Twenty-OneBridget found Plum Cake just as she supposed she would: in her dimly lit room, propped on her pillows, a sheet down her middle.
“Are we circus attractions to you?” Plum Cake’s eyes were narrowed, the irises slivers of bright sky. “You had to see the Fat Lady and then the Black Ghost. Your curiosity, never mind another’s privacy.”
“That isn’t true.” I saved you. “I’d never intentionally harm Lily.” Though Plum Cake was right, visiting Lily had been about Bridget’s need to know the truth. “How is she this morning? Have I ruined everything?”
“She wants to make you a dress.”
“She came to see you? Told you?”
“Tate carried down her breakfast.”
Bridget watched the madam. How could she simply lie there day after day, leeching the brothel news from others? She slept away a large por
