Snowdrop (A Frankenstein Story)

Chapter 11

Eight Months later.

Geneva was horribly cold and grey. With the advent of winter, the sun and the pleasant weather enjoyed during the summer was gone. The bleakness, however, was felt constantly at the house of Sir John. Servants polished the silver ten times a day, Georgia practiced the same scales every day before staring blankly at her piano, and Nettie had read thirty books and knitted what she said was a tablecloth. The atmosphere was entirely mirthless.

Every so often, to Georgia's delight, she would receive a letter, most of them from Elizabeth. At times, Elizabeth seemed optimistic about Victor's recovery, then another letter would come and her writing would be overcome with despair. Georgia would muster the courage to respond to her friend despite her great heartache. But what words of comfort could she offer the other?

The song her poet had given her would be played once a week on the weekly anniversary of their last night together. She would play it once with a mistake or without. When she finished, she would stare at his handwriting and weep. Her bloodshot eyes would devour the Wordsworth poem written in her poet's crude handwriting and her heart would heave.

During the long months of her grieving for love lost, Georgia had lost a considerable amount of weight. Her clothes hung on her loosely and more than once a servant would rush in to pull her clothes together and keep her modest. Her naturally pale skin became a ghostly white and her eyes grew dark and sunken. Her hair was lackluster and limp, she was a shadow of the woman she once was. It grieved those that loved her to see her in such a pitiful state.

At noon Georgia found Nettie sitting in the parlor, mulling over a cup of tea. The months of boycott had taken their toll on her as well. Setting the small porcelain cup aside, Nettie stood when Georgia entered. The two women looked at each other for a moment, but neither truly knew what to say to the other.

"Miss Georgia!" Exclaimed Nettie. Her brown eyes twinkled with unshed tears. At her hips, her hands fidgeted. She was half a spring away from embracing the girl.

"Please, Nettie. Sit."

Nettie complied and Georgia joined her at the table. They sat quietly and uncomfortably, letting the silence pour over them.

"I'm sorry, Nettie," started Georgia. Her lip quivered slightly. Nettie, however, burst into tears. "I have behaved childishly. I—" she paused, trying to find the words "— understand why you did it. I think it is time to find me a husband. I suspect that Sir John will return with news from England shortly. It is best to get this matter resolved."

"Oh, Miss Georgia! If I could undo it all, I would. You will find happiness after all that you've been through."

Georgia set her hand upon the table and Nettie took hold of it immediately. They muttered apologies and wept at the anguish they caused the each other.

"Miss," came a meek voice from the door of the small room. A servant entered the room carrying a large package. "This has just arrived for you, Miss Daniels."

Georgia looked to Nettie for an answer and when none was to be had, Georgia took the large package. On top of the bundle was a letter addressed directly to her from—

"— Who is it from, Georgia?" Asked Nettie urgently. She was near to ripping open the package if Georgia didn't do it herself in a moment.

"Um, a Monsieur Rossignol of Venice, Italy. I thought we were fish out of water: English living abroad in Switzerland. What is a Frenchman doing in Italy and how does he know me?"

She tore open the letter and the finest penmanship greeted her. Her jaw fell in shock for the letter was completely composed in English.

My warmest and most humble of salutations Miss Georgia Daniels!

Although you shall doubtlessly find this letter and the contents of the accompanying package to be strange, let me first explain myself before you come to a decision. I have recently come into a large fortune, but I have little skill in the ways of the wealthy class. It was through mutual friends who, at present, must remain a secret, that I first heard of you. The charge of Sir John Lafoy is renowned for her public delicacy and charm. And as I am told, her music. You are well spoken of by the people that love you. As such, I have an interest in entertaining your time if you would be so kind as to allow it.

My rise started in the salvaging of lost goods in Venice and many other waterways in the marvelous country of Italy. During my travels of saving lost treasures for others, I came upon my own. Nothing could have prepared me for the excitement this good circumstance has bestowed me. I have the means to host you, Sir John, and any whose company you wish to bring.

Upon Sir John's approval, you and your company shall be escorted to Venice. You shall be housed in an apartment in the esteemed Locanda del Fiore di Venezia. I shall see to it that you want for nothing.

As to the package you have received, it is my great desire to throw a masquerade ball. The Venetians and French do love their masks. It is it's the best way to make my presence known to the public in Venice since I possess birth defects that are regarded as unsightly. My ploy is now exposed, and I wish to indulge in good company. I trust the gown is to your liking. I await you most eagerly. The ball is set for November 22nd.

Your humble admirer and friend,

Monsieur Rossignol

"Nettie, the package! Open it!" Cried Georgia with wild excitement. She brushed away the ache in her heart. Nettie balked at her in response, but tore back the wrappings and opened the box they hid. Her breath hitched. "Is it a gown?"

"And a mask. Georgia, what is this about?"

For the first time in many months, Georgia smiled a smile that reached her eyes. A phantom of the girl she had been returned. "We're going to Italy."