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I wrote Victor once a week without fail, desperate to remind him of how much he adored me. He had never mentioned when he might return. And then his letters stopped. Judge Frankenstein inquired about his son on occasion—making it clear that Victor had never bothered to write to his own father—and I resorted to making up responses, filling the ever-expanding months with stories about Victor’s studies, the exasperating and admirable qualities of his fellow students, and always, always, how much he missed me.
Justine could sense my growing unease and increased her kindness toward me. It was no use. As much as I loved having her there, she could do nothing to protect me.
I needed Victor back.
Or at least, I thought I did, until Henry Clerval surprised me with a different possibility.
“Come into town with me,” Henry said, nearly a year after Victor’s departure. He was working for his father now, and we rarely had time together. “When was the last time you were there?”
I went, sometimes, with Judge Frankenstein. But it was always in his boat and then his carriage, all our destinations predetermined and run by his pocket watch and adherence to his schedule. The idea of going to town and simply wandering struck me as delightful.
“We will find a gift for Victor,” I said, just like the last time we had gone alone. What gift could remind Victor to set a damned pen to a damned piece of paper and write me a damned letter?
Justine stayed behind with William, who demanded a game of hide-and-seek. Justine was always happy to do whatever he wished. We were silent across the lake. Henry manned the boat himself, since the servant who used to do it had been dismissed after Madame Frankenstein’s death. In all our years as friends, we had been so rarely alone that even being together in a boat on the open lake felt surprisingly intimate.
I kept my eyes on the water, a delicate parasol protecting my face. Though it never got unbearably hot this close to the mountains, the sun could redden any complexion within a few minutes.
Henry did not mind. He tipped his head up, closing his eyes against the brightness as he pulled us across the lake with measured, confident strokes.
“You should marry me,” he said, his voice as light and breezy as the afternoon.
The rippling brilliance of the sun reflecting off our wake dazzled my eyes, nearly blinding me. Had it affected my ears, as well? “What?”
“I said, you should marry me.”
I laughed. He did not. He fixed his piercing blue gaze on me and gave me his purest, most sincere smile. I knew he had meant it.
And I was livid.
How could someone so effortlessly happy ever understand me? Would I have to pretend to be a new Elizabeth to keep him happy as a wife in some imaginary future? What Elizabeth would I be at his side? I had worked so hard to be Victor’s Elizabeth, and I had failed.
The parasol felt heavy in my hands, my shoulders drawn downward with sudden exhaustion. I suspected I was more myself with Victor than I could be with Henry, though who I truly was remained a mystery even to me.
“Henry. I am only sixteen. I am not marrying anyone yet.”
“But not never.” He raised his eyebrows hopefully.
I could feel a blush that was not entirely deliberate. I ducked my head, smiling. And letting him see a glimpse of the smile. “No, I did not say never.”
“That is good enough for now.” Henry docked the boat, an extra spring in his step as he disembarked. “Tell me about where you came from before you joined the Frankensteins,” he said as we took a leisurely stroll through the clean and well-kept streets of Geneva.
My annoyance flared back up. What would I have to tell him, to keep him loving me? I had only wanted his friendship, the relief from managing Victor all on my own. Would I now have to figure out how to be his friend and be what he wanted in a spouse? I did not want to marry Henry. It would be cruel of me; I would be miserable forever, knowing he deserved better love than I could offer.
But…I did not want to be without options. Victor had abandoned me. And the risk of becoming useless to Judge Frankenstein loomed ever larger as a threat. I sighed. I did not think Henry would mind if I was not actually of noble birth, but I knew he loved the romance of the story. “Imagine the shore of a lake. The water crystal clear. The bottom perfectly visible. But as soon as you reach in, or stomp through, the sediment is churned up, the water muddied, all the treasures inside the once-placid water hidden from view. Perhaps something could be found by digging, but why bother, when everything is fine as it is? That is all you need to know of my origins.”
He reached for my arm, stopping me. Then he turned me so we were facing each other. “I am sorry,” he said. “For all you have been through. I cannot imagine.”
I laughed prettily, rising on my toes to kiss his cheek. It was the fastest way to end the conversation, as his cheeks burst into shades of pink and his ability to speak left him for several minutes.
After that, I made certain to fill our time with idle chatter, drawing him out about his idea for a new play. Though he had outgrown asking us to act them out, he still wrote them. He wrote poetry, too, and yearned to study more languages. He had so little time for it now, though, working with his father.
“I have heard that Arabic has the most beautiful poetry known to man,” he said as we browsed a haberdashery. He idly stroked the ribbons streaming from a lady’s hat. This was the one topic that could make him sad. Though my situation was obviously worse, Henry was also a prisoner to other people’s expectations. His life had been mapped out for him from the day he was born: he would follow his father into business, expanding their family holdings.
I hated to see him sad. It felt like a too-tight collar, tugging at me. If I could fix Victor’s rages, I could fix Henry’s sadness.
And maybe I could fix my own situation, as well. “Henry. You must go to study with Victor.”
“I could never. My father sees no purpose in it.”
