I bathed hurriedly with warm water that chugged out of the brass pipes. I emptied the basin with the pump and lever—genius. I wore a dress too thin for the cold air, but in a pleasant pale blue. I defined the curls of my hair and pinned them up as I always did. When I was done, my reflection in the armoire mirror didn’t seem all that terrible for someone whose liver had pickled overnight.
Sam was waiting in his chair outside the door. “Hello, miss,” he yawned, tossing a polished ball from hand to hand.
“Hello,” I said, hesitating. The ball rose and fell, rose and fell. “You must be tired of sitting there.”
He shrugged. “Better than minin’.”
I grimaced. “Is Patrick really so worried someone might come to attack us?”
“Nah,” Sam said. “Ain’t no one stupid enough.”
“He doesn’t trust us,”
