CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Mary Shelley
Albion House
Marlow
April 1817
Darling Mary,
It was in the early hours of the morning, still dark outside, that Officer Hamilton finished his questioning. Another conversation beckoned us, but it never began—neither of us possessing the fortitude or confidence required. I will open my heart to you at Rules, for I dare not arch ink across parchment of the demons that have tormented me since the summer within Lord Byron’s, shall we say, accommodations.
I should have retreated to my bed, as the clock had just struck 4 AM. Instead I dressed and descended to the basement, where I lit the gas lanterns and cracked open the cellar windows and door to alleviate the thickening stench of my guests.
My new inhabitant lay on the central slab, his clothing and f
