19

Six days later, Amelia found herself once again standing beside Mara in the washroom. The girl’s nocturnal silence had continued, but this was the first time Amelia had seen her up close in weeks. Mara’s face was still lined with grief, but the dense aura of misery that had once enveloped her seemed, if not gone, then at least lighter.

Cavanaugh was responsible. His visits to the ward had continued without interruption after his confrontation with Mrs. Brennan. After his single lapse that day, the doctor returned to his habit of never looking in Amelia’s direction. It bothered her now in a way it hadn’t before.

Both women’s eyes swung toward the washroom door as it opened. A nurse entered, carrying something under one arm.

“Here.” She shoved the bundle at Mara, who dropped it with a muffled thump.

“What—” Mara began.

“Dress yourself, and be quick about it. You.” She turned to Amelia. “Help her. They’re waiting.”

Amelia bent to retrieve the fallen items: a dress of dark, plain wool and a linen shift, along with a pair of sturdy black shoes.

Mara removed her asylum shift with shaking fingers and drew the new garments on. They were ill-fitting but clean, and the girl plucked the fabric between her fingers as if she didn’t quite believe it was real. Her blue eyes were wide with uncertainty.

The waiting nurse took her by the elbow and hustled her out of the washroom. Amelia hesitated, torn between curiosity and caution. Wherever they were taking the girl, it was nothing to do with her. And yet…

She turned and hurried after them.

The ward door was open. Cavanaugh stood just outside with a nurse, both of them wearing coats and hats. To Amelia’s surprise, Janey stood between them, similarly attired and directing a worshipful gaze in Cavanaugh’s direction. Mara and her escort approached, and he held out another coat and said something Amelia could not hear. At a nudge from the nurse, Mara turned and allowed him to help her don it, her face stunned and white. At his gesture, the waiting nurses stepped forward and began to guide the young women away.

Amelia rushed toward them. “Where are you taking them?”

Cavanaugh turned, and his eyes widened when he saw her. The nurse who’d brought Mara from the washroom hissed and grabbed Amelia’s arm. Amelia struggled against her.

“Where are you taking them?” she asked again.

Cavanaugh motioned for the nurse to release Amelia. “Go ahead and take the ladies down, please. I’ll be just a moment.” He turned back to Amelia. “They’re being transferred elsewhere.”

Closer to him than she’d been in weeks, Amelia was startled to see how tired he looked. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes and lines of strain on his face she would swear had not been there before, even on the day he’d reeked of alcohol. What had taxed him so since that day?

He raised an eyebrow, and she realized she’d been staring. She dropped her gaze, self-conscious. “Is it better than here?”

With a glance at the ward nurse, who was approaching from her station beside the wall, he lowered his voice to reply, “Yes.”

Amelia let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “Good.” She hesitated. “Mara’s better than she was. You’ve helped her. It seems I misjudged you somewhat.”

“Somewhat?”

“Do you still believe me to be lying?”

He flushed, and the careful mask of his expression slipped. “I don’t know.” His voice was so low it was barely audible. He wouldn’t look at her.

A spark bloomed in her chest. Amelia’s throat went dry, and her voice, when it emerged, was hoarse and tentative. “Would you like to speak again?”

For a moment Cavanaugh looked hunted. Or perhaps haunted was the more appropriate word. Then his jaw tightened, and he nodded once. “I’m overseeing the transfer today. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, then.”