The doctor pulled the chalk from her hand to make his own notations. “We can hardly pin him with one murder because he was here and ignore the connection to the others. He was nowhere near when they were committed.”

“Why can’t we?” Grace said. “Mellie Jacobs wasn’t murdered, according to the police. You never shared your suspicions about Jenny and Anka Baran being done by the same hand.”

“No I didn’t, because I knew no one would listen to me,” Thornhollow admitted, tossing the chalk from hand to hand in thought. “Or the two from Pomeroy, either. Beaton had one hell of a method, I’ll give him that. Even a good coroner might come to the conclusion of natural causes once the ether evaporated.”

“And now we put it to our own use,” Grace said, snatching the chalk as it sailed from one of his hands to the other. “Accuse my father of Jenny Cantor’s death. If he’s convicted, he’ll hang.”

“Grace, do you hear yourself?”

“I do, Dr. Thornhollow, and I don’t see shame in it.” She groped for words, unwilling to let her fought-for voice fail her now. “Jenny Cantor is dead, Mr. Beaton with her, and no one but the two of us knowing the reasons for it. Why not extend the hand of justice a little further? You know my father is a monster.”

Thornhollow grimaced and walked away from her. “He is, undoubtedly. But even if I were to agree to this plan, we have no grounds whatsoever that would earn a conviction from a jury. Your father was in the same general area as the victim. That’s all. He has no history of violence or sexual proclivities that are on record. You may as well accuse his coach driver of being guilty of the murder and have just as much evidence.”

“Except the testimony of an expert witness, Dr. Melancthon Thornhollow, who would state that Nathaniel Mae is a deviant fully capable of this act.”

Thornhollow went pale and he sat down abruptly. “You’d have me take the name of my science in vain, on my word, in a courtroom? I cannot do that, Grace, not even for you.”

Grace had expected the argument. “I know better than to ask. Rather I’d ask you to testify in the name of phrenology, a science you have no faith in whatsoever.”

“To condemn a man for a crime he didn’t commit.”

“No, Doctor—I’m asking you to condemn him for the crimes you know he did.” Grace’s voice grew thick as she fought back the emotions that longed to well up inside her, bringing with them all of the memories she’d relegated to the dark. She cried out, doubling over as she fought to keep them away and sliding to the floor in her misery. “It’s not only for me, though I’m the one you see in front of you. There have been many. So many, Doctor. I see their faces and it can’t be undone, only rectified.”

His face went into his hands, and for long moments the only sound was the clock as he pored over her arguments internally. Grace waited, her spine crackling with nerves as he deliberated.

“I can’t do it, Grace,” he said, hands still covering his face, his words sending her heart plummeting. “The risks involved are so great. Your father would be tried here, where the crime occurred, bringing him near you again—something I would avoid at all costs. Even with my testimony there is very little to condemn him and your father would have the best lawyer money could buy. We would lose, Grace. He’d see my career ruined, and God knows what would happen to you if that were the case.”

“Your career,” she said, her tone cold though her voice quaked with emotion. “Science,” she said, her volume rising. “These things mean nothing to me held in balance with my sister’s fate.”

“Did you not hear me mention your own?” Thornhollow yelled back.

“Also meaningless!”

“Christ, Grace. You’re not yourself. You haven’t been since—”

His office doors banged open and Thornhollow jumped to his feet, arms spread in front of Grace. Lizzie swooped in, color high and eyes burning.

“No, she’s not been herself, Doctor. Not since Nell died and she killed a man.”

“Elizabeth!” he sputtered. “You . . . you . . .”

“I what? I know things I shouldn’t? Of course I do. String tells me. You might as well let Grace come out from behind you. She doesn’t need your protection—she needs you to do as she says.”

Grace pushed Thornhollow’s arms away to look at Lizzie.

“Out with it, Grace,” Lizzie said. “I know you’ve got a voice, same as the rest of us. String says so, and tells me more than you ever would even if you used it.”

“Elizabeth,” Thornhollow said quietly. “String did not tell you these things. You’ve learned them on your own by watching Grace and—might I add—eavesdropping outside my office for who knows how long.” He closed the doors, giving Lizzie a dark look as he did. He tried to usher her to a chair but she shook him off.

“Enough with manners. I’ve had manners my whole life, and they’ve done nothing for me. I know things, things that most everyone would rather not have said aloud in public, and I keep my mouth shut. I do it to keep the peace and let everyone have their secrets. But no longer!”

She stamped her little foot, the same ferocity that would flash itself occasionally at Nell now out in full force. “I know what he did to you, Grace. Thornhollow can have his ideas of how I learned it, but I know it all the same. I’d rather you told me yourself, Grace. Time and time again I gave you chances to speak, to let me hear your voice and share your woes with me the way I did mine with you. But you—” She turned on Thornhollow so quickly he stepped away from her. “You’ve got her shut up tight like a drum for fear of bringing a storm down on your head. Don’t you ever accuse her of not thinking of how her actions affect your career, sir. She’s more loyal than you’ll ever know, her very tongue stoppered against her only friend left living, her troubles hers and hers alone just to keep your deception safe.”

The girl suddenly slumped, all her energy poured into her words and leaving her body a drained shell. “Say something to me, Grace Mae,” Elizabeth said, tears streaming down her face. “Let me hear your voice, and I swear I’ll see that man hang for you.”

Grace stepped forward on shaking legs, past the dumbfounded Thornhollow. “Hello, Lizzie,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to give you this.” The tiny blue bottle went from her hand to Lizzie’s, and it was the other girl’s turn to be surprised as she removed the stopper, the smell of rosewater and bergamot filling the doctor’s office as the two friends embraced.

THIRTY-FIVE

“It’s a circus in town,” Thornhollow said, hand brushing idly over the tips of the new spring grass. “Every newspaper in the state has a reporter here, and I heard someone say a fellow from the Times has taken permanent residence at the inn ever since the indictment.”

“It got worse after Mr. Pickering said he’d seek the death penalty,” Elizabeth said, picking over the sandwich she’d packed for their picnic by the lake. “I could hear the carriages rattling into town from my room.” She unwrapped another sandwich, holding it out to her friend. “Grace, put that down. It doesn’t say anything different since the last time you read it. You need to eat.”

“I know it,” Grace said, eyes still on Alice’s most recent letter. “It’s so very difficult to bear. She doesn’t understand why her father’s not come home, and Mother is so frantic trying to dispel the rumors that she has no time for her child.” Grace folded the worn letter and put it back in her pocket, turning her attention to food, though she had no appetite.

“Will your mother come for the trial?” Thornhollow asked.

“I can’t see that happening,” Grace said. “She won’t want to be anywhere near when they read the verdict. Deep down she knows it’s true.”