SHACKLES

CHAPTER TEN

The table was laden with an abundant array of dishes—roasted meats, buttered vegetables, savoury puddings, and delicate sauces—all complemented by fine wine. Yet I found myself unable to partake. My appetite, like my thoughts, had withdrawn.

Papa, his tone unusually measured, turned to Mama and said, “Elizabeth, might I ask that you take your seat on the other side of the table, if you do not mind?”

Mama, with the grace of one accustomed to such scenes, feigned deafness, her gaze fixed elsewhere, her expression unreadable.

Papa’s brow darkened, and a vein began to throb most visibly at his temple. His voice, now clipped and stern, rang across the table:

“Liz.”

He spoke the name as one might a warning — brief, sharp, and edged with disapproval.

With a slow turn of the head and a faint, mocking smile, Mama replied in a voice laced with frost and formality, “My lord, that tone no longer holds sway over me. I daresay your guest shall not object—after all, I remain the lady of this house.”

Her words hung in the air like a crack of thunder muffled beneath fine manners.

Aunt Eloise, looking faintly embarrassed, gathered her skirts and took her place on the far side of the table, her boy seated quietly at her side.

The room filled with the clinking of silver against porcelain, the low murmur of conversation, and the rather uncivilised sound of young George slurping his soup. Beneath it all, Mama and I sat adrift—our presence acknowledged by none, as though we were fading shadows in our own home.

My mind, meanwhile, was in quiet disarray. I could not make sense of Mama’s tone when she uttered the word “my lord”, drawing it out with curious weight. Nor could I fathom why Papa had so tenderly removed Aunt Eloise’s gloves—a gesture I had never once seen him perform for Mama. There was something odd about it. Something... intimate.

I was pulled from my musings when Mama turned to me and asked softly, “Sweeting, is the fare not to your liking?”

I reached for my milk, offered her a small smile, and replied, “It is splendid, Mama.”

You're absolutely right — let’s revisit that fourth line, the one where Papa says “Liz,” sharply. In your original, the line shows his veins bulging and his tone curt, which communicates his rising anger. The phrase “Papa veins showing on his head, says curtly ‘Liz’...” was directly translated into Victorian English earlier, but let’s refine it further so that it sounds natural, formal, and intense — without sounding awkward.