EighteenThat evening, Bridget sat at the foot of Plum Cake’s bed with a small knife trimming the madam’s toenails. The smell of feces still lingered in the room, as did traces of capon with garlic cloves, freshly baked bread, and sweet pudding with vanilla flavoring—all of which Goose brought for the evening meal the three of them enjoyed. Plum Cake ate from a tray he’d made for her—a shelf of wood with two-foot-high legs. She’d even dressed for dinner. A flat purple dress front lay stretched over her. Lavender lace bordered the neckline and extended out an additional eighteen inches on both sides, long tails that tied around Plum Cake’s neck. More lengths of lace at the ends of the sleeves knotted around the madam’s wrists like bracelets. Bridget thought of paper dolls with their flat clo
