As we approached Spadros Manor, the courtyard bell rang, the signal for the men guarding the grounds to assemble.

Our butler John Pearson greeted the carriage as we arrived. “Welcome home, mum.”

His brown hair seemed a bit thinner than usual, and he looked tired. “Thank you, Pearson.”

My lady’s maid Amelia rode with her husband Peter and their daughters, and rushed to my side as soon as she alighted. “Here, mum, I’ll take you to your room and get you changed.” She helped me down the walkway, up the white stone stairs, across our wide porch.

Pearson moved past us to open the door. “It’s good to see you improved, mum. I’ve placed your post in a box on the desk in your study. Would you prefer it brought to your rooms?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Tony’s — or rather, his father Roy’s men assigned to him — gathered near Tony out at the curb.

Pearson bowed as Amelia and I turned towards the sweeping curved stair. Most of the other servants had returned here after our outing last month. They stood lined up in the hall, bowing or curtsying to me as we passed.

Ten year old Pip seemed to have matured in the month we’d been gone, nodding gravely when I smiled at him. Though they’d been apart for almost a month, he didn’t so much as glance at his mother Amelia, nor she at him.

Our chef Monsieur, a huge, impeccably dressed man, stood beside Anne, our new Mistress of Kitchens. Then the others ... we had several dozen in all.

The house, a former scientific station turned “manor,” was all white — walls, ceilings, and doors — with the floor tiled an ugly pale gray. My bedroom, closets, and bath were the same white and gray, with bedding and cushions of an insipid pale blue.

Nobody had ever cared what I liked or wanted here. Since I couldn’t escape, I endured it, as I endured everything else. I took a deep breath and let it out, trying to keep my anger in check as Amelia undressed me.

Having a servant do everything for you might sound glamorous. But this card had two sides; I craved being allowed to do what I wanted without eyes on me night and day.

I stepped out of my petticoats. “Is someone tending to my bird? It seemed distressed.”

“Yes, mum,” Amelia said, then untied my corset.

I disliked wearing a corset, and always felt relieved when it was removed. Amelia put my black house dress (for mourning a disaster or the death of a friend) over my head just in time: a knock came at the door.

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I smiled at Amelia’s annoyance. “Come in.”

Pearson carried a large box overflowing with mail and set it on the chair closest to him next to my tea-table.

“Where’s Honor?” It was my day footman Skip Honor’s job to carry and fetch things for us during the day while at home.

“He’s tending to something, mum,” Pearson said, then left, closing the door behind him.

What could he possibly be tending to?

I let Amelia unlace my boots, pull off my stockings, put on soft black house shoes. I sometimes imagined myself a store mannequin, dressed and undressed, then set to smile and pose.

Every task had a different outfit a “proper lady” wore. My closets overflowed with dresses for every imaginable circumstance. My dressmaker Madame Biltcliffe made my seasonal outfits. But new outfits would appear, sent from Roy and Molly to make sure I was presentable.

It seems sad and silly, looking back on it, but that was my life.

Once dressed, my thick curls were combed out, sprayed with water, and redone into a style suitable for what I wore. Even though I saw nothing wrong with my hair, when I struggled, raged, or protested, it inevitably brought a rebuke — or worse — from Tony’s father Roy. I might be lady of the house and married to the Spadros Family heir, but Roy Spadros still ruled here.

I gazed into the mirror. Amelia had braided my hair into an intricate array, weaving in fresh jasmine. “This looks lovely, Amelia, thank you.”

She smiled sadly. “It’s good to see you looking better, mum.” Her nose reddened. “I can’t imagine the horrors you saw.”

Amelia never mentioned my refusal to speak or the zeppelin disaster until now. “That’s very kind of you.”

In truth, the zeppelin bombing, the shattering of the station’s ancient stained glass-work, even the death and destruction around me in its aftermath, paled in comparison to the deaths of my friends ...

“One day I’ll fly far from here. I want to travel the world.”

Amelia rushed for a handkerchief. “I’m so sorry, mum, here, you don’t want to spoil your makeup.” She dropped her hands to her sides, shoulders drooping. “Please forgive me, mum ... I never meant to bring you grief.”

Grief. I smiled in spite of how I felt, remembering a bench, an empty street, a little boy, and a long time of weeping for us both.

I longed to see David Bryce again. He needed to know I hadn’t abandoned him. I clasped her hand in both of mine, remembering how at peace I felt after I wept that day. “Grief is the only good thing there is, when all is done.”

Amelia didn’t speak for a bit. “Wise words for one so young.”

Amelia had experienced as much grief as I, if not more. I dabbed at my eyes, blew my nose. Then I forced myself to smile for her sake. “Let’s tackle Pearson’s mountain.”

Amelia chuckled at that, then helped me sort it all. Well-wishes on cards from ladies who barely veiled their disdain for me, yet feared the Spadros Family’s displeasure if seen to be silent. Copies of the Golden Bridges, a disreputable tabloid. A few notes from friends. I put the notes in my pocket to read later.

I set Amelia to opening the first stack of mail, then, amused, put the newspapers in a pile by my tea-table. Tony forbade anyone to give me a newspaper, read the news aloud, or even leave a paper lying about. I suppose he thought information about the disaster would make my “condition” worse. So most of my information came from servants’ whispers.

I wanted news, but I could read old tabloids any time.

Pearson’s heavy tread returned. “Luncheon is ready, mum. Would you like it brought to your room?”

“No, I’ll come down. Thank you.” In spite of our long journey, I felt better. And despite all its faults, it felt good to return home.