The Rustle of Silk

by fandy27390

begining of chapter one where Victor Frankenstein is introduced as a child. this is almost completely different to the novel, the only similarities are the character frankenstein and the period set. my first fan fic please review, open to critisism

THE RUSTLE OF SILK

DEDICATED TO SIMBA, THE BORDER-COLLIE

-CHAPTER ONE-

There stood… a gigantic long-case clock of mahogany in the grand hall for which she dwarfed.

Her pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous ding; but when the hour was up, there came a sound from the depths of the clock a loud, deep clang, a sound that echoed and dominated the entire household, but soothing if you stopped to listen to it long enough. That sound could turn any house into a home with the warmth of its resonance; and while the chimes of the clock rang out, many would pause to listen to its musical call, even at a grand ball the wealthiest members of the aristocracy would remark on this unique object, even if the grandeur of their extravagant items that adorned there homes exceeded that of this harmonious clock.

The chiming of the clock was drowned out by a familiar sound coming down the hall. The elegant sound from the strings of the harpsichord spilled out from the ballroom. A young boy sat at the instrument, a puzzled seven year-old, dangling feet barely touched the ground, Mrs. Sperling, head of the housekeeping staff and personal tutor to the young child, conducted the music lesson. The boy was captivated as her hands glided over the keyboard with ease and grace through decades of trial and error, producing the beautiful brisk melodies that he would always look back on with the fondest memories. He would remember quite clearly stumbling on a note, and hearing Mrs. Sperling say, with firmness in her voice, "pay attention, boy!". He admired Mrs. Sperling, though she may have been stern and strict it was only in the child's best interest, and that the cultivated lady would always be there for him to catch a ball or to fly a kite.

The notes echoed around the luxurious empty ballroom, a room that on occasions would be filled with the refined domain of high society, ablaze with candlelight and spectacle as a HUNDRED DANCERS swirl about the floor in a breathtaking waltz to the music of a full string ensemble. A time that the ballroom would be a place of laughter and merriment, enjoyment and gaiety, but now empty and quiet, apart from the melodies of the harpsichord and the flickering of the flames in the magnificent fireplace on this cold winter morning.

The child would remember everything about this particular day, the tinkling of the harpsichord, the crackling of the flames, the shiny buttons on his waistcoat and breeches, the rustling sound of Mrs. Sperling's silk sleeves, but most of all he would remember the sound of the horse' hooves and the wheels of a carriage, approaching the opulent mansion.