I dipped a respectful curtsy and then hurried to the nursery, my skirts swishing with my urgency. “Come!” I said, bursting through the door. “Let us go for a walk!”

Justine agreed, sensing my need. William, always one for time outside, raced ahead of us. We stayed close to the house. My neck prickled with the sensation of being watched. I whipped around, but the windows greeted me with blank reflections of nature. If someone watched us, it was not from there.

The wind whistled mournfully through the trees, shaking them. Somewhere to our right, in the morning shadows of the house, a twig snapped. I rushed to catch up to William, clasping his tiny hot hand as an anchor, trying to absorb some of his brightness as he pointed out interesting rocks and trees he wanted to climb.

“Elizabeth used to be an expert at climbing trees,” Justine said, smiling.

I nodded, distracted and far away. My thoughts were still in the entry with Monsieur Clerval’s accusations.

Had we ruined Henry?

—

Henry had been gone only two weeks when I received his letter.

To say I had been waiting patiently would be to perjure myself most horribly. I had been haunting the windows, looking out across the lake as though I could will his report to me.

My entire life hinged on Henry’s activities in Ingolstadt. I hated him, and Victor, and the whole world for it. How was it that my future was entirely dependent on one boy who could not be bothered to put pen to paper, and another boy who wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, unaware of who I truly was?

I supposed that in some tawdry novel I would not be permitted to read but would steal from Madame Frankenstein’s hidden store anyhow, I would have been torn between my two lovers and wasting away because of it.

In reality, I wanted to tear both of them apart.

It was not fair to them. But nothing in my life was fair, and so I could not find pity for Victor, having to decide whether he wished to marry me or release me to someone else, or for Henry, being used as a whip to prompt Victor into some sort of action.

I held the letter in my hands, staring down at it. Victor, or Henry. It had already been decided in my absence.

Though I had imagined tearing it open on the spot as soon as it arrived, I walked out behind the house into the deep woods there. Ahead of me loomed the mountains. I had spent many happy days at their feet, and even one perfect day on the glacial plains. Their silent strength brought me no peace now. I turned to the thickest portion of the forest, pushing through the brambles and bushes until I found a hollowed tree trunk.