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the wavering light of the lanterns.
    “There you are,” Eugenie said, up to her elbows in a pan full of hot, soapy water. Beside her were stacks of crockery, waiting to be washed. “I was just about to send Mathilda out looking for you. Get yourself a plate of supper and don’t give me any sass, miss. I won’t have it said that we don’t feed our girls proper.”
    Aislinn was hungry, and glad that someone had beenawaiting her return; that she belonged, however tenuously, in this place. The kitchen was warm, and so was Eugenie’s affection, and her spirits rose as she obediently helped herself to a slice of venison roast, a mashed turnip with butter, and a corn biscuit. She took a seat at the trestle table, within the golden glimmer of a lantern, and began to eat.
    Eugenie was in an unusually talkative mood, even for her. “Shall I put on a kettle of hot water for you?”
    “Please,” Aislinn said. Everyone knew she was fussy about cleanliness; each night, behind the rickety changing screen in the attic dormitory, she took a sponge bath. To the other girls, such behavior seemed as eccentric as going barefoot at every opportunity. “It looks as though the dining room’s been doing a lively business tonight.” She indicated the stacks of dishes with a nod. When she was finished eating, she would elbow Eugenie aside and take over the dishwashing task herself.
    “Shamus’s boy was here,” Eugenie said, with much portent, and it was a moment before Aislinn realized she was talking about Shay McQuillan, the marshal. The word “boy” was a misnomer of monumental proportions; McQuillan was all man, with no apologies offered. “I believe he hoped to see you.”
    Something foundered in the back of Aislinn’s throat and flailed its way to the pit of her stomach, like a bird falling down a chimney pipe and fluttering in the ashes of a cold stove. “Nonsense,” she said, shakily. “One woman is the same as another to him. Everybody knows that.”
    Eugenie left her dishwashing to pump water into a large kettle and set it on the stove with a ringing thump. “Do they?”
    She remembered looking up into those too-blue, too-knowledgeable eyes, and her throat closed so tight that she nearly choked on her food. After a few moments of recovery, she stood, meeting Eugenie’s challenging gaze directly. “I’m sorry,” she said, in even tones. “I guess themarshal is your friend, and you’re right to stand up for him. But I’m entitled to my own opinion, and I think he’s bad news, pure and simple.”
    Surprisingly, Eugenie chuckled. “Oh, he’s that for sure. But there’s such a thing as the right kind of misery, gal. I hope you find that out before it’s too late.”
    The cook guffawed. “Lawd, Eugenie, you sure are right about that.”
    Aislinn scraped her plate into the scrap bucket, which would be set out by the back step for a scrawny dog named Bert at closing time, and took over the task of washing the dishes. She had to wait for her bathwater to heat anyway. Eugenie and the cook busied themselves preparing for the morning, giggling like a pair of school-girls, and Aislinn just shook her head.
    When she went upstairs, the attic room was sweltering, as usual, so she pried open the single window, being as quiet as she could, since some of the girls were sleeping.
    She bathed, as always, put on a nightgown, unplaited her hair, brushed it thoroughly, and braided it again. She’d crawled into bed, and was silently repeating her nightly prayers, asking God to keep Thomas and Mark safe and well, when she heard someone weeping.
    At first, she thought it was one of the other serving girls—the new ones, frightened and far from home, often cried themselves to sleep at night—but the sound was thin, and seemed to rise on the hot summer air.
    No one else stirred, and Aislinn honestly tried to ignore the soft, snuffling sobs, but in the end, she couldn’t. She got up and went to the window, peering into the thick