Letter I

Geneva, May

8th, 17—

My dear brother,

Though I do not doubt that this letter will not reach you before you depart on your voyage, I

cannot stop myself from writing to you with the vain hope it shall. The ones I would confide in at

your absence are either far at home in London or witnessing these events alongside me. Even my

dearest Jonathan is shaken from the horror of it. Though he stoutly refuses to admit his nerves, I

can see them plainly on his face. For his sake, I will not divulge my anxieties to him. For that, I

shall write to you.

Such terrible events have followed our arrival in Geneva that I cannot help but feel it is an omen

for coming times. Though you may laugh at my superstition, and I know that you shall despite

your best efforts, a chill comes over my body as I write these words. Do you remember sitting in

front of the fireplace in our Uncle Thomas’s study as children, listening to the tales our cousin

would conjure to frighten us? As I recall, you were the one whose teeth would chatter in their

skull for the terror of it. At the recitation of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, a handful of weeks

before you set off on your own voyage, you clutched my arm like we were children on the rug in

Uncle Thomas’s study again. When I asked you about it, you claimed to not be scared; you are a

man of science, after all. Despite your belief, you cannot hide such things from me. We both

have our superstitions, dear brother, so I beg of you to not dismiss mine.
As you know, Jonathan had set about this trip as a way to visit his family. I readily agreed; Lucy

and Mina haven’t seen their grandparents for months and, as it often happens with small children

their age, Jonathan was worried about them forgetting his parents’ faces. As someone who has

long forgotten our own beloved mother and father’s faces, I could not find it in myself to argue.

Besides, a visit to the countryside of Geneva seemed much more agreeable than another dreary

summer in London. Jonathan, aware of my fondness for nature and her beauty, anticipated my

agreement at his suggestion.

Our arrival at the beginning of the month was lovely. Jonathan’s parents were delighted to see

their grandchildren, and my girls were equally enthralled at seeing their grandparents. We spent

the first days unpacking and settling into the guest quarters of the Saville home. Mrs. Saville,

quick to realize her time with the girls was limited, was eager to take them off my hands.

Jonathan and his father had taken to long walks in the countryside, often lasting hours, where

they soaked in all the beauty nature had to offer. On occasion, he would steal one of the girls

away to join them.

This left me oftentimes alone. After my pregnancy with the twins, I cannot be as active as I was

in our youth. As much as I adore them and as much as Jonathan wants a son, I fear what another

child would take from me. I can no longer keep pace with my husband and his father, so I often

insisted they go on without me. While Mrs. Saville kept the girls, I was left with nothing to

occupy myself with.

I took to exploring the town and found great interest in the many markets there. While resting on

a bench in the town center, I found myself acquainted with two young women. Justine Moritz

and Elizabeth Lavenza both made for interesting conversation, and I was most fascinated how

the two came to be involved with the Frankenstein family. The Frankensteins were a topic of

much discussion with my mother-in-law; she found it necessary for me to be informed on

Geneva’s social circles, and the Frankensteins were a favored topic of hers. Charmed by the two

young women, and Mrs. Saville’s words in my mind, I made plans with them to have tea later

that week after Justine returned from a visit to her aunt’s. However, tragedy ensued before such a

meeting could take place.

The youngest Frankenstein boy, William as I would later learn, had gone missing. I had only

seen the boy a few times before hearing of his disappearance; once when he and his elder

brother, Ernest, came to ask after playing with the twins, and once when he accompanied

Elizabeth and Justine to the market. My girls were too young to interest the Frankenstein boys as

playmates, so their visit was brief. However, from what I’ve heard from Elizabeth and Justine,

and witnessed during our brief interactions, the child was sweet if a bit precocious.

Jonathan and his father both rushed to join the search party. Though I knew I should send my

thoughts to Elizabeth and Justine, as well as the rest of the Frankenstein’s, I could barely bring

myself to look away from my girls for a moment. As fatigue plagues me persistently, I could not

help with the search. Mrs. Saville went in my stead. To help assuage my anxieties, I kept Lucy

and Mina confined to the parlor where I could keep a close watch on them.
Jonathan awoke me at dawn to give me the horrifying news; William Frankenstein was found

dead. The child was discovered by his own father, already rigid and cold with death. Though not

much is known about poor William’s demise, there are rumors spreading throughout the town.

Mrs. Saville told me that one of the men who was with Mr. Frankenstein during the discovery

saw the dark bruises of fingerprints circling William’s throat.

I could barely contain my horror at the noise and my choked gasp nearly roused Lucy from her

sleep. I had insisted on the girls sleeping in mine and Jonathan’s room on the whim of my deep

paranoia. Staring at them curled in bed, after just hearing the details of a child’s murder, one who

had inquired after playing with them only days before, I was grateful for following through on

my anxiety.

As I write this letter, early in the weak morning light, I am still grateful that Lucy and Mina are

asleep. I have not had time to rid my face of the horror it shows at this tragedy. Jonathan and his

father have gone to the Frankenstein estate to offer their aid. The sounds of Mrs. Saville in the

kitchen (she has been preparing a vast spread of breakfast food for almost the length of an hour,

but I have not the heart to tell her that my appetite has long since vanished) below offer a

comforting din in their absence. And I am here, standing guard over my children, and confessing

my anxieties to my beloved, wayward adventurer of a brother.

Your affectionate sister,

Margaret Saville
Letter II

Geneva, May

17th, 17—

My beloved brother,

Tragedy continues to befall the poor Frankenstein family. While Jonathan is the more rational of

the two of us, even he confessed that he feels the family is cursed. The whole of Geneva is filled

with sympathy for them. Though I can barely bring myself to leave the house, Mrs. Saville has

informed me that the marketplace is shrouded in grief. Despite our best efforts, even the girls

have felt the dour mood.

Jonathan and his father have begun to take them on their walks about the countryside to lift their

spirits. I had initially protested; as fond as I am of nature and her benefits, I was filled with

anxiety at the thought of my girls in the same woods where a murderer lurked. My anxiety has

waned over the course of the last days, especially seeing how overjoyed the girls were when they

return. However, if I had my choice, I would keep them safely locked away for the remainder of

their days.

Last night, after Jonathan and the girls returned from one of their walks, I find my worry has

been halved. Lucy returned terribly frightened and in hysterics, babbling about seeing a monster

in the woods, her countenance pale and waxy. At first, I was apt to also dissolve into tears, as I

was thoroughly convinced she had seen the murderer. As she did her best to explain what she had

seen, I calmed.
Lucy’s monster, as horrifying as it sounded, was surely a figment of her imagination. I can

scarcely write the terrible description down for it still makes me shiver; a giant, lumbering man

with stitched-together limbs and a misshapen face. Hearing my sweet girl describe such a beast

was jarring and I found myself wondering why her imagination had conjured up such a thing.

Mrs. Saville provided wax paper and a pencil for Lucy to draw her creature on when words

seemed to fail her. As you know, Robert, words have always been difficult for Lucy, even as she

now nears the age of four. The picture she produced was so macabre that Mr. Saville burned it in

the fireplace immediately.

Mina, though not having seen this creature, supported her sister ardently. I expected nothing less,

and thus, was not surprised that when Lucy refused to accompany her father and grandfather on

any more walks, Mina refused alongside her. Now, although my anxieties are more fixed on

soothing Lucy’s poor nightmares, I find myself greatly relieved that they will stay in the safety of

the house.

At Jonathan’s insistence, I left the girls with their grandmother to visit to the Frankensteins and

pay my respects to poor William. Though I did not expect to offer them much beyond consoling

words, I was most shocked when I arrived. As expected, the male Frankensteins were stoic and

stiffly took my words of sympathy, even young Ernest who looked much older in the week since

I’d last seen him. It was only when I was lead to Elizabeth that I had to compose myself.
The poor girl was in hysterics, and in no condition to take visitors; I felt the desperation of the

Frankenstein men at her state and Ernest divulged to me that they hoped a visitor would lift her

spirits. When Elizabeth saw me, she gave a valiant attempt at forcing a smile. However, it

dropped as soon as the men left, and I took a seat in the armchair beside her.

I listened as Elizabeth explained the situation through her tears; the guilt she felt over William’s

death, how she gave him the miniature of the late Mrs. Frankenstein to wear, and then the added

despondency over the sickness that befell Justine. While Justine had been visiting her aunt when

William had gone missing, she had returned the day after and fell ill when informed of the poor

boy’s fate. Elizabeth confessed that she was terrified to go sit at Justine’s sickbed for fear that she

would be forced to watch her dearest one die as she was forced to watch Mrs. Frankenstein pass.

As I was only a girl when our parents became ill, I scarcely recall what I longed for others to say

to me in comfort. I fear that I left much to be desired in my consolation of Elizabeth. Though, I

suspect, that any words would’ve fallen short at the sheer magnitude of her grief. I went back to

the house with a heavy heart at the thought of the Frankenstein family, but mostly at the thought

of Elizabeth and Justine; was fate truly so cruel as to make Elizabeth lose her Justine, so soon

after the death of William? I could not imagine the loss of my Jonathan and I refuse to even think

of something happening to Lucy or Mina. I can only pray you stay safe in your travels.

Your affectionate sister,

Margaret Saville
Letter III

Geneva, June
3rd, 17—
My dearest brother,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits, however, if that is the case, I beg of

you to put this letter aside for fear of tarnishing your mood; I regret to inform you that the tragic

tale of the Frankensteins has continued in a most awful fashion. Though I dislike informing you

of this melancholy narrative, I am overcome by the sense that it is almost my duty. I find that

writing these letters is my only source of comfort in these trying times, save for the smiles and

laughter of my sweet girls.

Most unexpectedly, new knowledge of William Frankenstein’s murderer has appeared. This

sudden revelation was found by the town with relief and despair in equal measure; Justine Moritz

is suspected of murdering the young boy. The miniature Elizabeth was so despondent over giving

William was found in the pocket of Justine’s clothing. This last morning, Justine, still pale and

weak from her illness, was taken to the magistrate.

Selfishly, I am filled with the all-encompassing relief at the renewal of my children’s safety.

While Lucy and Mina are overjoyed their newfound freedom extending past the parlor, they still

refuse to go into the woods. The farthest Jonathan has been able to coax them is the edge of the

yard. Mrs. Saville is convinced they will soon forget about their “monster business,” as she calls

it, and return to their normal selves shortly.

Though I can only imagine how Elizabeth is feeling in light of this discovery, I cannot bring

myself to return to her side. To ease my own guilt, I tell myself that I would yearn for privacy in

her position. If I am truthful, which to you, Robert, I strive to be, I fear what change this has

enacted on Elizabeth. There is no one on Earth who could escape unscathed through these events.

If I was in her role, with my dear Jonathan lost, I dare not imagine what I could become.

For that, I pray for your safe return from your treacherous voyage to the Arctic, as I always do.

Enclosed is a drawing that Lucy and Mina insisted I send to their beloved uncle. Though the

subject is quite a horrifying one, they became unruly when I attempted to dissuade them from it.

Once they heard I was writing to you about Lucy’s creature, they claimed a visual aid would be

required. Apparently, brother, as a man of science, Mina is worried about your imagination

lacking.

Your affectionate sister,

Margaret Saville
Letter IV

Geneva, June
15th, 17—
My dear Robert,

While the drawing enclosed in the previous letter by my macabre little artists was unsettling, it

has been nothing compared to the trial of Justine Moritz. I know you’re surprised to hear that I

would deign to watch such a gruesome proceeding, but I would advise you to calm; as you likely

suspected, my stomach is not strong enough for that grisly business. Instead, Jonathan and his

father have replaced their walks among nature with the viewing of a murder trial.

Mrs. Saville is often unsettled by the recollections they give around the fireplace at night, when

the girls are long asleep, and the parlor is lit only by the flickering light of candles and the

roaring flames of the fire. However, I cannot tear myself from my chair. While my stomach is

weak at the sight of potential violence, my mind is often eager for it. Despite the closeness of the

crimes, it feels much more like a simple ghost story when told in the firelight.

Jonathan has never understood my love for ghost stories and paranormal proceedings; as you

remember, that was why you were forced to accompany me to the performance of The Rime of

the Ancient Mariner in London, though you become too frightened to gain much enjoyment out

of such things. However, unlike my husband, you are much more willing to bend to my threats of

blackmail. Of course, as we have spent a lifetime together, I also have more information of value

on you, dear brother.

That is all no matter; when asked, I simply tell Jonathan that it is all just curiosity for the woman

I so easily befriended during my first week in Geneva. Reminders such as that always makes him

go pale. He still cannot believe how close I was to the alleged murderer of William Frankenstein

or how I was only a few days away from tea with her. The more Jonathan witnesses the trial, the

more enraged he becomes at the idea of Justine being responsible for the death of William.

When his foul mood takes over, I just sit back and let it run its course. My own thoughts on the

situation would be of no help. Jonathan would dismiss my doubts of Justine’s guilt on my own

sentimental feelings for both the girl and Elizabeth Lavenza. After many attempts, I have given

up trying to explain my true thoughts to him. However, as the wonderful form of correspondence

that is letters dictates, my dear brother cannot interrupt me with his opinions.

What is most unusual to me is why Justine would murder William for a portrait miniature. Even

if, as Jonathan claims, it was greatly valuable, why wouldn’t she simply steal it? As I learned all

those weeks ago at the market, Justine was employed as a type of maid by the Frankensteins.

Wouldn’t it all be much easier to steal the portrait when the family was unawares rather than

commit the heinous act of killing a child?

I will not lie to you, dear brother, my sentiment steadfastly plays a role in my questioning of

Justine’s guilt. After witnessing the affection between Elizabeth and Justine, I cannot imagine

Justine betraying her beloved Elizabeth. After all, the portrait was in the possession of Elizabeth

after the untimely death of Mrs. Frankenstein. Surely, if Justine had simply asked, Elizabeth

would’ve imparted the picture onto her for a brief time.

You can see why I had such difficulty explaining my thoughts to Jonathan; I can barely write

them down in a way that is understandable. My ardent belief in Justine’s innocent is as illogical

as the idea of Lucy’s creature running through the forest. In the end, as informed to me by

Jonathan and his father when they returned this afternoon, it matters little what I think. Justine

Moritz had confessed to the murder of William.

She is to be hanged in this evening as punishment for her crimes. Though my friends in London

have gone to such events, I could never bring myself to join them. When even the idea of a trial

is gruesome enough to turn my stomach, I shiver to think what would happen to me after

witnessing a death. At my insistence, Jonathan will abstain from viewing the hanging. His

vindication at the confession of Justine was almost frightening; while I know it is from a place of

anger at the idea of something such as that happening to our girls, the look in his eyes was cold.

A brief bit of comfort comes to me at how I am not the only one still convinced of Justine’s

innocence. During the trial, Elizabeth defended Justine passionately against the accusations of

murder. Even after she had confessed, Elizabeth, had visited Justine. Accompanied by the eldest

Frankenstein son, a sickly-looking man named Victor who had just arrived in Geneva after word

of his brother’s death, Elizabeth fulfilled Justine’s final wish to see her. The knowledge that

Elizabeth hasn’t forsaken Justine helped soothe my nerves the barest amount.

It still isn’t enough to keep me in this town after the death of Justine. While I adore Jonathan’s

family, and they adore my girls, I cannot remain here for any longer. Even the very air feels
heavier with the knowledge of such tragic events. Despite her bright demeanor during the day,

Lucy continues to have nightmares throughout the night of a monstrous creature. I believe, in a

way of comforting her twin, Mina has begun to be plagued with them too. All of this has been

enough for me to end our visit to Geneva short.

While Jonathan attempted to protest our sudden departure, his mother came to my aid. She

pleaded with him to take the matter of his wife and children’s health in consideration above all

else. When that didn’t seem to sway his mind, Mrs. Saville grabbed her son by the ear as though

he were a boy again, and admonished him for his behavior. After that, Jonathan had a change of

heart about our visit to Geneva ending.

Truly, I would’ve walked back to London with my girls in tow if I was forced to. Though I can

feel you laughing at me while I write this, there is something horribly wrong in Geneva. Even the

beautiful and sublime countryside cannot escape its corrupting force; what once brought me

comfort, now seeks to unsettle me with images of a terrible monster roaming her hills.

As such, we plan to leave for London tomorrow morning. I hope, my dear brother, that your

travels have been filled with less horror than mine. And, when we are finally away from a town

so wrought with despair, I will be finally glad to see the desolate picture of London again.

Your loving sister,

Margaret Saville