Grace grimaced at Nell and shook her head, yanking at a weed with more force than necessary.

“Dinna worry yerself about it,” Nell said, shaking off the wordless chiding. “Anybody that’s been around the two of ye fer more than five minutes knows there’s nothing between yer bodies. It’s yer own minds that ye each find so fascinatin’, odd as that is.”

Even though there was truth to what the other girl said, Grace still wore a frown as she worked next to Nell, the early autumn weather bringing a sheen of sweat to her forehead. It was true that she and the doctor had learned each other’s minds thoroughly, each complementing the other’s weaknesses with their own strengths. But their efforts were for nothing if she never got the chance to apply everything she’d learned. Grace dug her boot heel into the ground against a stubborn weed as she told herself yet again that her wish for relief from boredom through the death of a stranger was the most selfish of sins.

Yet it was there, and she couldn’t deny it. She itched to put herself to use on something more complicated than punching bread dough with Elizabeth or harvesting alongside Nell.

“There now, ye’ve gone and yanked up me leeks, ye mad thing.” Nell salvaged the vegetable from the pile of refuse mounting behind them, but her touch was gentle as she pushed Grace’s shoulder. “No ’arm done. We’ll stick ’im back in the ground and no one the wiser.”

Nell replanted the leek, but the smile slipped from her face when she straightened up, and her hands went to her back. Grace had seen her friend struggle before in small moments when she thought no one would notice, as the disease that had brought her to the asylum began to ravage her joints. The two girls sat beside the vegetable plot to rest, gazing out over the lake and the group of patients dotting the shore, watched over by two nurses.

Nell jerked her chin in their direction. “Janey says second Tuesdays is always the worst of the lot. That’s when they make sure the outer wings get their proper exercise.” The Irish girl shook her head, her usual good humor abandoning her. “You and me, we’s lucky to be as good off as we are. Up ’ere I mean,” she added, tapping her own forehead. “Janey says those outer wings . . . it ain’t worth the pay, some days.”

Elizabeth and Nell had explained to Grace that the asylum staff mostly lived within the walls where they worked. All of the employees roomed near the center of the building, with the quietest and most calm patients living in the wings nearest them. As the bricks stretched, so too did the tenants’ tenuous hold on sanity, with the most violent and deranged patients farther from the offices.

But even they were treated with respect, Grace knew. She’d seen them on their outings, the staff doing their best to keep the wanderers from walking into the lake, the indignant from arguing among themselves, and the truly violent from harming anyone. One screamer had dug a trench under a bush and had to be removed by a team of male attendants, still clutching at the roots as he was dragged away. His echoing laments had traveled uphill to Grace’s room, reminding her of the spider girl in Boston.

Sheer chance had landed that poor creature into Heedson’s hands and the darkness of the cellar. Here, she might’ve had the chance to recover her voice and share her name. Here she might have even found what little bit of peace was possible for one so far gone. Instead, fate had put her into the darkness, and Thornhollow’s hand had made the arrangement permanent.

Thoughts of the black cellar in Boston drove Grace’s hand to her pocket to run her finger reassuringly over the edge of the envelope secreted there. The letter had come for her that morning, delivered by Janey at breakfast in the women’s ward while Elizabeth and Nell were arguing over whether String slept while Elizabeth did, or stayed awake all night. Grace had glanced at the handwriting quickly, even though she knew it could have only come from one person. Irregular letters, spelled out as if unsure as to their proper form, made her heart swell with affection as she imagined Reed struggling over their making, his brow furrowed in concentration as he addressed it to “Grace, in the care of Dr. Thornhollow.”

Nell rested her head on Grace’s shoulder, her dark hair fanning into Grace’s lap. Grace stroked it absently, the silky smoothness of it as comforting as her scars. “Ah, it’s a blessing to have someone play with yer hair,” Nell said, her eyelids suddenly heavy. “It brings something like a calmness.”

Grace wanted to ask her friend how badly she hurt, but the weight of her own lie kept her silent. She offered the only comfort she could, with her hands. Nell’s fingers twined with her own to quiet them, their dirt-stained fingers still within each other.

“Don’t let wee Lizzie know ’ow bad I’m gettin’,” she said, lifting her head so that Grace could see the seriousness in her usually sparkling eyes. “That one likes nothin’ more than ter worry.”

Grace held a finger next to her own ear and cocked an eyebrow.

“What’s that, then? Ye’re thinkin’ String might know? I tol’ ’er that if I ever ’eard about String sayin’ a word about me I’d sneak inta ’er room one night with the shears. I may not be able ter see it, but I know where ’er ears are, sure enough.”

Grace laughed aloud, the song ringing out in the cool evening air and taking both girls by surprise. She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes staring wide at Nell.

“Seems like yer noisemaker isn’t entirely broken, then, is it?”

Mortified, Grace could only shake her head from side to side.

“One day soon enough I’ll ’ear yer voice,” Nell said, rising wearily to her feet. “Until tha’ day I’d not mind listenin’ to that laugh every now and then.” She held out a hand to Grace, and they crossed the lawn together, following the groups of patients and scattered nurses toward the asylum.

“Did ye know there’s an alligator in the front fountain?” Nell said, the usual playfulness back in her voice.

Grace rolled her eyes.

“Aye, but there is,” Nell insisted, her eyes large with pretend innocence. “One of the nurses went for a visit to some of ’is family down in Florida, brought back the wee beastie. I suppose it seemed like a good idea at the time, but ’avin’ an alligator in your own ’ome was a bit taxin’ in reality. So he brought it ’ere, and it lives in the fountain.”

Some of the patients walking near them caught Nell’s words and shied away from the marble fountain as they neared it, one or two moaning and leaning against their nurses, who shot Nell dark looks.

“Oh, the toils of a prophetess in ’er ’omeland,” Nell said when she noticed. “But what better place for such a beastie than ’ere, I ask you?”

They were about to pass the fountain in question, and even though Grace knew better than to believe her fanciful friend’s tale, she found herself pulling her skirts away from the rim as they passed.

“Oh, Grace! Grace! It’s got me!” Nell’s hand was suddenly pulled from her own and there was a gigantic splash, followed by a cascade of cold water that drenched Grace’s dress. She gasped as more spray followed, covering her skin with goose bumps. Nell’s flailing wasn’t the least bit alarming, as she was smiling merrily while she did it, gleefully sending waves of water in Grace’s direction.

“I tol’ ya there was a beastie in ’ere,” she yelled, throwing herself backward and bringing Janey to the edge of the fountain.

“Going on about the gator again, is she?” Janey asked Grace, arms crossed in front of her. Grace nodded, fighting the smile that wanted to spread across her face. “I haven’t the heart to tell her it died years before she came here.”

“But there was one, once?” Dr. Thornhollow arrived just in time to catch a glimpse of Nell’s face as she came up for air and mimed being pulled under again.