A/N: This chapter is nine pages, so it is a pretty decent length. I will update in a couple of weeks. Sorry if my last note was confusing. I think there are about 3 or 4 more chapters left. It is a bit of a mess and I am trying to wrap up a few storylines and get myself set up for the sequel. I have a rough outline completed for the sequel and I started on a rough draft of a the first chapter. The posting of that is TBD, but I will let you know. Leave a review or PM me what you like most/least about Georgia and Rossignol. We're almost done with this story 0.0 and I can't believe I've received such wonderful reviews from you all.

Read on!

Chapter 21

Ringing sounded in her ears, it was pulsating and loud. Her trembling hands hurt and burn, her fingers were white from gripping the gun too firmly. With a shaky breath, she dropped her hands and let Lady Adler's gun slip to the floor. Victor grabbed her just as she burst into tears, weeping out her apologies. He pulled her close to him. "I know, Elizabeth, I know." Victor's gaze went to Rossignol. It was over. It was all finally over.

"We should go," warned Alfonse. His eyes were wide; he had all but given up the pretense of being calm. A woman lay bleeding out on the floor before him and his foster daughter was her murderer. As Alfonse observed the horrific scene before him he wondered want all his months of imprisonment had meant? All of Adler's taunting, her deliverance of promises, no matter how awful, culminated into an everlasting torment. She was gone physically, but they would never be free of her.

"There is a wagon outside, waiting for us," informed Rossignol. Next to him, he felt Georgia's weak arms wrap around him. He dropped to his knees and brought her close to him, she wept into his hair. "My love, you are safe, I promise you."

"Thank you, Gabriel." He stared blankly at her. She was pale and turning ashy. "For not killing her. I know you wanted too, but you never gave in."

Murder was once his answer for every wrong made to him. Alder certainly deserved her end, but what would that have meant for his growth? His great desire for love encompassed the noble belief of compassion, which he would have extended to Adler for Georgia's sake.

Georgia leaned in and kissed him, her skin was warm and clammy, prompting Rossignol to sweep her into his arms. "Are we ready? Eva," he said, searching for the girl clinging to her grandfather. The girl looked to him, still stunned by what she had seen moments ago and by what she had endured for months. A haunting look glossed her famished body. "Fetch a cloak for your grandfather and for yourself."

During their confrontation with Georgia's aunt, the weather had not gotten any better. Wind stung their tear-stained faces as they left the large, stately house, and waded through the rain and slush to the lawn where a wagon waited. A corpse, the lifeless body of Agatha lay in the back with a sheet draped over her. But the wagon and Agatha were not alone. The local police and constable were all mounted on horseback, watching and waiting for them. Sir John sat among them and in the background they spied the servant who spent months poisoning Adler, looking bleak and miserable. Her confession would warrant a sentence, but what, they could only guess.

The constable stepped forward. "Is she dead?"

Rossignol felt his stomach flip; their silence meant that he would be this beaten party's representative. His grip around Georgia tightened as if the rains might raise up and sweep her away, toward the English channel and death. Her frigid hands, in turn, grabbed on to his drenched shirt. "Oui, monsieur."

"English, please, Monsieur Rossignol. The constable is here to help. The girl has confessed to her deeds. Lady Alder was believed to have been involved in several murders and cover-ups." Sir John approached them. His eyes fell on Georgia and his heart nearly broke at the sight of her. She had the strong air of her father, the courage, but her eyes were more like his than they had ever been. Pain and anguish, loss and heartbreak, had a way of altering the eyes of the Daniels' family.

"Poison?" Asked the constable. "Who fired the gun?"

He hadn't and he certainly wouldn't say he had for anyone's sake, only if Georgia asked him to. A glance at her stern, shivering form told him that she would resolutely never ask that of him. "It was—"

"— Me," interjected Alfonse. "I shot her. I fought her when I saw that she had again and pulled it from her grasp. Shot her is what I did and I'll have to answer to God for it. Please," he begged with tears lining his pitiful eyes, "let us leave this place. We are cold and wet, and badly malnourished. Let the women be warm and take the men for questioning."

At this proposal, Rossignol clung to Georgia, pulling her into his embrace and dwarfing her. He would be dead before they took her away from him. Only when he was sure that she was safe would he relinquish her. He pulled the hood of his cloak over her head and whispered for her to stay close to him.

"That won't be necessary, Sir. I am taking all of you to Weston Inn, it is three miles from here and away from the city. There is a carriage in the stables, I sent my men to rouse the servants. Ah, it is coming around now. My deputy will remain here."

Monsieur De Lacey was helped into the luxurious carriage once it made its stop. Beautifully upholstered seats quickly became ruined with the cold damp from their clothes. Inside, Eva took the seat next to her grandfather, Georgia was seated next to her. Elizabeth and Nettie sat across from them, quiet and forlorn. Alfonse was then encouraged to sit inside as well, Victor feared their time under Adler's care was finally taking its toll on his father. Meanwhile, Rossignol held onto Georgia's hand as they all settled themselves. He marveled at the shocking size of the impractical carriage which bolstered six wheels and was pulled by four horses. On the inside candles were lit at every corner of the carriage and were mounted just out of reach of the riders. The flames fought hard to lick the roof of the carriage, but its unusual height left the flames short by several inches.

"I will be just outside, my love," Rossignol whispered. He relinquished her hand and shut them in the carriage.

Left alone, the six shivering occupants huddled close, absorbing as much warmth as they could. They were mute for most of the ride and kept their eyes cast down on the floor. At length, Eva broke the silence.

"You are in love with the man, I do not know his name. Grandfather," she said, turning to the elder De Lacey. "She's in love with the man who helped us." Eva's head whipped around to the pale and shivering Georgia. "He helped my family."

Georgia's heart warmed. "He helped mine too. His name is Gabriel."

Eva paused and thought for a moment. Her small hands held onto her grandfather while her head drooped to his shoulder, all the while, the carriage shook them and jostled them around. Disks were erected around each candle to prevent the wax from flying off and striking the inhabitants. Outside, they heard the men rustling around trying to clear the road. The icy wind had blown tree branches and other debris directly into their path and the mud and misplaced road stones making it difficult for the wagon and carriage to reach its destination.

The carriage did a marvelous job of keeping the wind out, but if they weren't put by a fire and allowed to change, they would catch their deaths. A chill steadily began climbing up Georgia's spine and poured like molten metal down the veins of her arms. Beads of sweat began forming on her brow, antagonizing the cold threatening her. Her body trembled violently.

"My mother is in the wagon, isn't she?" Asked Eva, oblivious to the battle within Georgia's body.

"Yes," she whimpered in pain. Rossignol was broken at the sight of Agatha's lifeless body. The desolation in his eyes crushed Georgia's heart. Only when she first met him had there been a hint of this desolation, but it returned with overwhelming terror when his watery eyes saw Agatha. An infantile pain of losing the closest thing he had ever had to a mother consumed his greyish face. Agatha was the first woman he had ever truly seen, her smile was the first of its kind to him. The soft waves of her earthy brown hair drove his first need to know what it was about a woman that man weak to her commands. But in the end, she was a part of the family that was his first. They made it possible to for Rossignol to love Georgia.

"We couldn't leave her. Gabriel couldn't leave her. She is— was his mother." Her voice was somber as the frightening sensations reverberated throughout her body. Eva, she could see, understood what was told to her, but what she felt, Georgia could not begin to guess. Eva kept her thoughts concealed within herself, not like Georgia, whose face could be read as easily as the alphabet. It made the horror of what the child endured for the past few months even more anguishing.

From the opposite side, Elizabeth and Alfonse listened with their eyes downcast and their faces lost in the void they felt. Nettie stirred and placed her hand against Georgia's face. She gasped and flung open the door of the rocking carriage. She cried out for Rossignol, who like the birds of mythical legends, swooped in.

His ravenous locks were soaked and dripping down his coat. The white shirt beneath clung to his scarred body. At his arrival, he removed his simple mask. His face seemed greyer and pruned slightly from the water that slid beneath the mask. His flesh revolted against him, annoyed to be trapped beneath the mask and water. Watery blue eyes rested with adoration and love upon Georgia.

Alfonse could not help but stare at the creature his son crafted and revived. The creature appeared as if he were a carved statue, made at the hands of a beginning apprentice, come to life. Better skilled hands would have made him beautiful, but Victor's arrogant ones crafted a statue best left at the back of the room. But, surprisingly, not destroyed. How strange that this man, this creature composed of the dead, could inspire a revolutionary version of beauty. Like a private, cherished, and loved sort of beauty; it was something Alfonse had never seen, not even in glances he shared with his wife.

"Georgia, you're warm." There was more to it than that. The haziness of her eyes and the fevered blush of her skin revealed the nature of her illness. Nothing, however, could be done for her at present. His hand reached out and cupped her face, she leaned into it in an attempt absorb the heat he so willingly offered to her. It would have been simple for her to drop her head into his hand, her head felt heavy and unnaturally large. Georgia would not express how exhausted she felt so she forced herself to pulled away from him.

"We're almost there," he finished. Throughout their exchange, the freezing rain ensured that no part of Rossignol remained dry. Mud made it difficult for the carriage to go as quickly as he would have liked, but it traveled fast enough to get Georgia to the safety of dry warmth and food.

Another violent shiver erupted from Georgia. Rossignol paled and instructed her to bring the cloak as close to her as she could before he slammed the door shut. She looked terrible, on the cusp of death and it terrified him more than anything. For the second time today he would save her; through the mud, his boots fought to carry him ahead of the procession and closer to the Inn at the end of the road. It would take almost an hour for the others to reach the inn, but he would ensure the staff was ready to receive them.

Rossignol was not immune to the cold and the damp, he felt it almost as badly as the others without his cloak. His own body roared in agitation and demanded that he get to the warmth Inn offered. The mud made the sprint difficult and he caught himself in a near stumble more than once, but he pressed on. Absolutely nothing would deter him, his future depended on it. Cold bit him while his ravenous hair clung to his damp face and before he could stop it, a warning cough escaped him.

Well, at least he knew he wasn't infallible. He had survived being stabbed and shot only succumb to a cold. When he was but a few yards from the Inn, he stopped, turned, and wiped the water from his face as best he could. The horses pulling the carriage were struggling, but they were going quickly at the harsh demand of the diver. Rossignol slipped his mask on and rushed through the small door of the inn.

A collective gasp filled his ears when he ducked beneath the door frame. A small woman in a simple woolen dress and white apron stood closest to the door and to him. Her mouth opened and asked if he was their guest.

"Yes, I am Rossignol. My fiance, Miss Daniels. . . . Please, she is not well." He was in agony and their eyes were only on him, he felt naked and exposed.

Behind the woman stood a man dressed in considerably nicer clothing. He pulled his round spectacles on and hooked the arms around his ears. "I am Dr. Calvin Edmondson. We've been waiting for you." Though he could not see Rossignol's face, he knew him to be agitated and thus resolved not to offer his hand. "Martha, take Rachel up to Miss Daniels' room," he instructed the small woman. "Dry yourself off, Sir. Follow Jane to your room, there are clean clothes there. Once you are dressed, give Jane your clothing."

Dr. Edmondson directed Rossignol's gaze to Jane, an older woman, worn from years of menial labor. She smiled to him and encouraged him to follow her. Rossignol's heart thundered, he wanted to get back to Georgia, not pamper himself.

"Monsieur Rossignol, please, you will be no good to her if you are ill. And you will give me yet another patient. Martha and Rachel are preparing her room and Henry is preparing a stew for her. She'll have plenty of fluids before we start the bleeding process."

Bleeding! He was familiar with this and knew that an error by the physician or the patient's own blood defects could be fatal. There was no way to know if she would be harmed if she was bloodlet. "Do you have ginger, garlic, or oregano? It'll stave off an infection. Uh, do you have salt? Yes, good, mix it with warm water. Make her black tea as well, with honey and vanilla if you have it."

Edmondson gaped at Rossignol with a mix of awe and disbelief. "I heard you were wealthy salvager. Are you a physician? An apothecarist?"

He survived in the wilds with nothing but nature to guide him. Then there was his blessed French family who passed remedies from their land onto him. His time in Italy also introduced him to the miracles of the Mediterranean peoples. His status as an outcast afforded him with vasts amounts of knowledge. "I love Miss Daniels. Help her."

Rossignol followed Jane up the stairs to the room across the hall from Georgia's room. He watched briefly as Martha and Rachel worked to get the fire in Georgia's room roaring. Towels were set out on a chair and a fresh set of undergarments and a wool dress was set out for her. A bloodletting bowel was situated on a nightstand. She deserved better than being cut open, not after what he saved her from. Not after saving her from Victor.

After entering the room, he shut the door and stared at the clothing and boots laid out for him. It was as if everyone but he knew this would happen? Did the residents of southern England see him as their savior? Were they all riding on the hope that he would put an end to Adler's evil? It made him shake with fury. A family was destroyed because they were too afraid to act. As soon as Georgia was well, he would take her away, he would take her to their new home.

Water pooled around his muddy boots. He worked to undo the buckles and pull his wet socks and feet free. Pulling the stockings and his trousers off, he made his way over to a chair holding a set of clean towels. Rossignol peeled the clinging layers of clothing from his body and worked furiously to dry himself. He wiped a towel over his mask and set it atop the mantel of his fireplace and stood close to the fire to warm his flesh. As feeling began returning, he returned to his bed and dressed in the thick winter clothing set out for him. He was reminded of his time before journeying to Venice; before he made something of himself.

Once dressed, he tied his mask back on and used the now soaking towels to scoop up his clothing and muddy boots. Jane stood patiently outside the door and took the garments from him.

"Quickly! Get her up the stairs. Martha!" Came Edmonson's voice in a rush. He raced up the stairs and stopped at the door of Georgia's room. Sir John then came up the stairs with Georgia in his arms. Her head swayed while her arms dangled limply. Behind them Rossignol's cloak trailed, barely secured about his beloved.

"She passed out, Rossignol!" Cried Nettie, despairing over Georgia and trying desperately to make sure her head did not make contact with the wall.

Rossignol rushed from his room to follow Georgia.

"Women only!" Cried Martha. "We've got to strip her. You," she pointed at Nettie, "hold her up. Shut the door, Rachel."

The men were then banned and shoved from the room. "Gabriel?" asked a small voice. He turned to find Eva holding her grandfather's hand, leading him up the stairs to his room.

Rossignol offered his hand to Monsieur De Lacey and led him to the room next to his. He looked around for towels and fresh clothes. When there were none, he ran off to find Jane. She was behind the Frankensteins, arms full of clean towels.

"I know, Monsieur. Take these to the gentleman. Help him get warm and dry while we tend to your miss." She tossed the towels to him. A sheen of sweat began to glisten on her brow. "Check the wardrobe, I think there's a nightie for the girl. We didn't expect this many of you."

With her deposit in his arms, Jane raced back down the stairs. Below he could hear the policemen, talking, telling the owner, whom Rossignol had not yet met, about the death of Lady Adler and that they had the body of another woman with them. Agatha was to be held in the cellar to keep her cold until she could be buried. They talked quickly, exchanging the news about a cottage burning to the ground Rossignol and Frankenstein managed to torch his laboratory and torture chamber— Adler's torture chamber. The Grizzling truth would remain a secret and the rest of Deliah would never be discovered.

Returning to Monsieur De Lacey's room, Rossignol set the towels on the small bed. Another small bed sat on the opposite side of the room. As he surveyed the room he noticed the lack of a fire in the hearth. Logs were stacked neatly to one side before he tossed them onto the cold stone. Flint rocks were stationed upon the mantel with several nicknacks and a silhouette drawing of two young women he assumed were Martha and Rachel. After striking the rocks together with minimal luck Rossignol finally managed to get a spark to hit the wood. The flames rose lazily and reluctantly, more eager to return to its slumber than to roar to life. He blew on it to fan it out before allowing it to grow on its own.

By the bed, Eva was attempting to remove Monsieur De Lacey's shoes. She shivered repeatedly before Rossignol pulled her over to the fire to warm herself while he finished removing the old man's shoes.

"They don't have enough clothing for everyone," he whispered to Monsieur De Lacey. He was overcome with childlike fear. Would this man remember how he sat at his table and ate his food? Would he remember the music he played while Rossignol and Eva danced together? Would he remember Rossignol's tearful supplications of aid and mercy?

De Lacey put his hand to Rossignol's mask. "Gabriel iz a fine name. Rossignol iz a beautiful one. I am Rene, Monsieur."

Rossignol lost all composure and wept at the old man's knees. He switched to French and took a deep breath. "I will look after the two of you for as long as I live, I swear it." He pulled away from the old man and went to the wardrobe. There were three sleeping gowns inside, a shawl, and several rather worn blankets. "I found something for you, monsieur."

"Eva, mon amour, leave ze room a moment." The girl stood without question and shut the men inside. Rossignol helped the old man change his clothes. It broke his heart to see him so thin and worn, and dirty. Rossignol tucked him into his bed with a cluster of pillows propping him up and fetched Eva. The girl changed behind a screen and wrapped a shawl around herself. Her feet were naked against the cold floor. Taking their clothing, Rossignol left them and made his way down the stairs to the lobby of the inn.

The inn's staff ran around the lower floor in a maddening distress. Three were cooking in the kitchen, while two others, Jane being one of them, worked furiously at the dirty clothing they continued to receive. Jane sighed when she saw Rossignol carrying more work for her, but she took the damp clothes without complaint. Several police officers remained behind and were warming themselves in the small dining hall. They sat huddled together, chatting over a plate of bread.

"This place was once one of the finest inns in all Southampton," said one.

"A nice mix of city appeals with feel and delight of the country," answered the other.

"I heard the Duke of Somerset once stayed here a fortnight, waylaid with a sprained ankle."

Their accents were less refined and articulate compared to Georgia's. She hailed from the gentry class and was brought up since birth to speak with an entirely separate air than the common class was. To Rossignol, they appeared like simpletons, idly talking about the most mundane and ill-informed topics. Rossignol navigated past them towards the bar and followed the counter around until he was at the entrance of the kitchen.

"Ah, Mr. Rossignol!" Greeted one of the kitchen staff. He was young and handsome, dressed in dark trousers hidden by a dirty apron. He quickly became embarrassed at his appearance. "Monsieur Rossignol, forgive me. We've been told to keep you all well rested and tended to; what may we do for you, Sir?"

The creeping savage life he led before finding the De Lacey's leered at him; if this boy or any of the others in the inn saw his face he would be cast out into the sloshing rain pouring outside. He felt vain, but without his finer clothes, without the money he had secured and concealed by various means, he felt no more than a meagerly dressed beggar. This place was not his element, it was unfamiliar and he had Georgia's family as his only protection. Would Sir John cast him aside when he looked nothing like he had in Italy?

Anxiety gripped his heart and a faint buzzing assaulted his mind. "The elder gentleman and his granddaughter, Miss Eva, require drink and food. I am afraid my fears for Miss Daniels are making me restless and I should like to put myself to good use. Fix me a tray, good sir, and I shall deliver it to them."

Rossignol pulled out a silver coin and handed it to the boy. Nettie and Sir John made sure he received his money before his belongings were taken to be cleaned and dried. His adventures were beginning to weigh on him and the death of the Italian only added to the tension building around the plans he had set in motion. If he lost Georgia, it wouldn't matter if his business went crashing down, but if— no, when— she recovered he would need his additional exploits to pay off. Never before had he been so frightened of an uncertain future.

"Right away, sir," replied the handsome fellow.

Having something to occupy his mind and hands helped when he felt himself turning to despair, he felt less restless. In all his time preparing for Georgia he had never once despaired, but now everything seemed turned on its side. Wasn't he supposed to be planning a wedding with his bride-to-be? Was he always to be cursed?

In the kitchen, plates were shuffled around. Hot liquid was poured into small cups, the fresh aroma of tea swirled in the air. Though not at their best, the kitchen staff offered their finest, as if desperately trying to mimic their past selves. A dash of brandy was added to both cups of tea and stirred in with a silver spoon. Upon the stew, several leaves of basil were added for additional flavor and smell.

The handsome man returned with the tray. "Allow me to carry it for you, sir. Gentleman cannot be seen doing such idle tasks. You must allow us to show our English hospitality. At least, sir, to make up for what has been done to all of you. You mustn't think poorly of the English; Lady Adler represented us abysmally."

Rossignol conceded. There was no use in trying to combat their ways. He followed the handsome man up the stairs and into the De Lacey's room. Eva was by the fireplace, stoking the fire with her small hands. Moving to her, Rossignol took the poker from her and told her to sit at the small table by the window. Tossing in a few more logs brought the fire roaring back to life and cast a warm glow on the darkening room. The light of the day was nearly extinguished by the suffocating grey clouds.

He remained with them for a few moments before returning to his room to watch the Georgia's room. It didn't take long for him to become familiar with patterns in the wooden door. Years of people touching the door accumulated in a thick, dark gloss of wax covering the handle and the area around it. His watery blue eyes sat transfixed on the door handle, waiting for it to turn.

The last whimpering rays of grey light disappeared and all that remained for lighting were the slowly melting candles and the dying fire next to him. After some time, the handsome man brought Rossignol his own meal, but he let it cool as he waited for Georgia. Only when his stomach demanded food did he eat. His mask sat on his lap while he ate and watched.

An hour passed before the door opened. Rossignol leapt from his seat, the mask clattered to the floor. Dr. Edmondson exited the room and stared at Rossignol. The dull light shielded him from the scorn that surely would have ensued if the doctor had been able to see him clearly.

"She is awake, and asking for you. Monsieur Rossignol, she is still very weak and her fever is quite high. Do not tarry long, sir." He then traveled down the hall. He had one other patient, Elizabeth, who had become withdrawn and despondent. She was sedated, but he felt it necessary to see her before he checked on Monsieur De Lacey.

"Thank you," cried Rossignol in relief. He flew past the doctor and swung open the door to Georgia's room. Nettie and Martha were seated together on a sofa and the latter gasped at the sight of Rossignol before blushing. She excused herself per Nettie's request while Rossignol went to Georgia.

Her face and lips were pale, her eyes heavy and sunken. Pillows were fluffy and abundant, keeping her propped up and comfortable. Fire roared in the hearth as a source of light and additional warmth along with the many blankets tucked around Georgia's weak form. "Gabriel!" She cried in a broken voice. Gone was the delicate softness of her soothing voice, in place of it was a scratchy, rough timbre, almost like paper being torn. Rossignol hid his cringe and sadness. Her voice would return, wouldn't it?

He went to her and knelt on the floor next to her. "I am here," he declared, unable to sustain the faux courage in his voice. Rossignol took her hand into his and placed his other upon her sweaty brow. "Do not move, my darling."

"I love you," said she suddenly. A desperate madness lined her green irises. Was she afraid?

Quickly, he rose and sat on the bed with her. He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. "I know. Mon perce-neige, be still and rest."

"No," she wept, "I really, truly love you."

Her anguish struck a nerve in him. "Je t'aime. What can I say?" He kissed her, her lips felt fragile and cracked. Rossignol then sat back and smiled. He took a deep breath and with his oddly inflected voice, he began to sing:

"Sommeil, belle Géorgie, la chanson que je chante.

Que ma mélodie vous transporter loin, les domaines où vous avez volé mon coeur.

Allez dormir, femme de feu, et laissez-moi chanter.

Pour Je t'aime tellement profondément qu'il me rend faible."

Peace found its way back to her and she settled languidly against her pillows. A cloth sat on the table next to the bed, Rossignol took it and wiped the sweat from her brow and neck. His fingers left trails of heated as he ran them down her temple to her jaw. She obeyed him and quietly drifted off to sleep once more.

With an awkward creak, the door of the room was pushed open. Annoyed at being disturbed without proper notification, Rossignol turned to find that Eva stood at the threshold of the room. The young girl held onto Sir John's hand as they entered. Their arrival stirred an exhausted Nettie and brought her to her feet.

"Dr. Edmondson informs me that it is perfectly safe for Eva to enter. She wants to look after our beloved Georgia. Monsieur Rossignol, may I have a word?" Sir John relinquished his hold on Eva and allowed her venture over to Nettie.

Rossignol kissed Georgia's clammy forehead and took her empty dishes with him. He would see to it that another broth was made for her. Nettie instructed Eva in her care for Georgia as Rossignol took his leave. The laborious breathing of his love broke his heart.

"Sir John, what is it?"

Dull grey light cloaked Rossignol's figure as well as Sir John's, but the former's eyesight was far superior, it did not matter him how dull or bright the lighting was. Sir John's hands clenched and trembled, frightening Rossignol into insisting that his companion speak.

"I was informed that Bernardo has been apprehended. They've got him locked away in town. He is to be extradited back to Italy, but there is no telling when that might be. I've been told he is to be charged with Deliah and Lady Adler's murders. The Italians hold him accountable for Miss Rizoli's death as well. He has a slew of charges there." But as Sir John spoke he moved with severe agitation as if on the verge of delivering more news.

This would not do. Rossignol refused to play any more games. He would get the answers he wanted. "Sir John, what is troubling you? I have not the time for turbid talk."

Sir John nodded, flustered. "Being in my native country pains me as much as it does Georgia. We nearly lost everything and it was my fault. I loved her father. It cost me many relationships, but a few friends remain true, a few family members."

He knew the truth long ago, but Sir John's confession unnerved him. What did he mean by it? Rossignol waited patiently trying to understand the severe man who seemed ready to crack.

"Georgia has been a daughter to me. A constant, not a variable to be removed or played with. She is the sole reminder of her father and my promise to him on his deathbed:' keep her safe'. Bernardo lied and toyed with us both. He wrought as much havoc as Lady Adler. I need to understand why and I think you do too."

There was no denying the truth of his words, Rossignol felt it keenly. What reason did Bernardo have in seeking to harm Georgia? Why did he kill Delia? For it was him who murdered their treacherous servant. In Venice, he was the only person who spoke English and this singular fact revealed the frayed threads of a plot they had somehow missed. Both men felt a chill fall over them as they pondered the notion of a conspiracy. Who could be trusted? Those harmed by Lady Adler were not her friends and those that feared her no longer had any fear of her and thus no longer posed a threat. They were far from understanding the full truth of it all.

"You propose to leave now?" Asked Rossignol. They would reach the town before the first glimmer of dark amber light lit up the horizon. Sir John nodded, he was dressed in his own clothes and ready to leave in an instant. "I will fetch my mask and then my clothing from Jane." Rossignol's watery eyes went to Georgia's room once again. A pale hand reached out to caress the door as if she could feel his love seeping through it. "She is safe. Frankenstein wouldn't dare lay a hand on her now."

A dreary quiet settled over the brick and stone of the prison. The prisoners were asleep or seated a deadened stupor, depressed with their own woes. Several nursed wounds inflicted by several abusive guards already gone home for the evening. The quiet was a perfect cover for Sir John and Rossignol as they were led past the many cells with men chained up. It would not due for Rossignol be jeered at, he had had enough of it from his failed attempts at becoming one with humanity. This place was suffocating enough without the noise.

"Bernardo Carlossi," called the guard as he struck his baton against the metal of the prison cell. "Visitors." He opened the cell and allowed the gentlemen to pass through.

Seeing him sitting on the floor with his hands chained to the wall gave his visitors a satisfied sort of feeling. Bernardo was where he ought to be. He stirred as looked towards them. Blood had dried in its course down his face. Bruises and small cuts dashed across his face and his neck. Angry bruises clawed at his chest, desperate to be seen. His eyes were heavy and dark as he perceived Rossignol and Sir John.

"You know why we're here," hissed Rossignol. It took every ounce of his strength not to ripped the man from his bindings and finish him off there.

Bernardo coughed. "Does it matter? I am finished. I was finished the moment I came to this godforsaken country ten years ago. I should tell my story now, I suppose. I'll be executed in Italy or I'll be executed here. I suppose going to America is out of the question?"

Rossignol felt his hands trembling, but it was Sir John who spoke next. "Why would you ally yourself with Lady Adler? Why offer your services to Monsieur Rossignol just to kill someone he loved? Someone who did you no harm?"

A harsh laugh escaped Bernardo. "Money," he declared as he rolled his throbbing head to one side. "Adler owned me, she owned my debts. I've never been a good man, and this wasn't the first time I ever hurt anyone, nor the first time I ever killed. I enjoyed the game, I suppose. The wealthy elite are so simple in their desires, but they scheme like nothing I have ever seen. There's a thirst in them that can't be quenched."

His bruised eyes gazed up at Rossignol. There was no sense of shame or understanding that he ought to be ashamed; Bernardo stared only with a subtle amusement. The manacles latched around his wrists bit into his flesh violently.

"I was going to America, to start over. Put all these. . . unpleasantness behind me and take what Adler paid me." He chuckled humorlessly. "Have you come to kill me, Monsieur Rossignol? I take it Signorina Daniels is still alive? I doubt I would still have my head if she wasn't."

Rossignol slid one foot forward, he was taunt like and arrow to a bowstring, ready to fire at a deadly speed. A timid touch from Sir John held him at bay. Sir John appeared gaze but content with Bernardo's answers, they had nothing else to go on to get to the heart of the truth: why was Georgia the target? Why would people help Adler kill her? They would get nothing more from Bernardo.

"You are a man without conscientious, without passion, without love; I will not kill you because that is too good for you," stated Rossignol. "I will not be at your trial or your execution. I will be married, living my life with the most beautiful woman in the world. I will forget you."

He felt weightless as he stared down at the Italian man. He straightened himself up and backed away from a man he thought he trusted. Bernardo was shackled to a wall, bruises covered his form, he appeared small and broken. Pathetic. Turning his back on the Italian was almost rewarding— as if he was leaving the past behind in broken shambles, and moving toward the bright new day on the horizon. They left Bernardo on the floor, they left the dank chill of the prison and the early morning shouts of prisoners. The first book of his life was written and was being closed; Rossignol was eager to begin the next one, one that started with his union to Georgia.

A/N: Rossignol's song. Google translates it weird, I'm sorry about that. My husband speaks French but he isn't very helpful with my stories.

Sleep, beautiful Georgia, to the song that I sing. Let my melody carry you far, to the fields where you stole my heart. Go to sleep, fiery maiden, and let me sing. For I love you so deeply that it makes me weak.