a cluster of familiar faces gathered together.
“Under your room?” a tall woman named Rebecca said. “That’d be the widow Jacobs.”
Another shriek reached the group, trailing off into a series of racking sobs that made Grace’s throat ache.
“That old loon?” Nell said. “Christ, she’s a case, sure enough. Best get used to it, lassies. We’ll be up the rest o’ the night.”
“Nell,” Elizabeth chided. “That’s no way to speak.”
“I can’t help me accent.”
“You know what I mean,” Elizabeth bit back, more harshly than usual, her hand clamped firmly in the thin air beside her hair. “Something’s gone horribly wrong.”
“Oh, really?” Nell asked. “And what does String know about it?”
Elizabeth twisted her hand furtively, uncomfortable under the hungry stares of the others. “It’s not my place to say.”
“You do know, then?” Rebecca asked, raising her oil lamp higher and peering at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth’s eyes bounced from one face to another, and Grace felt a stab of pity. She tugged on Nell’s elbow just as the door at the end of the hallway opened. Janey’s hair was down and loose, her eyes still heavy with sleep.
“All right, ladies, back to bed, back to bed,” she said, her voice still carrying authority even though she was wearing a nightgown. “Nothing to get upset about.”
“Somebody who sleeps in the room under me own doesn’t think so,” Nell disagreed, arms crossed in front of her. “She was verra upset indeed.”
“Is it Mrs. Jacobs?” Rebecca asked.
Elizabeth only fretted at the air beside her ear, fingers entwined in something invisible.
Janey looked at the circle of faces and sighed. “All right then, if it’ll get you back in your beds. Her daughter’s died, and the police have just been to tell her.”
“And her just a wee lass,” Nell said, real sadness in her voice. “Tha’s a terrible thing to hear.”
“She’s not,” Rebecca said. “Her daughter’s a full-grown woman, same as me. I’ve seen her when she comes to visit. Unless there’s more than the one?”
“Mad or not, yer dense as can be,” Nell said. “’Ave ye not ’eard the woman speaking of ’er lass like she’s just a bairn? Goes on about ’ow she cries all the night till ’er mum brings ’er a drink.”
“Ladies,” Janey said, her voice bringing a halt to the argument. “Mrs. Jacobs has just the one daughter, if I must say so to end this ridiculousness.”
“She walks on ’er own two legs and still cries for ’er mum in the night?” Nell said incredulously. “Sounds like she’d be better off in ’ere with the likes of us.”
“Except she’s dead,” Elizabeth reminded her. “And Mrs. Jacobs chooses to think of her as a child because it’s easier than recognizing the adult she’s become.”
The group hushed, all faces turned to Elizabeth, who blanched under the attention.
“How did you know that?” Janey asked.
Elizabeth only shook her head, hands clenching tighter to the air near her hair.
“Oy there, String,” Nell called, peeling apart Elizabeth’s hands. “Perhaps ye tell me where to find some buried treasure? Or the cure for the pox? Somethin’ useful for once, ye invisible bastard.”
“You dare!” Elizabeth gasped, flashing her teeth at Nell, who backed off. “You keep a civil tongue in your head when addressing String, Nell O’Kelly, or I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what?” Rebecca asked.
“I’ll spit in your tea,” Elizabeth said, stamping one tiny foot as she said it.
The other girls burst into laughter, and Grace bit down on her tongue to keep from joining them. Janey tried hard to control her face but her lips were twitching. Even Elizabeth’s angry pout changed into a hesitant smile.
“Aye, she’s a vicious one, our Lizzie,” Nell said. “Tell String I’m sorry and not to get ’imself in a tangle over it.”
“String is neither male nor female,” Elizabeth said.
“I don’t care one way or the other,” Rebecca said, looking sternly at Janey. “All I want to know is if String is right?”
Janey looked from each face to the next, all eyes now latched on her in the orange glow from the lamps. “Fine then,” she said, tossing her hands in the air. “Yes, the widow Jacobs’s daughter is an adult, but Mrs. Jacobs has found it easier to pretend she was still a little one, rather than an adult who chose to . . . to . . .”
“Are ye sayin’ she’s a whore?” Nell asked, drawing out the last word lasciviously.
“Was a whore,” Elizabeth corrected yet again. “She’s dead.”
Janey nodded. “Dead indeed. And the knowledge of that has sent the poor woman