Page 3

Croomes blew smoke out of her nose and watched as Marie poured the first bucketful over Grace’s head, the water loosening the pale bun and turning it into dark streaks that clung to her skin. “This one’s as cold as the water she’s sitting in, down past her bones and into her soul. Nothing wrong with her brain. It’s her heart that’s got no life in it.”

Grace sat, letting the water numb her skin and apathy numb her ears as Croomes rose from her stool. “I’ve got Cracked Pat to tend to. Never comes to her treatments without my special encouragement.”

“I’ll finish here,” Marie said as Croomes walked past Grace’s tub. “No need for you to trouble yourself.”

“No trouble,” Croomes said, digging her fingers into Grace’s bun and pulling out the pin that held it in place, sending the loose hair cascading down her shoulders. “I’ll make sure this gets to its rightful owner,” Croomes said, lifting a hank of Grace’s dripping hair and grinding her cigarette out on the pale expanse of her neck.

Words boiled in Grace’s stomach as she clenched down on the pain, her teeth grinding together to keep from rewarding Croomes’s cruelty by crying out. Marie gasped but cut it short at a glare from Croomes. “Anybody hears about that, I’ll know who did the talking, won’t I?”

The only warmth left in Grace’s body slid down her face in the form of tears, which Marie brushed away with her callused fingers once Croomes’s footsteps had receded down the hall. “I’m sorry about that, miss, really I am. Way I look at it, most of you’ve got big enough problems without the likes of Croomes on your tails all the time.”

Marie fell silent, her gaze cutting to the door and the other, unconscious patient floating in her freezing water. “I’ll just do one more bucket and leave off the rest, no one needs to know. Besides, a bit of the cold might feel good on that burn.”

The frigid water cascaded over Grace’s features once more, the icy fingers digging into the singed pink flesh of her neck where Croomes had burned her. Numbness crept in, a heavy weight that began in her legs and moved up her torso. She rested her head against the rim of the tub, cramped muscles crying out as she did.

Marie pulled up a stool next to her and began running her fingers through Grace’s hair to untangle the wet ends. “You do a fine enough job of keeping yourself clean,” she said. “But without no brush I’m sure it’s difficult.”

Grace felt the slightest relaxation spreading through her shoulders as Marie finger combed her hair. “I’m sorry about the other thing too, miss,” she said after a while. “I don’t think there’s no reason to tell you I’ll be the one taking your baby from you. Croomes did that just to satisfy the meanness in her.

“My Andrew—that’s my husband, see—he’s always been wanting a wee one and I . . . well, I guess there weren’t such a thing in the cards for me. My own ma says we’ve not been married all that long, and you can’t hurry nature, but I got this feeling inside of me that I can’t shake. Like an emptiness where nothing’s ever gonna grow. I tried to say so to my ma and she said I’d best keep that talk to myself if I don’t want to end up in—”

Marie stopped short, her fingers pausing for a moment. “Well . . . I guess it’s no secret that some of you are just as sane as me and maybe that works the other way around too, sometimes.”

Her fingers picked up their work, sliding freely through Grace’s hair. “So when you came in here with your belly, I had a talk with Heedson and it was decided upon. I told my husband that our prayers had been answered, and he’d best be sleeping in another room for the time being just to be careful, and . . . I suppose it’s a horrible thing, miss, but I’ve been padding my skirts so that my waist matches your own, and I’ll be doing it right up until—”

Marie’s words stopped and Grace stared forward, giving no indication that she’d heard any of it.

“Aye, well,” Marie said. “If you want to hate me for it, you can and that’s your choice. I can’t say as I feel like it’s a good thing to do, but I promise I’ll give your babe a good home, and it’ll be loved as if it were my own.”

The numbness had spread to Grace’s thighs and midsection, but she could still feel the kick inside of her. Slowly she reached up, entwining her freezing fingers with Marie’s and bringing them down into the cold water. Marie gasped at the shock, but then Grace cupped the nurse’s hand on the swell of her belly to feel a kick so strong it sent ripples to the sides of the tub.

They held hands under the water. Their cold fingers sheltered the tiny life, their combined tears the only heat in the room.

FOUR

When Grace woke in the morning her hair was frozen to the floor. Croomes had returned to the baths to find Marie combing it rather than administering treatments. Grace had been dragged to her room, her only dinner a day-old piece of bread tossed through the door before it was locked again. Grace had fallen asleep, her still-dripping hair hanging over the edge of her bed. The night temperatures froze them in place, and she had to pull herself free at sunrise, leaving her hair torn at the ends.

She was inspecting the unevenness when Croomes burst into her room. “That’s a downright shame,” the nurse said, rubbing her shoe over the ends left behind on the stones. “You’ve got a fancy dinner tonight and here you’ve left most of your hair on the floor.”

Accustomed to the teasing, Grace kept her face blank.

“No, girl,” Croomes went on. “I’m not having a go at you. Heedson gave me a list of what he claims is the ‘well-mannered ones,’ and I’ve got to get you looking respectable. You get a new dress and everything. I think you’ll even get to have some silverware. Make sure you hold your fork right, now. And no elbows on the table.” Croomes laughed at her own joke and slapped Grace’s backside on her way out.

“You too, farmer’s—” Croomes’s voice broke off in the hallway as she reconsidered. “Mrs. Clay,” she finished. “You’re on display often enough to know the drill. God knows how Heedson’s deemed you respectable, the way you go about swearing to tear the eyes out of God-fearing folk.”

“If you fear God, that’s more to do with your actions than mine,” Mrs. Clay said.

Croomes huffed and her footsteps receded down the hallway before Mrs. Clay appeared at Grace’s door. “I tried to squirrel away a bite for you last night, but they were watching me pretty close,” she said.

Mrs. Clay pulled the younger girl’s hand into the crook of her own elbow. “So what’s this dinner, do you think?” she asked, knowing full well that there would be no answer. “I don’t see any room for kindness in this place, but let’s put a good face on it and see, shall we?”

There was silverware. Grace was unprepared for how much it set her back to see a table set properly, and she stood still in the doorway for a moment before entering. Mrs. Clay gave her a slight push to get her into the dining room, followed by two other women she didn’t know, faces pink from fresh scrubbings and wet buns pulled tightly back from clean scalps. Already seated were three male patients, who rose when the women entered, although one of them lagged slightly behind the others, not accustomed to the tradition.

“Mr. Baltingham, Mr. Crow,” Mrs. Clay said congenially, nodding toward them before she sat down. Grace followed her cue, lowering her eyes when the men glanced toward her and staring at the plate setting in front of her. It was heavy and awkward, nothing like the slight china she’d had at home, but it meant that there would be real food to eat, not only bread to grab and run with.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Mrs. Clay said to the third man, who reddened under her attention. “It seems we’re allowed to pretend to be civilized this evening. You may as well tell me your name.”

“Moore, ma’am,” he said.