The Frankenstein Murders by Kathlyn Bradshaw Page A

diminished as might happen with age. Nevertheless, he did not respond well to either my arrival or introduction, and I wondered if I should have in fact been less forward.
    I informed the magistrate that I was in Ireland on behalf of the father, hoping that the information might improve the increasingly awkward situation.
    â€œAlphonse Frankenstein sent you?” the magistrate could not hide his astonishment.
    I explained that Alphonse Frankenstein had died a few months after he and Victor returned to Geneva. I clarified that it was Mr. George Clerval, the victim’s father, who had requested my inquiry.
    The magistrate looked much relieved, and in his relief he began to resemble a great deal more the man described by Victor Frankenstein. As I had surmised, Magistrate Kirwin had either forgotten or perhaps not yet received Sir Arthur Gray’s letter. I had every hope the initial confusion was over and that I could begin to get some practical information.
    â€œYes, yes of course, Henry Clerval’s murder; I’ve got it here in a letter.” The magistrate began to rummage around in a tall but orderly pile of papers upon his desk, but never did a letter actually appear.
    I asked him if he found the idea that I might have been sent by Alphonse Frankenstein astonishing.
    â€œWhy now, faith, I know nothing of the matter,” the magistrate said, looking more at ease than I suspected he felt. “But Mr. Alphonse Frankenstein did seem quite eager to settle everything up at the time, and so it would be natural to find it oddthat he should send someone to reinvestigate. Alphonse Frankenstein found the criminal charges against his son a vexation, and mentioned it many times. To be sure, it caused such a great deal of sorrow for the family. I am certain it was his wish to forget it all. He is dead now you say?”
    I informed him that Alphonse Frankenstein lived long enough to see his eldest son married, but the young bride was murdered on her wedding night; Victor Frankenstein himself died while travelling in the frozen north.
    â€œI am truly sorry to hear that. Why, now this is a little too much. He was a fine man.” The magistrate said with genuine sincerity. “We had the opportunity, due to the ill health of his son, to spend a great deal of time together. He is, he was, a great man who filled, I know, many honourable public situations in Geneva. Mr. Alphonse Frankenstein and I were much of a same mind on a number of issues, which is not so surprising considering our respective roles in our cities. He was even so kind as to honour me by being my guest at family supper on more than one occasion.”
    I wanted to ask the magistrate a few more questions related to the murder of Henry Clerval and the arrest of Victor Frankenstein, and I said so with the specific purpose of guiding the conversation back to the reason I was there.
    â€œMany days have passed since that tragic event, and my memory does not serve me as well as it once did, but I can let you look at my notes. I pride myself on writing all the details here in my ledgers.”
    Magistrate Kirwin brought out one of the thick, leather-bound books in which he kept his notes. After a few moments of leafing through the pages, he came to the entries regarding Henry Clerval’s murder case. With some degree of apprehension, I moved quickly to the other man’s side, eager to learn more of what had happened on the waterfront. My expectations were soon dashed to the ground. The notes were brief, with little more detail than hadbeen given in the newspaper articles. Sensing my disappointment, indeed I did little to disguise it, the magistrate began to add details not recorded in the ledger.
    â€œVictor Frankenstein was initially suspected as he was far away from his lodgings and found upon the same shore as Henry Clerval’s body. Poor Victor went into a two-month fever upon hearing of the death of his friend Henry, and woke in jail.