“Shh!” She turned to me sharply. “We don’t speak of him here. We don’t want to frighten the girls.”
At the top of the stairs, she took an iron key from a ring hidden in the voluminous folds of her robe, and opened a large wooden door.
I blinked. The room was ballroom-sized and lined with fifty identical cots pushed close together. Some were occupied even though it was daytime. I saw a girl at the far end of the room writhing back and forth, as if in terrible pain. Her hands were over her face and she was making low, guttural sounds.
“What happened to her?” Damon asked.
“She has bad dreams, that one. Doesn’t talk to anyone. We’re waiting for the doctor to come and see what’s wrong.” Sister Benedict sighed heavily.
Just then, a door at the opposite end of the room opened and Cora shuffled in, followed by Sister Agatha. Cora was dressed in the same floor-length shapeless gray smock all the other girls wore, and her hair was covered by a dingy gray bonnet. Her eyes were wide with fright, and even from across the room I could tell she was no longer acting.
“Well, that was everything. Are you satisfied with our facilities?” Sister Benedict asked.
I stole a glance at Cora, who nodded and tried to look more confident.
“Yes,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t regret it.
“Good,” Sister Benedict’s face broke into a smile. “Now, if you’ll be so kind as to come back downstairs, we’ll discuss the specifics of your donation.”
“Please,” I said. “Before we depart, I want to say goodbye to Cordelia. I’d like to leave her with some encouraging words, if that’s all right, ma’am… I mean, Sister,” I said, catching myself.
“Of course,” Sister Benedict agreed. I crossed the room, grateful that Sister Agatha took the hint and stepped a few paces away. Damon did his part by distracting the nuns with questions about how the Asylum was founded.
“Cora,” I said, making sure I stood far enough away that our conversation wouldn’t arouse the suspicion of the nuns. I took in her new attire, my gaze landing on her bare neck.
“Where’s your charm?” I asked urgently.
“They made me take it off, but I have it in my pocket.” She gave me a crooked smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I can handle myself. And these nuns seem harsh, but they’re nothing like the ones that taught us at the parish school back in Ireland,” she said, trying to assuage my fears.
She was brave, but that didn’t mean we needed to be reckless. “If it ever gets to be too much, or too dangerous … we can track Samuel another way. We can—”
“I’ll be fine. We don’t have much time now. Meet me across from the gates tomorrow morning at six-thirty sharp. The girls all go to the morning mass at seven. I’ll sneak away.”
Just then, I heard the insistent sound of rosary beads clicking closer toward me. I whirled around.
“Are you ready?” Sister Agatha asked, arching one of her dark eyebrows. Damon trailed after her.
“Yes,” I said.
Damon cleared his throat. “We’ll be back soon. And remember, you’ve already received our first check,” Damon said, pinning the nun with his eyes. Sister Benedict nodded once as she escorted us out of the room, down the stairs, and back outside.
“We’ll take good care of Cordelia,” Sister Benedict said as she closed the door on us. “And of course, the invitation to the benefit is an open one. I know the world of business can be godless, but in good deeds there’s always unity. And with such a handsome check, I can’t imagine that our benefactor, Mr. Mortimer, wouldn’t want to thank you himself.”
“I agree, and when the time is right, we’ll be delighted to meet with him,” Damon said, sarcasm so heavy in his voice I shot a warning glance at him. There was a chill in the air, and the sky was filled with large black rain clouds. A few drops spattered against my coat. I glanced up, trying to gauge when the clouds would break.
All I could hope was that the storm wasn’t a warning of things to come.
8
I glanced back at the imposing door of the Magdalene Asylum, wondering if Cora was being put straight to work in the laundry or whether our fake generosity would inspire leniency. For Cora’s sake, I hoped so.
“Let’s have a drink. A tumbler of whiskey might calm your nerves,” Damon suggested as soon as we turned the corner.
I considered the offer. I was hungry, and whiskey often worked well to quench a craving. But whiskey had a less predictable effect on Damon. Sometimes, he could drink it and seem relaxed, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Other times, he’d drink it and seem edgy and violent. I decided to take my chances.
“That’d be nice,” I said.
Damon nodded as he turned away from Whitechapel. “You know, brother, there was a time I thought we’d never speak civilly to each other again. But now look at us. You’ve changed.”
What about last night? I wanted to ask. I didn’t. It was funny the way that just the mention of Katherine’s name could unhinge him, even after all these years. But if he wasn’t bringing up her name now, I certainly wouldn’t either. Instead, I indulged in his belief that we were getting along exceptionally well. Maybe the more I tried to believe it, the more it would be true.
“I haven’t changed. Unless you’re finally seeing the man I really am,” I said. I’d spent the past two decades trying to return to the human I’d been before Katherine had entered my life. But Damon was the one who seemed different. Still impulsive, still possessive of Katherine’s memory, and still brooding, but also a little bit more … human.