Author's Note: To answer one of my reviewers, this story is set somewhere between 10-12 years after Frankenstein's death in the arctic.
HELENA
Lena woke up with a smile on her face. For the first night since she had left France for England, she had slept soundly. She had slept in peace.
And she had dreamt of him.
As she got out of bed, she ran the dream through her mind again, amazed by how real it had seemed. He had been so warm. She felt terribly cold now, in comparison, even though the fire burned brightly in its hearth. Lena shrugged into her heavy wool robe and stood for a few moments, warming herself by the fire, eyes closed, lost in the recollection of last night. His lips. His hands. The glorious fire he had stoked within her.
She was smiling to herself when the door burst open, and light from the hallway poured in to her room. She turned to the door, squinting against the daylight, and saw Margot's small form silhouetted in shadow.
Her younger sister was breathing heavily, as if she'd just run from one end of the house to the other at top speed.
"What's wrong?" Lena demanded instantly.
"Abby's here," Margot said, then hesitated, "and Stanford just pulled up in his carriage."
"What?!" Lena's eyes shot open, her brow furrowing into a shocked frown. Adrenaline shot through her, and she ran over to the bell pull and yanked hard on it to summon Eleanor. Mon Dieu, Lena thought, imagining her cousin, Abigail, and Jacob in the same room with a shudder. She'll tear him apart. Abigail had spent the entire summer with Lena after Stanford had broken her heart, and together they had invented all sorts of miserable torments to put Jacob through. Where Lena could not muster the energy to hate Stanford, Abigail hated him enough for the both of them.
Margot continued to stand at the doorway, impatiently hopping from one foot to another while Lena tore off her robe and ruffled through her wardrobe. She pulled out a simple white morning dress embellished with pale blue silk ribbon and threw the dress on her bed. "Gogo, have Miss Barnes go down there and tell Abigail that I need her immediately. Tell Gerald to extract Greg from the room, as well. Maman can handle Stanford on her own." Margot paused, tilting her head slightly, and Lena sent her an exasperated frown. "What?"
And Margot, ever the tactful eleven-year-old, frowned at Lena and said, "You're acting strangely."
Lena's eyebrows shot up. Margot had never criticized her before, not even when she was half-dead from lack of sleep. What, then, had changed?
"What do you mean?"
Margot shrugged. "You just seem very awake today."
Lena felt a chill creep down her spine. Surely Margot's observation was incorrect. One good dream was not enough to undo days of restless half-sleep. Such periods of insomnia and night terrors usually took weeks to recover from. She should look as haggard as she did yesterday.
"Thank you," she said, because she had no idea what else she could say. Then she turned back to her mirror. "Now go, we need to act fast to avoid a scene."
She pulled the brush through her hair with ruthless efficiency, unable to wait patiently for Eleanor to arrive. Her heart was thumping madly in her chest. What horrible timing those two had! Abigail had sworn to slap Stanford right in the face if she ever met him in public.
Lena knew she wasn't lying.
Voices echoed through the hallway, angry and shrill, and Lena turned to the doorway just in time to see her cousin storm into the room.
"Il est un salaud misérable, Lena!" Abigail snapped, rushing forward to pull Lena into a fierce, tight hug. Lena laughed breathlessly, throwing her arms around Abigail. She was still muttering curses about Stanford, and Lena had to laugh.
"Relax, Abby," Lena said, leaning back to inspect her cousin, just as Abby turned a critical eye on her. Before Abby could even open her mouth, Lena shook her head. "I'm fine. I swear it."
"Non, tu es malade, ma cher," Abby replied in a soft voice. Lena sat back down at her vanity and patted the seat. Abby joined her, hooking her arm through Lena's.
"I'm not sick, Abby," she said firmly. She looked at their reflections in her mirror, and noticed the stark contrast between the two of them; where Lena's hair fell in soft blonde curls, Abby's fell in thick black sheets that reflected blue in the light. Lena's skin was pale, and she had light bruises beneath her eyes. Abby's skin glowed a pale copper, kissed by sunlight and her mother's Turkish blood.
"Pourquoi tu parles en Anglais?" Abby wondered, frowning at Lena in the mirror. Why are you speaking in English?
I'm speaking English because French reminds me of him, Lena thought, feeling the sharp stab of pain in her chest at the thought of her companion. "Because we're in England, and here they speak English."
Abby frowned at her reflection, absently flicking a strand of silken black hair out of her eyes. "I do not like English," she said sullenly, her words only faintly accented. "But I suppose I must."
"Yes," Lena replied with a grin, "I can see how difficult it is for you."
Abby rolled her eyes and fixed Lena's reflection with a dark look. "Stop trying to distract me. Why aren't you down there giving Stanford a piece of your mind? And what's wrong with you? You look like you haven't slept in days."
"Actually, she looks a lot better today," Margot said from the doorway. Abby and Lena turned on their seat, and Abby grinned and flung out her arms.
"Come give me a hug, little cabbage," Abby commanded, and Margot skipped forward and threw her arms around Abby in a tight hug.
"I think it sounds better in French," Margot said with a giggle.
"Oui, ma petite chou."
Margot straightened, and looked over at Lena. "Did you tell Abby about your night terrors going away?"
Abby grinned, and eyed Lena mischievously. "Indeed, she has, and I am very curious to know why. Aren't you, little cabbage?"
Margot nodded, grinning.
"Oh, for God's sake," Lena muttered under her breath. "Where's Stanford, Gogo?"
Margot waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, he's in the Red Parlor with Maman."
"And where is Eleanor?" Lena demanded.
Margot's looked thoughtful. "Gerald asked her to help him distract Greg. When I came back upstairs, they were unlocking Papa's brandy cabinet."
Abby and Lena exchanged a meaningful glance, and Abby burst out laughing. Lena went very still. Gerald did not need any help unlocking a cabinet. Eleanor didn't even have a key. So why, then, did Gerald insist on bringing Eleanor with him to unlock the brandy cabinet to get Greg something to calm him down?
"Lena, what is it about you that inspires such protectiveness? Even the butler looks out for you," Abby teased in a gentle voice.
"I don't know," Lena said in a toneless voice. She grabbed the hairbrush and started brushing out her hair. If Gerald refused to let Eleanor come up and get Lena dressed, then by God, Lena would dress herself.
Abby and Margot started chatting rapidly in French, while Lena busied herself with her pale blonde rat's nest. She frowned at herself in the mirror. Something felt odd inside her, like she'd eaten spoiled food; her stomach clenched and her hands were trembling a tiny bit.
She pulled the brush through her hair with firm, quick strokes, the same way her mother had taught her when she was a child, ignoring the sharp pain when she caught on a knot. All she could do was focus on the task with grim determination, noting the unsettled feeling in her stomach and the trembling of her hands, and hoping that both would pass quickly.
After a few minutes, she realized that Abby and Margot had gone silent, and they were both staring at her as if she'd grown another head.
Lena slammed the brush down on her vanity, and the sharp cracking sound made her audience jump.
"What?" Lena snapped. Abby narrowed her eyes.
"Margot, go spy on Stanford for us," Abby said quietly. Margot backed up a few steps, staring at Lena with wide eyes, and then she whirled around and ran out of the room in silence. Abby sighed. "You just scared that poor child near to death, Lena."
"I most certainly did not," Lena replied instantly, her voice sharp.
"She's never seen you like this before," Abby said evenly. "Hell, I've never seen you like this, either."
Lena stood up and walked over to the window, grasping the windowsill with white knuckles. Her thoughts were numb, and her eyesight was fuzzy. Her stomach was still tied up in a tight knot. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Abby. I just… I feel like… I want to break something."
Abby chuckled. Lena whirled around and fixed her with a glare.
"You're angry."
"What?" Lena snapped.
Abby stood up and took Lena's hands in hers. "There's nothing wrong with you, Helena. You're just angry."
Lena paused to digest Abby's words. Was it true? The only other time she'd felt this way in her entire memory was the night her companion accused her of being a seductress.
But he wasn't here. No one had accused her of being manipulative. Her beloved cousin had arrived unexpectedly, her hated ex-fiance had shown up, and everyone in the household had conspired to keep Lena safe and sound, quietly tucked away in her room where nothing could upset her.
"Mon Dieu," Lena breathed, sinking down onto her bed. The twisting in her stomach faded, and muscles she hadn't realized were tight began to relax.
"What's wrong, Lena?" Abby demanded, coming to sit next to her, still holding Lena's hands firmly in her own grip.
Lena was quiet for a long moment. Too many thoughts were flickering through her mind, too many questions and memories floating up to the surface of her thoughts.
When she'd been a child, her parents had always kept her safe, had stayed with her during her night terrors, had made sure she never wanted for anything. When she'd made her debut, her family's reputation had opened up the very best parties and social events to her, and her father had lavished her with jewelry and gifts and exquisite ballgowns. When Stanford had abandoned her, she'd had her mother and Abby to take care of her, to help her through the pain and sadness, and to salvage her reputation.
And when the night terrors had grown so constant and vicious that she had begun to wish for death, he had appeared like some dark, sullen angel. A miracle. To soothe her. To give her back her peace.
God.
She'd never had to do anything for herself in her entire life.
"Abby," Lena said tonelessly, "I am a spoiled brat."
Abigail threw her head back and burst out laughing. Lena turned her head to stare at her as if she'd gone mad.
"There's nothing funny about this!" Lena cried, covering her face with her hands and heaving a miserable sigh.
"You are not a spoiled brat, Lena," Abby managed through her laughter. "I would not be seen in public with a spoiled brat. Do you remember Susanna Bennington?"
Lena nodded numbly. She remembered Baroness Bennington throwing temper tantrums in public when she didn't get her way, hitting her servants when they didn't follow her commands quickly or efficiently enough. Flirting outrageously with her husband's friends.
She remembered, before Susanna married Baron Bennington, the girl's desperate attempts to steal Stanford away from her. A Viscount was of much higher rank than a Baron.
Of course, Stanford stole himself away after he got what he wanted from the Dubois family, but that didn't change the fact that Lena had long thought of Susanna as her enemy. Even if she did not have it in her to hate the evil, scheming creature.
"That, my dear, is a spoiled brat. And a crazy one, no less. You are not like Susanna Bennington."
It was true. Lena was not like that. She cared about the feelings and wellbeing of others. She treated her servants well. She did not act inappropriately in public. But that did not mean everything was okay.
She felt her vision tunnel, and her breathing grow shallow. There was a buzzing noise in her ears, a muted sound, like a bee flying around in her head.
She was not okay.
It was not normal to go through life with no emotion. It was not… good.
She had been living like some kind of ghost for her entire adult life. Even when she had thought herself in love with Jacob Stanford, she had felt no great stirring of emotion within herself. She had felt a warm fondness for him. She had always thought herself too strong-willed to give in to faintness and swooning, like most other women her age seemed to do.
She had been lost in a haze of numbness since she was a child. She was caught in a miserable state of half-living in which she pretended to be a normal human, yet she had no strong emotions, no anger or jealousy or hatred, even toward those who greatly deserved it.
Her eyes burned, and the oxygen disappeared from her lungs. She was drowning. The muscles in her stomach clenched, as if to keep her from falling apart. Emptiness rose up to consume her like a giant wave, a rushing torrent of despair and frigid cold water.
She was helpless against it, drowning beneath overwhelming sadness and something else. Something bigger. Something she could not fight.
Her body begged her to give in, to give up and relax and let herself go.
Give up, a voice whispered in her mind. She was no longer aware of her body, or her surroundings. Just that rasping voice, and the heavy, dead silence around her. Give up, just like you did last time.
She didn't recognize that voice. She didn't want to.
But then she heard another voice. One she recognized very well.
It was her own.
No.
She fought. She lashed out against the darkness, the despair, the great silent weight that pressed down upon her. She would not give up. Not anymore.
Not ever again.
No!
Never again.
NO!
The weight disappeared. The crushing sadness evaporated. She took one great, heaving breath, sucking oxygen into her lungs, and opened her eyes.
The world was fuzzy and muted, like she was wrapped in a blanket of clouds. Abigail was hovering over her, crying, talking so rapidly in French that Lena couldn't understand her. Her cousin was worried, and looked deathly pale. Lena was sure she must look worse. But inside, she was fine. Inside, she was calm, and quiet, and she could feel her blood humming with something like energy, but a peaceful, gentle energy.
The scent of cedar and pine and lavender drifted around her.
She smiled.
I am alive.