Chapter Text
A sharp boom of thunder shook the manor, as heavy rain tore through the night sky.
Frank snapped awake, his eyes darting around the room in panic.
His nerves were settled when he realised the noise was just thunder, but was quickly struck with fear when he saw a small girl standing by his door.
He sat up in bed and lit his oil lamp in a panicked frenzy. Warm light spread through the room, casting away all hints of darkness. He came to see that the girl standing by the door was his younger sister, Agatha.
”Aggie? What are you doing awake?” He whispered, patting his bed to signal her over.
The young girl tip-toed across the room, and sat on the edge of her brothers bed. She had a terrified look on her pale face, framed with deep brown waves of hair.
”Forgive me,” She tentatively said. “I did not mean to wake you.”
”Nonsense. Did the storm frighten you?” He asked, placing a gentle hand on hers.
She nodded her head in shame. She was nearly fourteen, yet she was still scared of storms.
”I know it’s silly. Mother says I must stop being so childish.” She sighed.
”Well mother is a heartless tyrant. You are only young, you can be afraid of what you damn well want.” He said, squeezing her hand and giving her a sympathetic look.
She smiled back at him softly, still feeling a pang of embarrassment.
The storm raged on, and it became increasingly clear to Frank that he wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight.
”Shall I take you back to your room? I will stay with you there until you fall asleep,” He quietly asked.
Agatha nodded her head gratefully.
Frank climbed out of his bed, putting a tattered red house-coat over his white pyjamas. He carefully grabbed the oil lamp off his bed side table, and took his sister by the hand.
He lead them through the dark, grand hallways. Paintings of their old, Italian ancestors looked down on them. Frank had been scared of them since he was a child. He always felt like they knew all his secrets, and were passing judgement on him like a priest to a sinner.
When they finally reached her room, Agatha climbed into her bed, burying herself in the warmth of the sheets.
Frank smiled at the sight of his sister looking so cozy, and headed for her large bookshelf.
“What would you like to read?” He asked, searching the shelf for anything interesting.
”Pride and Prejudice?”
He rolled his eyes and quietly laughed while pulling it off the shelf. He never understood the appeal of romantic literature. Perhaps that was because none of it was about people like him.
He sat down on the arm chair beside the bed, and opened the book to chapter one.
As he flipped through the yellowed pages, reading aloud, Agatha finally began drifting to sleep.
As he was about to close the book and retreat to his room, his sister sleepily asked a question that left him shook.
”When will you get married?”
He froze in place, not knowing how to answer such a question, and wondering what prompted it.
“…Why do you ask?” His voice was quiet and nervous.
”I want a sister. Elizabeth has sisters.”
He sighed. Of course she did. She wanted everything she read about, even the impossible things.
He figured that since Agatha was on the verge of sleep, she would remember none of this in the morning. He decided to tell her the truth.
”I don’t think I can love a woman,” He put it plainly. “If I was to marry, it would be to a man. But nobody would accept that, certainly not mother and father.”
He looked back to his sister and saw her fast asleep. He quietly creeped across the room and put the book back in its place.
The rain had eased to a light sprinkle, and the thunder had ceased. He walked back through the silent halls, holding the oil lamp far in front of him, and wrapping his house-coat tightly. The bitter cold was biting at his chest, making him cough and splutter.
He lit the fire-place that sat in the centre wall of his room, and covered himself in his bed sheets, yet the coldness of autumn turning to winter still lingered.
~
Sunlight shone through the window as birds chirped, waking Frank with a tired groan.
He pulled himself out of bed and made his way to the dining room, not bothering to change out of his pyjamas.
”Frank, how kind of you to finally join us.” A man with a short, grey beard said in a stern voice.
”Good morning, father.” Frank said, already exasperated.
He sat down next to his sister and asked a maid to brew some more tea, completely oblivious to the unusually giddy look on his mother’s face.
”Frank, dear, your father and I have an important matter to discuss with you.” Her voice was high, and wrung with something sour.
”Ah, yes- You are to court Lady Jane Sheffield and ask her hand in marriage.” His father said dryly, not looking up from the letter he was reading.
Frank was shook to the core. His worst nightmare had come true.
”Why?” He asked, voice shaking.
”Because the Sheffields are rich beyond words, and Jane is a nice young lady. You were putting no effort into finding a wife, so I found one for you. You should really be thanking me.”
”Father, Jane is only seventeen, I am twenty-two! A-and I am to attend Oxford next year, how will I have time to get married?” His voice was raw and threatening to break.
”Cease the hysterics Frank. Seventeen is a perfectly reasonable age for marriage. And you can still study at Oxford next year, the wedding will just have to be sooner.” He sighed in annoyance.
Frank was dumbfounded, but before he could even think of a response, Agatha piped up from beside him.
”But father, Frank only likes boys, not girls!” She whined.
Sweet, caring Agatha would never hurt a fly. She would move heaven and earth to protect anyone, especially her brother, from harm. She didn’t know that what she had just said would destroy Franks life. If she did, she would’ve kept that secret locked in her heart and thrown away the key.
Frank froze, and the room went silent. The maids, footmen, and his parents looked at him in shock.
”Agatha, why would you say such a thing?” Their mother asked angrily, glaring at her as if she had just kicked a puppy.
”W-what do you mean?” Agatha quietly asked, fear and confusion seeping into her brain.
Franks eyes were glued to the table. He couldn’t move a muscle, even if he tried. The fear he felt in that moment was unlike any other.
”Leave us.” Their father said to the staff, who left the room without a word.
The old man stood up from the table and walked over to Frank.
He looked up at his father in fear.
”Father, I-“
His sentence was cut off by a hard slap to the face.
His father grabbed him by the ear and pulled him out of his chair.
Frank winced in pain and shut his eyes, hoping this was all a dream.
”I didn’t raise a filthy sodomite. You are no son of mine.” He spat, his voice full of pure hatred.