I settled on forging a letter from her family—who lived several days away—that her uncle was sick and needed her to return home immediately. Like mine, her parents were dead. I did not know how close she was with her relatives, but I hoped it was close enough that she would be enticed to leave. The moment she left, I would put forward Justine as her temporary replacement, and then send a letter to Gerta that she was no longer required. A forged letter from Gerta would be sent to the Frankensteins, telling them that she had found new employment and would not be returning.

The plan could fall apart at any stage, but I was confident it was the least damaging option. I would also include in Gerta’s dismissal letter a glowing recommendation to help her find employment with another family.

I had just sat down at Victor’s desk with a quill and a pot of ink when he returned. “I did it,” he said.

“What?”

“Gerta is gone. My mother will be desperate for a new governess.”

I stood, shocked. When he had left the room, I thought he was going to eat. He had been gone only an hour. What could he possibly have done in an hour to get rid of Gerta so easily?

“Where did she go?”

“Home,” he said simply.

“She would not just leave. How did you manage it?”

He paused, holding up one of my long curls, still loose from when he had unpinned them. “Sublime,” he murmured, twisting my hair to catch the light streaming in from the window. “Why is it, I wonder, that I can find beauty in this? What is it about your hair—a natural phenomenon, one that holds no inherent value or purpose—that triggers happiness in me?”

“You are so strange.” I took his hand and turned it to kiss his palm. “Now. Tell me. How did you get rid of Gerta?”

He shrugged, his eyes fixing on some point above my head. I noticed that his shirt and vest were slightly rumpled and askew. It was not like him to be anything other than immaculate when he was well. A remnant of the fever must be lingering. “I asked her to leave. She did. Tomorrow will be a good time to suggest to my mother that you know a suitable replacement.”

He took my place at his desk, pulled out one of his books, and resumed the studies that had been paused by his illness.

Whatever Victor had done had worked. We never heard from—or spoke of—Gerta again. The next morning, I told a harried and upset Madame Frankenstein that I knew a perfect replacement governess. Justine was produced and immediately hired, and had only me to thank for her new life.