“Mr. Allington will expect no less,” Harriet said. She shifted her feet, as if she were about to walk on to the door.
Annis, alert to this move, shifted her own feet. Frances, now sagging under her supporting hand, did not. Instead she drooped farther. Her knees buckled, and her head lolled as she crumpled all the way to the floor. Annis lost her grip on Frances’s waist, and Frances slipped from under Harriet’s arm. As they lost contact, the glamour broke.
The lights in the lobby seemed to flicker, as if the gas had flared high and then dropped. Frances appeared as if through a mist, an untidy specter huddled on the bare wooden floor.
Beaufort’s eyes went wide, his eyebrows lifting impossibly high. His swarthy face blanched, and he tottered back on his heels. “What—” he choked. “What has—”
Annis swiftly bent to slide her hands beneath Frances’s armpits. At the same moment, Harriet grasped Frances’s shoulder and slid her hand down to grip a handful of her ill-fitting dress. They were connected again, the three of them enclosed by magic. The lights in the lobby steadied. Frances disappeared.
Beaufort’s mouth hung open for a long, painful instant. When he closed it, he rubbed his eyes as if he thought his vision had failed.
“Are you quite well, Mr. Beaufort?” Harriet said in a silky tone.
“Oh, I—yes, I think—took a turn there for a moment. I’m all right now.”
Harriet said, “Very good. Thank you, Mr. Beaufort. We will return soon, and I expect to see the women in Mrs. Allington’s ward in far better condition.”
They were on their way again. Hauling Frances between them was like trying to move a piece of furniture. Annis managed to get an arm around her back, her hand still under her armpit. Through the flimsy fabric of her dress, Frances’s skin felt like ice. Harriet, the linen bag in her left hand, kept her grip on Frances’s dress in her right. They pushed through the front doors and staggered down the steps, Frances’s feet missing every other tread.
They were exhausted by the time they reached the boat. They let the glamour fade as they maneuvered Frances into it. The air around the three of them shimmered, as if a ray of sunshine had broken through the clouds, and there she was, drooping, dirty, as if they had picked her out of a gutter.
The startled boatman’s shaggy eyebrows rose. “Where’d that one come from?”
“She is leaving the asylum. We’re taking her home.”
“But she—I dint see her before.”
“Did you not? How odd,” Harriet said. “The light must be bad.”
He stared at Frances for a moment, then turned his grizzled face to Harriet. “One more fare, missus.”
“Very well. I will pay it. Now hurry, please.”
He nodded, settled onto the bench seat to unship his oars, and began to row without another word. Annis took a last look back at Blackwell’s Island, shuddered, and vowed she would never set foot on it again.
Robbie was waiting at the horses’ heads when they disembarked from the rowboat. When he caught sight of them, he gave an exclamation and hurried to help lift Frances out of the boat and onto the unsteady dock. Annis and Harriet between them managed to get Frances off the dock and up the little slope to the carriage. As they settled her inside, she slumped, unaware, in the corner. Robbie stood by the door, wringing his hands.
“Poor Mrs. Frances,” he said. “Poor lady. Whatever did they do to her? Are we taking her home? Did Mr. Allington—”
Annis interrupted. “No, Robbie. Papa doesn’t know, and we’re not going to tell him.”
Robbie froze for a moment, his hand on the carriage door, his cap in his other hand. “Miss Annis—”
Annis said, “Please, Robbie. He’ll never know you helped us.”
Harriet said, “It’s for Mrs. Allington’s sake, Robbie. That place is unbearable.”
Robbie’s stiff posture began to relax. Slowly, as if it were part of his making a decision, he replaced his cap on his head and pulled the brim low over his forehead. He gave Frances a sorrowful look. “I’ve heard that,” he said. “I was hoping—that is, I sure didn’t think Mr. Allington would—”
“Nor did I,” Annis said crisply. “It wasn’t right, but we’re fixing it as best we can.”
“Well done, Miss Annis,” he said. He closed the door of the carriage but still lingered, looking in at Frances’s inert figure. “Poor lady,” he repeated. “A terrible thing.”
“Yes,” Annis said. “Terrible. Thank you, Robbie, for understanding. I’m grateful. Let’s start