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teeth so that she does not bite off her tongue,” Dr. Larimer instructed with absolute calm.
    Seeing where he was pointing, Lucy grabbed the short wooden comb from the table and handed it to Mr. Sheridan, who inserted it between the woman’s teeth.
    â€œRoll her on her side, with her knee out like so,” Dr. Larimer said to the younger physician as he positioned the woman’s legs. “This way she shall not choke on her spittle or bile, should her mouth grow filled.”
    For a moment, they all watched the woman shake uncontrollably. At last her terrible shaking subsided, and her cheeks were no longer so sallow.
    â€œLet us get her back into her bed,” Dr. Larimer instructed.
    Before anyone could step forward, Mr. Sheridan scooped the woman into his arms and, with a great grunt, managed to pick her up and lay her heavily onto the bed. The gesture was protective, intimate even. “I will tend to her,” he said, without meeting anyone’s eyes.
    Dr. Larimer gave his assistant a curious look as he sat beside the woman on the bed, but only said, “As you wish.”
    â€œI shall take my leave as well,” Duncan replied, moving toward the door. Lucy found herself accompanying him down the hallway.
    At the front door, the constable stopped and looked down at her. “If she is indeed Octavia Belasysse, we should know that soon enough. If she is not, well, I scarcely know where to start. I hope to know something soon, although a bootless errand I fear this may be.”

 
    6
    The rest of the afternoon passed painfully for Lucy. Miss Belasysse, as Lucy had taken to calling the woman in her mind, barely slept. When she was not weeping, she would rage around the room until she grew unnaturally calm. Underneath the woman’s rage, however, Lucy could sense a great despair and frustration at her inability to remember, and a great fear that underlay everything else. Finally, the woman’s fatigue overwhelmed her, and she seemed to drop off into a great sleep once again.
    Around seven that evening, Molly tapped on the door. “If you would, miss, you have a visitor. Mr. Adam Hargrave.” The servant’s eyes were wide with curiosity about the magistrate’s son coming to call so late in the day, and seeking the company of a nursemaid at that.
    Lucy took off her apron and smoothed her hair. She knew she looked tousled, but she did not wish to keep Adam waiting. He has seen me look worse, she thought to herself.
    Fortunately, the Larimers were dining at a friend’s house, and Mr. Sheridan seemed to have retired for the evening, so she did not need to explain Adam’s presence to anyone else.
    Not feeling comfortable greeting him in Dr. Larimer’s drawing room, she drew him out into the courtyard, ignoring the curious eyes of Molly and Mrs. Hotchkiss as they passed through the kitchen. She pulled her cloak on as they went.
    They sat down on the bench under the apple tree. It was a little chilly, but the garden smelled sweet, no doubt from the herbs that Dr. Larimer kept on hand.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” she asked, smiling up at him. She could still remember the first time she looked into his deep blue eyes, when she was still a servant. How he had wiped away the blood from her nose—an unexpected gesture that always reminded her of his sense of compassion and justice for those less fortunate than himself.
    â€œI could ask you the same thing, Lucy,” he replied. Though he returned her smile, there was a serious note to his words. “I stopped by Master Aubrey’s earlier this evening, hoping to see you, and that printer’s devil told me that you were living here.” He paused, looking slightly hopeful. “Have you left Master Aubrey’s employment?”
    â€œOh, no!” she exclaimed. A quiver had pierced her heart at the thought of leaving the printer’s shop permanently. “I do love printing books. I should