Chapter 27
27. Philemon Herbert is dead
"Marie, are you present?"
Upon Frankenstein's departure, I found myself uttering her name, soaked with apprehension.
Fortunately, my fear proved to be unfounded as Marie soon emerged from behind the door. She stood in silence, a patient specter awaiting my command. I, however, had no pressing demand to impose, leaving me reluctant to disrupt the stillness.
"…Might you fetch some tea? My throat is parched."
A feeble pretext, indeed. Marie assented and retreated.
In her departure, a gesture that might otherwise have struck me as ordinary, I discerned a glimmer of hope. She clung to the prospect of mending the fractures in our association.
The realization sent a profound shudder through my being.
Rising from my seat, I found my gaze anchored to the door through which she'd disappeared. I moved to shut it. The envelope that Arthur had dispatched lay at my feet. I'd received three of his correspondences already, but this one carried a weight I felt sure would bear the critical message.