Chapter 6: Jo March's POV

She paced about the small room restlessly. She had seen death in her life, both her beloved sister Beth as well as her late husband Fritz, but the worlds of crime and violence were new to her.

Arnold Roger had lacked Fritz's keen intelligence and ready wit, but he had been kind to her, and understanding of her desires to be a writer. As a widow she had discovered a new form of loneliness, and Arn's presence had been easy. He was generous as well, gifting her with antique jewellery and trips overseas after their wedding.

She shivered, though the room was not overly cold, and looked out the glass window. Belgium had been thrilling to explore, but now she wished for nothing more to be returned home. The luxurious hotel Arn had picked out turned out to be ill-fated: first the series of thefts in which his gold watch, as well as the sapphire set of jewellery which included the necklace, bracelet, and earrings which Roger had given her as a wedding gift, in addition to her engagement ring.

She particularly adored the odd necklace, with its antique charm which resembled a small sword, in which was rolled a tiny parchment with almost microscopically small writing in what may have been an ancient Welsh dialect. It had put her in mind of tales of knights both good and evil, and ladies held captive in perilous castles, but now what may have been a new fictional journey for her had become a captivity all too real.

She had tried calling out the window, had screamed for help until her throat was hoarse, but no help had come to her. "Oh Mother, Oh Father, Oh Meg," she choked out, and slumped down on the small bed in the room. Her eyes began to tear up again, and she wiped at them angrily. Come on Jo, she thought to herself, you're no whiner.

She picked up her chair and tried to use its legs to hammer at the window. It took a couple of blows, before she was rewarded with a satisfying crack in the glass. She paused, essaying her work, before resuming again to finish the job. She almost didn't hear the door open behind her.

She gasped, and whirled around, her back to the wall. Two men entered the room … the older, carrying her stolen necklace in his hand. He held it up, his eyes darting between charm and her. "Good day, Mrs. Roger," he said. "I am Doctor Septimus Pretorius, and this is my associate, Doctor Heinrich Frankenstein. I think it's time we had a little chat."