Lost Anne

Chapter Four

The clinking of silverware against porcelain felt painfully loud as I sat at the dinner table, barely able to focus on the food in front of me. Each bite tasted like nothing, my mind lost in the dizzying thoughts of where—and when—I was.

Every second spent here reminded me how far I'd fallen from my own world. I glanced around the room, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that felt as heavy as the thoughts pressing down on me.

Harry's gaze was on me, soft and attentive, but with a hint of worry he wasn't hiding well. He was trying to keep his expression calm, but I could see his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of his plate, his restraint threaded with tension.

"Anne," he said softly, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, yet cautious. "Are you sure you're all right?."

I forced a weak smile, hoping to ease his concern, but the effort felt strained.

"Yes... I just—there's a lot on my mind," I replied, my voice quieter than I'd intended. So much, I wanted to say, too much.

James, who had been quiet up until now, looked at me with his calm, observing gaze. He was less forthcoming than Harry, more reserved, and I was thankful he didn't try to press. Still, the weight of both their attention was too much, the room itself beginning to feel like it was closing in on me. My pulse quickened, and my breathing felt shallow, like I couldn't get enough air.

Harry must have noticed, as he quickly added, "You don't need to stay if you're not feeling up to it, Anne. Please, don't feel pressured."

The kindness in his voice almost undid me. I nodded, suddenly desperate to escape.

"Thank you. I think I'll... go back to my room. I appreciate the company, truly, but I think I need some time alone."

"Of course. If you need anything... we're here." Harry nodded, his worry deepening, though he did his best to hide it.

I managed a small nod of gratitude, barely trusting my voice. As I rose from the table, my legs felt unsteady, but I managed to make my way to the door. Just as I was about to leave, Harry called after me, his voice soft but full of understanding.

"Anne... you don't have to go through this alone. Whatever it is, remember that."

I hesitated, glancing back at him, trying to give him some reassurance. But I couldn't find the words, couldn't explain the depth of my confusion, my grief, the overwhelming sense of loss and helplessness. I simply nodded before slipping out of the room, my steps quickening down the hall, as if distance might somehow quiet the storm inside me.

I barely made it to my room before my legs gave out, and I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, trying to make sense of what I'd learned. 1820.

The date repeated itself in my mind, stark and final. I wasn't just lost in a place I didn't know—I was trapped in a time that wasn't mine. My father... gone forever, and me here, left in a world that didn't belong to me.

The stillness pressed down on me until I felt like I was suffocating. After what felt like ages, a soft knock sounded on the door, and Mrs. Fitley slipped inside. Her face was etched with worry as she approached me, her presence familiar and strangely comforting amid the strange furnishings and haunting quiet of the room.

"Miss Anne," she said gently, her voice a balm to my frayed nerves. "Are you quite all right? You looked so pale when you returned."

I looked at her, my throat tight, the words I wanted to say fighting with the tears I couldn't afford to let fall.

"Mrs. Fitley," I began softly

"Call me Elle, little one." She smiled

"I...Elle, I don't belong here. In any sense of the word." My voice trembled, and I looked down, not knowing how much to reveal, how to express the overwhelming urge that had taken hold of me.