“Thornhollow, you wouldn’t!” Falsteed cried from the darkness.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Grace said. “I’m of no use to him without my mind intact.”

“Quite right,” Thornhollow agreed. “I’m not in the practice of smuggling privileged young women out of asylums, even if they are as sane as a field mouse. She’ll be put to use and earn her keep with me at my new assignment.”

“And getting her out of here?” Falsteed asked.

“Your man, Reed, he’s dependable?”

“As the dawn.”

“He’ll be the perfect player in our little ruse, then,” Thornhollow said. “Now, Grace, I imagine you’ll want to say a little something to Dr. Falsteed. I’ll give you some moments alone. Join me in the surgery when you find yourself quite prepared.”

Thornhollow disappeared into the darkness, his footfalls echoing after him.

“Prepared for what, young one?” Falsteed asked, his voice heavy.

Grace took a deep breath. Even though their plan was her only hope of salvation, she was worried that Falsteed would disapprove.

“We’ve worked it out,” she said softly. “If Heedson believes Thornhollow has cut me and I’m unrepairable, he’ll panic at the thought of my father’s wrath.”

“I should say. For you to enter the asylum healthy and with child and walk out a drooling idiot would hardly be to Heedson’s credit.”

“Precisely.” Grace wrapped her hands around Falsteed’s cell bars, wishing her friend would come into the light before she left him forever. “He’d go to any lengths to cover the enormity of such an error. Bruises and cuts for his own sadistic pleasures will heal, but if I’m permanently damaged he’ll have no choice but to aid in my escape.”

Falsteed sighed heavily, the warmth of his exhalation reaching her but not the sight of him. “And what am I to do after you’re gone? Wait for a new prisoner and hope they’re interesting?”

The second smile of the day spread across Grace’s face, her stomach now alight with the possibility of a future. “They could only be so lucky, to have you with them here in the dark.”

Fingers closed around hers, but she couldn’t see past his wrist. “Write to Reed here at the asylum under the name of a Miss Madeleine Baxter. He’ll get the letters to me. I would know how you fare.”

“Good-bye, my friend,” Grace said, her throat tight once again. His fingers gripped hers, stopping her from moving away at the last second.

“Be wary of Thornhollow, Grace. He’s a good man, by all measures. You have nothing to fear from him that you would from other men. But that is precisely why you must guard yourself. He does not understand human nature, our emotions and attachments. He’s made a place for himself among the insane because it’s easier for him than moving among society. People are a mystery to him.”

“They are to me as well,” Grace said, squeezing his hand before she followed Thornhollow into the dark.

“You’ve said your good-byes?” Thornhollow’s back was turned to her when she entered the surgery, his hands busy sharpening a scalpel.

“I have,” Grace said. “Shall I sit or . . .” Her voice trembled as she motioned to the bed.

“Sit,” Thornhollow said. “Obviously, I won’t be coring your brain. Triangular cuts at your temple should be enough to convince that witless Heedson that you’ve been damaged. You do realize you’ll be scarred?”

“Yes,” Grace said as she settled into the chair.

Thornhollow nodded. “Very good. As to the cutting itself, I’ll be dosing you with ether, so there will be no pain.”

Grace’s hands grasped the seat of the chair. “No, Doctor.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ll take no ether, sir.”

“Grace, you must understand—”

“No, you must understand. I’ll not be witless for a moment.”

Thornhollow frowned, his brows drawing together. “Do you not trust me?”

“I trust you with my life. Nothing more.”

The blade hovered in the air, the slightest tremor betraying him. “I’ll need you to be utterly still through the pain. You’re no use to me if you twitch and I accidentally put your eye out.”

Grace sat straight in the chair. “I’ve been still through worse.”

Thornhollow nodded his assent and moved behind her. “All right then, look up at the ceiling, if you please.”

The first cut brought a slice of heat near her eye; a second slice came close to her hairline, followed by pressure as the doctor pressed a clean rag against the wound. “Hold this,” he said, drawing her hand up to the wad of cloth. “Tightly as you can stand,” he added when she gripped it.

Grace concentrated, all sense of self lost as he moved to her other side, and the pain, bearable in its familiarity, flashed again. Thornhollow pushed against the wound with one hand, the other reaching for a ball of lint on the table.

“I’ll soak this in the oil,” he said, “and dress the wounds with gauze. I doubt Heedson would go so far as to flap back the skin to see if I truly punctured your skull, but I wouldn’t put it past my bad luck to have him decide to suddenly take interest in his patients when I need him at his most incompetent.”

Grace nodded her understanding but said nothing. Black spots had started to float in her vision as a stream of warm blood trickled down both cheeks. “Is it . . .” Her voice floated off, lost in the darkness of the room beyond their lanterns.

“Is it . . . ? Whoops-a-daisy,” Thornhollow said, righting Grace as she slumped in the chair. “Steady now, girl. Almost done.”

With his hands flashing about the work and oil of roses following in the wake of blood, Grace felt the warmth returning to her hands, now resting in her lap. “I’d not thought there’d be so much blood,” she ventured to say when she trusted her voice again.

“Head wounds do tend to bleed,” the doctor answered, his eyes not leaving her bandage as he tied it securely about her head. “There,” he finished, patting her crown like a child. “Nicely done. No bow, but I suppose you’ll not mind the fashion faux pas. Rest a moment, then we’ll go about our little ruse.”

“Doctor,” Grace said as he leaned back against the table to rest. “I have a friend here, in the ward. A woman named Mrs. Clay. There’s nothing wrong—”

Thornhollow waved her words away before she could finish. “It cannot be done.”

“But I owe her—”

“That may very well be, and I’m sure she’s a fine sort. One finds many unfortunate women tucked away in places such as this. But she’s of no use to me, and I’m hardly running the Underground Railroad for Insane Women.”

“I don’t under—”

Thornhollow raised his palm. “Getting you out of here will be difficult enough, and I stand to gain by your release. Attempting to rescue the ill-fated Mrs. Clay would be sheer madness, if you’ll allow me the use of the phrase.”

Grace bit down on her lip to stop the flow of words, finding it difficult to cut them off now that they had begun.

“You’re unhappy with me, I see,” Thornhollow mused. “It can’t be helped. For the sake of our working relationship it would be best if you didn’t dislike me, but I won’t take unnecessary steps to ensure your goodwill, either. We’ll be clear about that with each other from the outset. If you’d like I can return you to your cell with nothing to show for this misadventure other than a bit of scarring.”

Grace felt her teeth grinding together, stopping the vowels and consonants that she wanted to spew at him. For a moment she remembered the meaty give of Heedson’s hand under her dinner fork, but she cut the thought cleanly from her head as if wielding a scalpel of her own. “No, Doctor,” she said. “You don’t need my goodwill for us to work together, as I don’t need your friendship to facilitate my escape.”

Thornhollow clapped his hands together. “Good. Onward, then. Are you steady enough on your feet? Wobbling a bit is perfectly fine, but if you fall I can’t be expected to catch you. It won’t do to scramble your brains in the end, would it?”