swimming toward consciousness, despite the ever-present pressure at her temples.
“Ohhh, there ye are now,” the brogue continued. “Open up them pretty peepers and let us have a look at ye.”
Grace came fully awake to find herself face-to-face with two girls her age, both dressed in the drab gray of inmates.
“Blue,” the Irish girl declared, after shoving her face up next to Grace’s. “Ye owe me your dessert at suppertime, Elizabeth.”
The smaller girl squeezed her lips together in annoyance. “Why couldn’t your eyes have been green?” she demanded of Grace. “It would’ve looked so nice with your hair.”
Luckily for Grace she could come up with no words to defend the eye color she’d been born with, and the Irish girl’s voice filled the void.
“Ain’t no use asking questions of ’er,” she said. “Janey said this one’s not got ’er voice about ’er.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, and she turned her head as if to consult something on her shoulder in a whisper.
The Irish girl stamped her foot. “I told ye there’s to be no talkin’ to the string while yer with me. And scarin’ the new girl, no doubt.”
Elizabeth drew herself up to her full height—which wasn’t much—before speaking. “Janey told me she came in with that Dr. Thornhollow late last night, and we weren’t to wake her. But you’ve gone and done it anyway, Nell, as is your pleasure.”
“Oooooh,” Nell said, her eyes popping wide and matching the form of her mouth. “Dr. Thornhollow, eh? I wouldn’t mind letting ’im know me pleasure, if you get the meanin’.”
“One look at your chart and he’d be disinterested, I’m sure,” Elizabeth said.
“You leave me chart out of it,” Nell said, eyes narrowing.
Grace sat up in bed, bringing both girls’ attention back to her. “Sorry, luv,” Nell said, throwing herself onto Grace’s mattress with a huff. “Elizabeth and I, we know each a bit too well. Sometimes we ’ave conversations that get temperamental.”
“Yes, a bit like sisters, I suppose,” Elizabeth said. “Affection tinged with suffering.”
“Suffering.” Nell rolled her eyes. “Elizabeth’s a wee bit of a wet blanket. But ye get used to ’er. She’d pass for normal if she didn’t insist ’er string tells ’er all she knows.”
Grace smiled tentatively at Nell, wondering what had landed her in the asylum. Her black wavy hair flowed freely, setting off a porcelain-white face and eyes that Grace’s mother would’ve said would lead a man to trouble.
“It is String,” Elizabeth corrected her friend. “Not her string, or my string. Simply String,” she said with a dignity that her friend waved off casually.
“Aye, it’s got a name all right,” Nell said. “And if ever a string was too big for its britches, it’s that’un.”
Elizabeth gave up the argument with a wave of her hand and sat by Grace’s head, burying her hands in Grace’s hair and weaving tiny, delicate braids without another word.
“Don’tcha mind wee Elizabeth,” Nell said, shaking her head. “She gets a bit puckish when you insult String, beings as it tells ’er all she knows. She’s terribly attached to it, though it landed ’er in this ’ere place.”
“I’d say you’re a bit attached to your own cause of residency,” Elizabeth said.
“Aye, well.” Nell sighed and reached between her legs suggestively. “There’s no separatin’ me from it, is there?”
Even though Grace heard Elizabeth sigh in frustration, she could feel repressed laughter running through the other girl’s fingers as she tied off one of Grace’s braids. “There you are,” Elizabeth said, patting her on the head.
“Enough of this fanciness,” Nell said, raking her hands through Grace’s new braids so that her hair fell wild like Nell’s own. “Janey—she minds our floor of the women’s ward—she said we was to show you the grounds.”
Grace rose from her bed, eyes searching for the dress she’d worn the night before.
“We sent your dirty linens down the chute in the hall,” Elizabeth said, pulling Grace to her feet. “Although how you managed to dirty three pairs of underwear in one night is outside my knowing.”
“Maybe she’s like that Mr. Feiffer over in the men’s ward, can’t ’old his piss,” Nell said.
“Enough,” Elizabeth said. “We took a guess at your size at the laundry.” She smiled at Grace. “Brought you some fresh things. They’re not particular about how you dress here. If your family sends you something lovely, then you can wear it and no one will fuss at you. But Nell and me, we . . . we . . .”