SHACKLES

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

At the first light of dawn, I departed Spitalfields. The journey was long and wearisome, the carriage wheels jostling over uneven roads, each mile a reminder of the home I had left behind and the one I was forced to return to.

Upon arrival, there was no grand reception, no familiar faces to greet me — only old Louisa, my childhood nanny, who now bore deeper lines upon her face. Time had not spared her, and the sight of her aged features stirred in me a strange sadness, as if they mirrored all the years I had been away.

I did not descend for dinner. Louisa assisted me in drawing a warm bath, then helped me into something more comfortable for the night. I said little. The silence lingered between us like a ghost.

Though it was summer, the night air carried an unnatural chill. I retrieved the small bottle of spirits I had hidden from Louisa’s ever-watchful eyes and drank deep, until the warmth of it numbed the edges of my thoughts. My mind wandered — to Mother. To her dying alone, to the fading echo of her voice. The ache of her absence returned with cruel force.

In a fit of despair, I swept the contents of my writing desk to the floor — papers, inkwell, books — all crashing in a clatter loud enough to disturb any soul at rest.

A few moments passed before Louisa’s gentle voice called from beyond the door.

“Lady Zoe, are you quite well? Might I come in?”

“No,” I replied sharply. “I can manage.”

There was a pause before she said, “You did not come down for supper, so I thought it best to bring your tray up. Will you open the door, so I may hand it to you?”

“I’m not hungry,” I answered, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you certain you are well?”

“I am fine,” I said, though we both knew it to be untrue.

I listened to her footsteps as they faded down the corridor. When I was sure she had gone, I crossed the room and opened the window. The breeze rushed in at once — a restless, stirring wind — and in its embrace, I collapsed onto the floor, overcome.

Tears spilled down my cheeks, unbidden and unchecked. It had been so long since I’d wept.

“I miss you, Mama,” I whispered into the night, the words carried away by the wind like a prayer unanswered.