lovelies, is a two-edged sword. It can do marvelous things and it can do great evil.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” says Edgar.

  Wells has been glowing at the girls and Edgar’s voice almost startles him. “Yes,” he finally says, “I believe that science might one day put a new heart into a man and perhaps even a new brain, make a new man entirely. As to whether or not it has been done already, if I have observed one, if I have secret information about some villain who created one…you must know that I would not tell you. That would spoil everything. But I will put on record that I have suspicions, deep ones.”

  Lucy puts her hand to her mouth.

  “And Dr. Godwin,” says Edgar, “would he do it?”

  “Let us just say that if anyone has,” says Wells, “it would be him!” He looks into the distance and then seems to come to. “Jane, we have a bicycle expedition to perform. Let us drive off into the future!” He turns and seizes his part of the tandem, mounts and begins to pedal, almost knocking his wife down. They pull away, Jane looking at the four visitors and rolling her eyes at her husband.

  “I wouldn’t keep that appointment with Godwin,” shouts Wells as they head onto The Avenue. “He is the real world’s chief candidate to be the Lord of the House of Pain. Stay away from him!”

  —

  On the way back on the train they speak of H.G. Wells but Godwin is really the one on their mind.

  “Wells is an interesting man,” says Tiger.

  “Amazing eyes,” says Lucy, “and he’s quite the talker, with awfully stimulating ideas. Charming.”

  “That wasn’t my impression,” says Jonathan, a bit peevishly. “I thought he was rather timid. It didn’t seem to me that he had any real reason to be so frightened of Dr. Godwin. He just doesn’t like him.”

  “He warned us,” replies Lucy. “Shouldn’t a warning from someone like him mean something?”

  “Wells obviously has an overly stimulated imagination, sis, as do you, at times.”

  “And you, at times, have none.”

  “Well,” says Edgar, “should we do it?”

  15

  Edgar leaves the others behind at Waterloo Station and makes his way by underground railway to the London Hospital. They will meet him there at six o’clock, since they finally all agreed to go into the Elephant Man’s room with Godwin, though Lucy expressed reservations.

  The great surgeon is hard at work when Edgar arrives. He has the body out of the sack and cleaned and prepared and all the instruments ready. Edgar sees, with a shudder, that the woman’s face has already been removed, and the ears and nose have been sliced off. Despite this, and despite Wells and Tiger’s opinions, Edgar tries not to treat Godwin any differently.

  But the experimenter seems to be presenting a different sort of personality than at any time before. He isn’t happy or excited or angry. He seems almost completely emotionless. He doesn’t say a word to Edgar, merely nods at him and motions toward a scalpel and saw. Edgar knows he cannot refuse today. It is as if Godwin has him exactly where he wants him.

  The carving instruments are handed over and the operation begins. It is long and gruesome and Godwin seems to take his time with every part of the procedure. The poor woman’s body is disemboweled and disassembled. There is embalming fluid everywhere, freshly injected and mixed with blood. And when all the organs are removed, they use the saw to take off her four limbs and her head, keeping the brain inside the skull this time. Godwin still says very little, and nothing directly about what he is doing. When he does speak he talks about his feelings concerning the rights of women and how some of their organizations have attacked his experiments. But he speaks dispassionately even of that, working on the woman beneath him, praising women’s sense of smell and hearing. At the end, he is insistent that each of the corpse’s appendages is immediately placed in ice. Edgar wonders what will be done with them, since they can’t be kept cold here for very long. It is almost six o’clock by the time they are done.

  “Well, Edgar,” says Godwin before the hour has even struck, “perhaps your friends are not coming this evening. Perhaps you and I should simply enter the Elephant Man’s room alone?” There is a strange expression on his face.

  Edgar unconsciously steps back from him, not sure what to say.

  Godwin lets out a loud laugh, as if he were imitating how someone might respond when playing a practical joke.

  “I am not being serious,” he says. “I am playing a little with your emotions again. I hope you do not mind.”

  “Not at all, sir,” says Edgar, but he’s sure Godwin saw him go pale.

  “I am so sorry for upsetting you. I did not think my joke would have quite that extreme effect, and that is frankly a little disappointing. Edgar, I sense that you have your doubts about me. I sense that, given what I do and the criticisms that are sometimes offered about my work by unthinking people, that you are, well, almost wary of me, deep down. Though that saddens me, I find it understandable. But I would like you to set that aside, comprehend that I am your friend and confide in me.” He pauses for a moment. “Something beyond these little operations is bothering you, isn’t it? You are afraid of something. Please, share it with me. I would like to help you.” He puts a hand on Edgar’s shoulder and grips him warmly.

  The door opens and Lucy and Tiger enter.

  Godwin takes his h
and off Edgar. “We will speak more of this later,” he says quietly, then regards the others. “Where is the young gentleman?”

  Tiger’s eyes shift from Edgar back to the surgeon. “He, uh, he was held up at home. He is coming later. It is so good to see you again, Dr. Godwin, and so kind of you to show us this historic room.” She goes to him and takes his arm, almost turning him toward her as she does. Edgar steps toward Lucy, embraces her and whispers in her ear.

  “Why isn’t Jon here?”

  “He’s coming in twenty minutes or so with the gun. He thought that was the safest thing to do. He insisted.”

  There is nothing Edgar can do about it.

  “Well,” says Godwin, “that is unfortunate. I am in a rush. We shall do this quickly and if your friend does not arrive shortly, he will miss the tour! But I will be happy to show him another time. Let us commence!”

  Godwin goes to his desk and picks a lantern off it, lights it and motions for them to follow him to the locked room. He knocks some dust off the door frame and around the keyhole. It seems to Edgar that there are remnants of cobwebs there too, but he also wonders if this is a trick. Is Godwin trying to make it look like the door hasn’t been used for a long while?

  “As you can see,” says the surgeon, “no one has been in here for some time.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” whispers Tiger into Edgar’s ear as she stands close to him and several strides behind the others. “This lock looks like it has been used recently.”

  Godwin sets the lantern on the floor, slides the key into the lock and opens the door smoothly. The three of them stand still, no one offering to move before their guide. “Come, come,” he says gently, waving them forward. They can see that it is dark inside. Lucy moves first, her skirts rustling over the entrance, and then Edgar goes in and then Tiger. It smells dusty and moldy inside. But the most shocking thing is how cold it is. So much so that it is a wonder they can’t see their breath.

  “I have a weapon,” Tiger whispers to Edgar. He cannot tell what it is. It is obviously well hidden on her person. But he knows that whatever it is, she is capable of using it with deadly force.