The lie formed upon my lips.
Gloria clasped her hands together. “Oh, sweetie, you have nothing to worry about. William will be a good man to you, I am assured.”
I nodded, if only to sound interested. “That is a relief to hear, madam.”
“You’ll be meeting him tomorrow at the Sharpe’s estate. It’s time that you both got acquainted with each other, seeing that you’ll be married.”
A shiver of dread pulsated through my body—the momentum in which everything around me was happening terribly too quickly. The world spun, and the patrons in the shop all blurred together as I sat, languid limbs moving too slowly to catch up. They alltalked of the potential meeting with William Sharpe in his family home. Their voices faded away.
Even Miriam joined, exclaiming the thought of traveling outside of the city to find herself a love match. She slipped her hand out from mine to talk of things I’d never get to see for myself.
I silently cried out,I don’t want to die.
Two
Thenights were my retreat. A time away from the facade I am meant to play—to be the doll I was brought up to be.
I often lingered in Father’s old study. The smell of the musty books and the creaks of the house reminded me of the shifting loneliness eating at my insides from within these placard walls.
I opened the window to the spring air’s evening chill. The clatter of hooves and wheels on cobblestone mingled with the hushed whispers of men patrolling the streets.
The window was three stories up, a decent fall and more of a reasonable way out than wasting away.
Quick and simple.
I traced the window ledge with my fingers up onto the shelves to the small piano Father hidden in his study. I tapped lightly on the keys, which were horridly out of tune but playable.
The song came to me, the familiar melody haunting my sleepless dreams ever since Father’s death and the disease laid upon me.
As I pushed back on the bench, my fingers quickened the pace to a crescendo trembling—screaming in high trills and echoing off dusty books. Fingers flew as I slammed into the keys the odd tune that had come to me night after night. After coming down to an end into a softness, it took me a moment to realize Miriam was standing at the door fully dressed.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Mmm. What are you still doing up?”
Miriam winked, softly shutting the door behind her. “Promise you won’t tell Mama.”
“Tell Mama what?”
Miriam went to the window, whistling out to a passing group of men. With a wink, she hiked up her skirt and draped her leg off the ledge. She pressed her back against the frame, weaving her hands into her golden hair and smiling down on them.
“Oh my, I must have been stricken by that of the green faerie,” she lamented down below.
I raised a brow to Miriam, words pressing to my lips, when one of the men called, “Unto the sweet nectar does a goddess drink, mad that she may be to revel in dreams on tis of nights.”
Miriam knocked against the window, and a rope and hook made their appearance as she lowered them down.
The man placed a basket of brown bottles onto the hook and waved her on before disappearing into the shadows.
Miriam heaved the basket up, arms trembling. “Don’t just stand there, help me.”
I took hold of the rope until the bucket was inches from the ledge. Miriam collected the two bottles and placed them onto Father’s desk, then stashed the gear into the closet.
I pointed to the bottles. “Miriam, what is this?”
“It’s absinthe.”
“Absinthe?”
