Grace laughed bitterly, her breath tinted with alcohol. “So that’s it? He’s coming here to stump for the party? Lord.” She threw back the last of the drink and handed the glass to Thornhollow.

“It’s the worst of luck, I admit.”

“Yet, I’m not entirely surprised,” Grace said, her eyes on the fire. “Have we not both learned by now that fate is cruel?” She fell silent for a moment, words lost in the flames.

“Fate may be cruel, but it does occasionally play fairly. The superintendent has been insisting on throwing a formal dinner to honor my employment here and introduce me to key citizens. I’ve put it off but was able to convince him to make your father’s visit a dual event. As one of the two guests of honor I’ll be able keep an eye on your father throughout the evening, and you, of course, will be nowhere near the ballroom.”

“I may seek out Ned’s company,” she said.

“Nonsense. The guest carriages, horses, and drivers will be in and out of the stables. You’d be more visible there than sitting quietly in your room.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. “However, I understand that being closed away would only tax your nerves. I thought fresh air would be best and the company of friends.” He reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a small iron key. “The west turret. Take Lizzie and Nell to the roof and treat it as an adventure.”

“An adventure,” she repeated, turning the key in her fingers.

“One in which you can keep an eye on the comings and goings of the guests,” Thornhollow said. “I thought a degree of control might make you feel more secure.”

“It will,” she agreed. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re quite welcome,” he said. “Meanwhile I’ll be taking a meal with a man I detest, surrounded by people who want to make small talk and wear evening clothes. I may end the night as a patient and not an employee.”

“If so, I assure you that you’ll be under the most excellent care.”

“Watch yer step now, Lizzie, there’s a bit o’ ice here on the flagstones, and we don’t want String takin’ a tumble.”

Grace firmly tied Lizzie’s hat under her chin while Lizzie supposedly held String out of the way. Once Grace was finished, she took the other girl in hand and they picked their way down the steps to meet Nell on the gravel roundabout. The fountain stood silent, its gurgling voice frozen by the frigid air.

“Come on, then,” Nell called, practically dancing in front of them down the path. “Janey said if we’re late she’ll never be able ter talk ’er mum into bringin’ the crazies ’ome again.”

Lizzie shivered and cuddled close to Grace as they walked, hand cupped protectively near her ear. “String doesn’t like to be whipped about,” she explained as they crossed the footbridge. “Janey’s mother’s place is just at the base of the hill, though.”

Their feet punched through the snow behind them as they left the path for a side trail into the woods. Nell passed in front of them to hold back branches for the other girls to duck under.

“I promise I’m na leadin’ ya into the woods to murder ya, dear Grace,” she said. “Janey’s mum likes ’er peace and quiet, and she’s got it, sure enough.”

They arrived at the step of a cabin with merrily lit windows, bare branches interlacing thickly above it to create a canopy even without leaves. Nell shooed a chicken off the stoop with her boot and then knocked.

“Hello, girls,” Janey said, opening the door with a smile. Grace couldn’t help but smile in return, seeing her stoic nurse in an apron with a dab of flour on one cheek. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed with the heat from the kitchen. Janey bustled them inside and hung their coats near the fire as they stomped the snow from their boots.

“I hope it wasn’t too cold of a walk,” she said. “I didn’t want to bother poor Ned to rig up the horses just to drive a little ways. Besides, I thought it nicer to just have us girls. Don’t you think so, Mother?”

“Of course,” agreed an old woman, wrapped in blankets even though she sat by the fire. “And one I haven’t met yet in the mix. Come here, dear, let me see you,” she said, motioning to Grace.

Grace glanced at Janey, who nodded, and she knelt by the woman’s rocker, leaning closer when she noticed the cataract covering one eye. A hand full of bones bent by age, but skin still soft, brushed against her cheeks. “A pretty girl, my Janey said as much. She also says you’re not inclined to speech?”

Grace shook her head, and Nell answered for her. “She dinna talk much, no, but our Grace can play charades with the best of ’em. I can’t say there’s once tha’ I didn’t know wha’ she was sayin’, though ’er mouth never made a word.”

The hand patted her head, as if in blessing. “Ah well, there’s days when Janey’s up the hill for work on a stretch that I don’t speak to a soul myself. It leads to an understanding of your own self.”

“I run me mouth plenty, Mrs. Wilcox, and I think I know’s meself pretty well,” Nell objected.

“And the rest of us do too, whether we want to or not,” Lizzie said.

“My Irish lassie has returned,” Mrs. Wilcox said, turning her good eye to Nell. “And how many hearts have you broken since I saw you last?”

“I’ve had me teeth in a few,” Nell said, leaning low over the old woman to hug her. “But I don’ remember ’em complainin’ much.”

“And, Elizabeth, don’t think you’ll be helping set the table when you could share news,” Mrs. Wilcox scolded, motioning Lizzie over to the fire. “You let Janey see to things and come tell an old woman what String has to say.”

Lizzie blushed and sat at Mrs. Wilcox’s feet, but her tongue soon loosened as she reiterated news from the asylum, confirming tales that Janey had brought home from work. Every now and then she’d fall silent and turn her head to consult String on a detail, but even Nell let it pass without comment as they relaxed to the sound of Janey setting the table behind them.

“All right then, girls, give Mother a hand and let’s eat a meal together like civilized women.”

And they did. Grace hadn’t had such good food since her family table, though the faces around this one were so different. There were no stilted conversations and awkward pauses, no guarded looks or hidden kicks to urge silence. Words flew back and forth, bandied about in the warmth from the fireplace as if they’d grown in the air. Grace could not speak, but she wallowed in the conversation, laughing at Nell’s frequent interruptions and Elizabeth’s constant attempts to get her under control. Janey didn’t object when her mother instructed her to pour some wine, though Grace covered her own glass with her hand.

“A teetotaler, are you?” Mrs. Wilcox asked. Grace shook her head but wouldn’t move her hand. The little drink she’d taken in Thornhollow’s office had gone to her head immediately. The company of her friends and the vivacity of the moment had her voice aching to speak already; a drink could easily throw the door open.

“Ye can feel free to pour me ’er bit,” Nell said, passing her already empty cup back to Janey.

“Don’t you get drunk now, Nell,” Elizabeth warned. “Janey wouldn’t hear the end of it if we came back to the asylum sheets to the wind.”

“It takes more than a dram of wine to get an Irish lassie lit, ye wee Englishwoman,” Nell said. “Even Charlie says ’e’s not seen the likes of me for putting away the drink, and ’e’s seen a few hardwood floors up close.”

“And who is Charlie?” Mrs. Wilcox asked.

“’E’s a poor drunkard up the hill,” Nell said. “’Is family put ’im away for loving the bottle.”

“He also did say he was drinking them because Jesus was trapped in the bottoms,” Janey put in.

“If I were Jaysus, that’s where I’d go,” Nell said, tipping her glass again.

“Is Charlie a special friend of yours, then?”

“Och, no. A girl like meself can only get so close to a lad, if ye take me meaning.” Her tongue slipped out of the side of her mouth to touch the sore there, and in the firelight, Grace could make out the shadow of another blooming under the skin next to it.