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“Have you heard about Shelley’s latest sonnet?” the young woman in the parlor asked, her voice drifting out into the hall where Franklin was standing.
“If you are referring to Ozymandias, then yes I have,” Percy replied.
Franklin was not eavesdropping. He was merely standing nearby so as to be attentive to his master’s needs. And he was certainly not desperately trying to determine what had brought Lady Mary Grey and her daughter Emma to Percy’s estate.
“I found it intriguing,” the younger Lady Grey went on. “Do you think that you could tell me what your thoughts about it were? After all, who better to discuss poetry with than a poet?”
Something in her voice made Franklin want to send her out of the house immediately, which was ridiculous. This was a very pleasant young lady who had come with her mother to make a social call. She was clearly trying to make Percy comfortable by introducing a topic he would know well. She had no way of knowing Percy had already talked at length about this sonnet with Franklin.
Even if she did, there was no rule saying a person could only discuss literature with one other person. There was no reason for Franklin to be jealous. Besides, the traditional method of courting was initiated by a man, and the upper class adored nothing more than tradition.
Not that Franklin thought that was relevant. It was just a nice thought.
“Oh, I would love to discuss the sonnet with you.” Percy’s voice broke into Franklin’s brooding. “But first, I would love to hear your thoughts on it.”
“Oh! Well, I- Really?”
“Oh, yes of course. I welcome new opinions on writing,” Percy said earnestly.
Franklin smiled. Trust Percy to accidentally frighten a woman by asking her opinion. Did he even realise that wasn’t considered a normal track of conversation?
“Franklin?” Catherine called from the kitchen.
Franklin reluctantly left his post beside the doorway and joined Catherine.
“Everything cool?” Franklin asked. Catherine looked at him with a mixture of confusion and annoyance, and Franklin reminded himself that his language experiments were best attempted only with Percy. “Apologies, I only meant to ask whether everything is all right.”
“Oh, yes. I only needed someone a bit taller than me to reach that dish. I saw you outside. I hope it isn’t a bother.”
“Not at all.”
Franklin carefully took the dish off the shelf and handed it to Catherine.
“Thank you, Franklin.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Franklin tried not to appear too eager as he walked back to eaves- stand attentively some more.
“Well, you are certainly correct. Pride does play a very large role in the poem’s themes. Though, perhaps hubris is the more accurate term. Pride can be well-founded, while hubris never is.”
“I think I see,” Lady Emma Grey said. “If we have no pride, we believe we can do nothing, but to have hubris is to believe we can do anything.”
“Exactly!” Percy said in the voice usually reserved for when he thought Franklin had said something particularly clever. “That is an excellent way of putting it.”
“Oh, thank you. You really are so kind.” Franklin winced at just how infatuated the young lady’s voice sounded.
“Lord Cunningsworth, may I ask you a question?” This was the older Lady Grey.
“Of course you may! Discussion of poetry is something I welcome all to enjoy.”
“I am afraid it is not about poetry. You see, my daughter and I have noticed that you have been attending many fewer social functions than you have in the past. I trust everything is well with you?”
“Oh… Yes, I am quite well. I merely have been… focused on my poetry.”
Franklin was going to have to work with Percy on making believable excuses. He wasn’t nearly as used to hiding secret affairs from society as Franklin was. For now, though, he did not like the direction this conversation was going. He was all for breaking tradition most of the time, but this wasn’t most of the time.
“A worthy work, I’m sure. It is just that my dear Emma and I were worried you must be lonely in this great big house with no one at all to share your life with.”
“I do have servants,” Percy said. Franklin winced. Oh, his devastatingly innocent poet had no idea, did he?
“But servants cannot possibly offer you everything you would need. Don’t you want someone else around the house?”
“I find great comfort in solitude, Lady Grey,” Percy said demurely.
“Are you sure? A single man such as yourself must be in want of the affections of a wife.”
There was a silence. Franklin took that to mean his lover had finally figured out what was going on.
“I don’t mean to intrude, Lord Cunningsworth. I simply thought my daughter and I could offer our assistance.”
“I certainly don’t wish to appear too forward,” the younger Lady Grey cut in. “It is just that you have always seemed to enjoy my company.”
“I- Well, I- Perhaps I should-” Percy stuttered.
Franklin could perfectly picture what Percy looked like right now. He’d be fidgeting with his hands, gaze downcast in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact.
“I appreciate the offer, obviously, but… I mean- I’m not-” Percy’s voice cracked.
All right. Time to intervene. Franklin’s poet needed to be rescued.
He grabbed a package that Charles had brought in an hour before and strode into the room. Percy, who had been looking very uncomfortable, brightened immediately.
“So sorry to intrude. My lord, I’m afraid you’ve received urgent correspondence.” He glanced at the two Lady Greys and said meaningfully, “It may take quite a while to sort out.”
“Oh! Then we really should leave you to it,” Lady Emma Grey said. “I hope we can speak again soon.”
“Y- Yes, of course,” Percy said. “Thank you so much for coming. I’m so sorry to have to cut our time short.”
He did not look exceptionally sorry, but that went unnoticed by his guests.
As soon as both women had left, Franklin turned to Percy.
“You okay?”
“I- Yeah. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“They’re going to come back.”
“Well, that’s a shame because you are most unfortunately going to be otherwise engaged precisely at the times they come to see you. Unless, of course, you want to turn that young lady down in person?”
“Um… I suppose it would be for the best to tell her. I just…”
“No, I know. You’d have to come up with a reason, which would be hard. It would be a pretty advantageous match.”
“I don’t want an advantageous match,” Percy gave Franklin one of his heart-meltingly sweet smiles. “I want you.”
Franklin knew he must be blushing. “I’m glad to hear it.” He cleared his throat and fought down the fluttery feeling in his stomach. “But you should be careful. I’m sure there are a lot more women out there who are just as smitten with you.”
“There cannot be that many, Franklin.”
“Why? You’ve got everything. Looks, money, brains, kindness. You’re probably the most incredible person most of these girls have ever met.” He leaned in a little closer. “You’d have to be crazy not to want you.”
Now Percy was the one who was blushing as Franklin wrapped an arm around him. “Really, Franklin, I don’t think-”
“Franklin, do Lord Cunningsworth’s guests want…” Catherine trailed off.
Franklin and Percy took a startled step away from each other.
Catherine, to her credit, recovered very quickly. “I suppose they’ve already gone?”
Percy nodded. “Yes. They had other matters to attend to.”
“Wonderful. And I see Franklin has taken care of the mail?”
“Yes. I was just giving it to Lord Cunningsworth.”
“Perfect. Then I shall take my leave.” Catherine spun around and walked back to the kitchen, apparently taking all statements at face value and ignoring the fact that there was no proper reason for a butler to be standing so close to his master.
Franklin chuckled. “I like her.”
“I do as well, Franklin.”
“What was that package?”
“Oh, you mean the urgent correspondence?” Percy grinned.
“Exactly.”
Percy examined it. “Oh! I think it’s from Byron!”
Franklin’s mood, which had lightened considerably since the departure of the two women, plummeted. There was no reason for that bastard to send Percy anything.
“Well, what does he want?”
Percy looked up with startled eyes. “Why should he want anything?”
“I don’t know. You’ve certainly given him plenty in the past.”
Percy frowned. “Franklin, are you jealous?”
“Well, I’m not happy your old fling is contacting you.”
“We were friends too, for a while. We talked about poetry.”
Franklin sighed. “Fine. I suppose you ought to open it.”
“I think it would be best to do that at my desk.”
“All right. Lead the way.”
Franklin’s frustration had faded slightly by the time they had both settled themselves at Percy’s desk.
“Well, my dear, let’s see what your old friend has sent you.”
Carefully, Percy tore open the paper.
“Oh! It’s a book!”
“And a letter,” Franklin said, picking up a sheet of paper.
“What does it say?”
“Do you want to read it?” Franklin asked, handing it to Percy.
“All right. My dear Percy, How have you been faring back in our homeland? I have been in Geneva, where, to my great annoyance, I found Claire Clairmont.”
“Who is Claire Clairmont?” Franklin asked.
“I believe Byron was quite close to her for a time,” Percy replied.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well…” Percy scanned the letter. “It appears that question will be answered.”
Franklin sighed. “All right. Keep going.”
“I have sent the child she birthed to a convent, where I hope she will be no trouble.”
“How many affairs has he had?” Franklin demanded. “Didn’t he have a different daughter back when you two were…”
Percy winced. “She was born at some point during that time, yes. I didn’t know until afterwards. It was a point of contention between us. I’m afraid Byron didn’t ever take much of an interest in her.”
“Why does that not surprise me? Why is he famous in the first place?”
“He is a brilliant poet.” Percy looked somewhat offended.
“You are too, and if you had a daughter, you wouldn’t abandon her or ship her off to a convent.”
Percy bit his lip. “I’m willing to admit he isn’t the best of men.”
“Is there any good in him? Apart from his poetry?”
“He made me think so.”
Franklin blinked and realized Percy’s eyes were a bit more glassy than he liked.
“I don’t blame you for anything that happened between you two, Percy.”
“I didn’t love him. I just… thought he cared about me.”
Franklin sighed. He had come to realize just how confused and alone Percy had felt at the time. Of course he fell for Byron as soon as he offered some twisted, selfish version of what he needed.
“I know, Percy. It’s all right. It all worked out. I care about you.”
“I love you too,” Percy said. Then he frowned. “Shall I continue reading?”
“I suppose it’s best to get it over with. Unless you want to just throw the thing away.”
“But then we won’t know what this book is for.”
“Fair enough. Read on, then.”
“A much more welcome company to me will interest you greatly. I am currently spending most of my time with Percy Shelley, whose conversation is as interesting as yours, though I cannot say how he matches you in other, more passionate matters. You-” Percy’s voice cracked. “You were always a pleasing distraction. Franklin, are you okay?”
Franklin looked down to see his hands had a death grip on the desk. He took a deep breath and let go.
“Fine,” he said tightly.
“You’re angry.”
“You aren’t a distraction.”
“I- I was to him, apparently.”
“Yes, but I need you to know that he’s wrong.”
Percy put a hand on Franklin’s shoulder. “You’ve made that perfectly clear, love. Don’t worry.”
“Good. Can we burn this letter now?”
Percy considered. “Let’s go just a bit further. If it doesn’t get better, we can burn it.”
“Go on then. I suppose we might learn something interesting about Shelley. I do like his work.”
“As do I.” Percy took a deep breath and looked back at the piece of paper. “Shelley’s wife is clever in her own way as well. She joins in on our conversations, and as a result of one of them, she has written a little monster story of her own. I thought it might interest you, and as only a few copies have been made, I have sent one to you.”
Franklin picked up the book and looked at it with renewed interest.
“Frankenstein or The Modern Prometheus. I wonder what a modern Prometheus would do. The first one brought fire, but we already have fire.”
“Prometheus also created humans,” Percy reminded him. “It could be related to that as well.”
“I guess we’ll just have to read it and find out what that means. Do you know anything about Shelley’s wife?”
“Not really. I know she was quite young when she married Shelley. I think her name is Mary.”
“I already like her more than Byron. What else has he got to say?”
“Let me find my place. Ah! I can only feel sorry for you. I know we parted on unhappy terms, but I did enjoy you immensely. I hope you are not lonely in my absence. That’s a bit self-obsessed, isn’t it?”
“More than a bit, I’d say, my dear.”
Percy smiled at the pet name. “Well, I’m certainly doing just fine without him.”
“Is there anything more about Mary?”
Percy scanned the letter. “It doesn’t appear so.”
“Then I don’t need to hear any more. Can we burn it now?”
“I believe that is an excellent idea.”
Percy threw the letter into the fireplace and they watched it burn.
Franklin turned to Percy with a grin as it crumbled to ash.
“Shall we read this ‘little monster story’ then?”
Percy smiled back. “We shall.”
Franklin settled next to Percy with the book in his hand.
“You know, it doesn’t have her name on it,” Franklin noted.
“She probably released it anonymously. Better for it to be judged by its merit than people’s notions about the author.”
Franklin nodded in understanding. He opened the book and began to read in the calm but expressive voice Percy had grown to love so much.
“The event on which this fiction is founded has been supposed, by Dr. Darwin, and some of the physiological writers of Germany, as not of impossible occurrence…”
Percy loved it when Franklin read to him. It gave him a serene feeling that settled deep inside of him and whispered you are safe. Whether that was because of something Franklin did when he read or just because he was Franklin, he didn’t know.
He had tried to write a poem about that feeling once, but it had proved impossible to capture thus far. No matter how he approached it, this warm, fuzzy feeling was too elusive to put down in words.
He listened as Robert Walton sailed towards the North Pole and found a man adrift at sea, nearly frozen.
“I never saw a more interesting creature: his eyes have generally an expression of wildness, and even madness; but there are moments when, if any one performs an act of kindness towards him, or does him any the most trifling service, his whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with a beam of benevolence and sweetness that I never saw equalled.” Franklin read.
Oddly enough, the description of the strange man reminded him of those years with Byron. There had been times when Percy had worked up his courage to break things off, but then there Byron would be, smiling sweetly. It had taken years for Percy to actually end whatever their relationship had been.
Percy couldn’t help but wonder why Walton had decided to put such a description in his letter to his sister. It seemed unnecessarily descriptive. He had always been very careful to keep thoughts like that locked in his own head, and only recently had he told Franklin about some of them.
Of course, it was the fashionable style. Percy hadn’t written anything in the way of prose, but he was familiar with the hyperbole of emotions this kind of novel often contained.
“But he is generally melancholy and despairing; and sometimes he gnashes his teeth, as if impatient of the weight of woes that oppresses him.”
Here, Percy giggled, unable to keep his mirth to himself.
“What’s so funny?”
“He reminds me of Byron. He would get that way sometimes.” Those times always ended in Byron’s bed together. Most times did, but when Byron was in one of his moods, his desire for sensual pleasure was even more intense.
“Does he? Well, then I don’t hold out much hope for liking this character.”
“Well, I suppose we shall see.”
Franklin read on, and further description of the strange man only reaffirmed Percy’s initial impression.
“-although his words are culled with the choicest art, yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence.”
That was poetry. That had to be poetry. Of course, Mary Shelley’s own husband was also a poet, but Percy fancied it described Byron’s poetry more than Shelley’s.
They began the tale of the stranger, who soon revealed himself to be Victor Frankenstein. At the moment he did not appear to be giving people fire or life yet. He was instead receiving an education in natural science.
“Is he in love with his sister?” Franklin suddenly stopped reading to ask.
“I am not sure. She is described by him in a very similar method to the one used by Walton to describe By- Frankenstein earlier on.”
Franklin considered. “That’s a fair point, but I would be very surprised if Walton was in love with Frankenstein.”
“More surprised than you would be by a relationship between siblings?”
“They’re adopted, I suppose…”
“I’m sure we will soon learn who is in love with whom if we continue reading.”
Before that happened, Frankenstein went on to discover the cause of life.
“That’s why he’s called a modern Prometheus,” Percy said.
“Byron did call it a monster story. I suppose he must go on to create a monster.”
Very quickly, Franklin was proven correct. Then, their question about Frankenstein’s sister was answered.
“Now that sounds like Byron,” Franklin said viciously. “Why is he dreaming about kissing a girl he grew up with?”
Percy had other concerns. “He’s abandoning the creature he made!”
“Oh. That’s even more like Byron.”
Percy couldn’t argue with that.
Near the end of the first volume of the book, Franklin’s voice started to rasp a bit.
“Shall we take a break, love?” Percy asked.
Franklin smiled at him. “All right. We can read more tomorrow.”
The next morning, Franklin ensured Catherine was made aware Lord Cunningsworth wished to be left alone. That enabled Percy and Franklin to get together to continue reading without fear of being disturbed.
“Franklin?” Percy said after a while.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Do you think Byron noticed?”
“What, that his friend’s wife wrote a story about a man as conceited and self-centered as him? Would he have sent it to you if he did?”
“I suppose not. It just is so similar. I can’t help but feel sorry for the poor creature. He was abandoned, and even though he killed someone, he is still a victim.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty sad.”
Percy felt this was an understatement.
When Frankenstein worked to create a bride for his creature only to destroy it, something tightened in Percy’s chest. That poor thing only wanted someone to love him despite his differences. Was that really too much to ask?
It was suddenly very difficult to focus on the plotline. Percy’s head was spinning.
The creature had been left all alone, an orphan, and nobody understood him. Nobody accepted him for who he was.
What was he supposed to do in a world that said he was an abomination?
A world that would always see him as something horrible, a lesson about what must not be done. Someone who ought to be cast aside and reviled.
How could he-
Percy realized it had gotten very quiet in the room. Franklin had stopped reading.
“Percy?”
Why was his face wet?
“Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“I-” Talking seemed like too much right now. Instead, Percy leaned into Franklin and wrapped his arms around him tightly.
Franklin stayed still a moment before returning the hug.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I- It isn’t fair,” Percy sobbed. “It isn’t his fault! He didn’t choose any of it!”
“I- He did choose to kill someone. That’s kind of… his…” Franklin trailed off as Percy tried and failed to calm down and stop crying.
Franklin seemed worried, and Percy didn’t like that, but something inside of him had snapped. He couldn’t seem to get the broken pieces back together.
“Percy,” Franklin said gently but firmly. “Can you tell me what exactly is bothering you so much about this?”
“He- He was alone, and everyone thought he was something that was wrong, and- and they would have even if he hadn’t- They never would have let him- And he didn’t have anyone!”
“Yeah? Okay. You’re all right.” Franklin wiped away a few stray tears on Percy’s face. “You’re not alone anymore, all right? You’ve got me. I’m not going to abandon you.”
“No, that’s not- It’s not me, it’s- The monster, he isn’t really- It isn’t about me.”
Franklin gently guided Percy’s face to meet his gaze. He looked at him with surprisingly piercing eyes before releasing him again with a nod.
“Okay. It’s just about the book.”
Percy nodded, although the movement was muffled against Franklin’s shirt.
“You’re upset because the creature didn’t have parents for long enough. He was different from everyone, which made him lonely. Even when someone was able to help him, they ended up hurting him even more instead. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Percy’s voice was trembling.
“Can you tell me why that’s so upsetting?”
“Because- Because-”
“Do you think that I was maybe right when I thought the creature reminded you of yourself?”
Percy closed his eyes tightly and made a sort of noise that could be interpreted as agreement by someone who knew him well.
“I understand, but you aren’t alone, Percy. You do know that, right? I love you so much just the way you are. For one thing, you haven’t killed anyone, and you’re not eight feet tall with ‘perfect proportion.’”
“You wouldn’t- You wouldn’t love me if I was eight feet tall?” Percy asked, confused enough that he raised his head to look at Franklin.
“Well, I’d love you, but you have to admit sex would be difficult,” Franklin said with that little grin of his.
“Franklin!” Percy admonished. “That’s absolutely vulgar.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t love it. You enjoy my limericks plenty.”
Percy tried to look disapproving, but finally gave up and laughed.
“Feeling better?” Franklin asked.
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to keep reading, or should we stop?”
“Oh… It’s a very good book. It wouldn’t be right not to finish it.”
“Just because it’s a good book doesn’t mean you have to force yourself to listen to it,” Franklin said.
“I just wish the creature could be happy too.”
“Yeah… Give me a second.”
Franklin flipped to the last page of the book. Percy watched his face work through several emotions: concentration, concern, thoughtfulness, and finally a resoluteness.
“I think,” Franklin said, shutting the book firmly, “that we should read Pride and Prejudice again.”
Percy decided it would be wise not to ask any follow up questions about the matter.
They could finish Frankenstein later or not at all, but today, he welcomed hearing about the Bennet family and the ups and downs of their romances.
After all, he had been hearing lately that Jane Austen was one of the greatest writers of their nation.