He’d only laughed and warned her the workhouse would ruin her pretty features and turn her into a hag so that no one would ever want her.

Mercy had only to think about how much Patience had changed in the few months she’d lived at St. Matthew’s Bethanl Green Workhouse. Before going in, Patience had been like a rare blade of green grass poking through the piles of garbage in a dark alley. But she’d withered so that whenever Mercy visited the workhouse, she hardly recognized her sister anymore.

All the more reason why Mercy needed to find a job, so Patience could live at home again.

The doctor shifted his attention to Clara, but not before Mercy glimpsed the compassion in his expression. He felt sorry for her because he thought Clara was her daughter. She ought to correct him, but what if his assumption motivated him to work harder to save the child?

“It’s time for another spoonful of the acetozone,” he said as he readied the catheter.

Mercy poured the medicine into the spoon, cradled Clara in her free arm, then slowly tipped the liquid into the girl’s mouth the way the doctor had. “There you are, sweet one.”

She envisioned Clara’s adorable smile, the one she’d given Mercy yesterday morning when Mercy had delivered half rolls to the children who lived in her building. Occasionally Mr. Hughes, the old baker over on High Street, gave Mercy the rolls that had gone stale. It was a kind gesture. She supposed he did it because she’d once stopped a boy from thieving a basket of fresh bread from his shop.

Even if the rolls were harder than a pewter pot, they were nourishment all the same. And Clara was just one of the children Mercy made a point of helping whenever she could.

She bent and pressed a kiss against Clara’s sunken cheek, waiting to feel the faint warmth of the little one’s breath. Instead, there was stillness. Mercy sat up only to find the gray liquid dribbling from the corner of Clara’s mouth.

Her stomach twisted with a deep knowing, one she wanted to ignore. She dragged the spoon under the leaking medicine and brought it back to the girl’s lips. “Come now, lamb. You have to take this.”

She attempted to pour it in, but it trickled back out. She tried again and again, murmuring, “Please sweet one, please . . .”

Finally she became aware of gentle fingers tugging at the spoon, attempting to pull it from her. She tore her gaze from Clara to find the doctor across from her. His brows slanted above eyes brimming with pity.