SHACKLES

CHAPTER FOUR

Mama was unwell — pale, drawn, and fragile in manner — yet she strove to appear composed for Aunt’s sake. Aunt Mia, ever possessed of a bright and irreverent humour, brought laughter to the house like spring sunlight through a dusty window. She had taught me to ride, and I loved her fiercely. I once told her, with childlike candour, that her books were rather dull. She laughed, not offended in the least, and replied, “I thought so too — how glad I am you are not a fool.” She said I was clever, and I blushed with pride.

One grey afternoon on the moors, as the wind whispered through the heather, I asked her quietly, “When will Papa come home?”

Aunt looked away, the reins slack in her hands. “I do not know, dearest,” she said with the sadness of someone who had long ceased to expect.

Later that day, I lingered in the stable to play with my little horse. Peter, the stableman’s son, joined me. We tumbled through the hay, laughing and darting past his father, Mr. Hemsworth, who stood watching us with his usual kind but tired eyes. Our joy felt untouched by the heaviness that clung to the house.

But it did not last long. Louisa, sent by Mama, came to fetch me, and I knew then I was to be scolded.

Mama sat upright in the parlour, her brow tight with quiet rage.

“Why must you persist in doing the things I expressly forbid?” she said sharply.

I stood still and answered, “It is not you who forbids me to play with Peter. It is Papa. And if you will not speak to him, how will he ever know?”

Her lips parted in protest, but I continued. “And if disobedience is a sin, then you too have sinned — you let Aunt stay, though you know Papa detests her.”

At that, Aunt Mia entered, having caught the end of our quarrel. She smiled with mischief in her eyes and said, “Let her go, Lizzie. You’re becoming frightfully dull.”

I giggled, and Aunt tousled my hair. Freed by her approval, I ran down the corridor, my joy restored.