“Well then,” said Jenny, “when you find you must choose between two conflicting options, just do what Jackaby does. Take both.” She patted a neat pile of folded clothes beside her with her slender, gloved fingers. “As I was going to say, if you need more functional attire, try these. You’re a little smaller than I was, I think, but if you like, I can show you how to bring them in. It isn’t as though I’ve any use for the things any longer.”

I picked up the first garment. It was a rich, chocolate brown skirt, made of sturdy cotton—not as hardy and rough as denim, but thicker and more practical than any of my own. I held it to my waist. It hung well off the ground. My mother would be mortified at the thought of my bare calves, open to the world. I was delighted at the idea of not tripping over myself when stepping up to a curb.

“It’s just a day dress, nothing fancy,” said Jenny. The next item was an understated shirtwaist. It had been sewn with a minimum of unessential embroidery, but without losing its feminine lines. A long, fitted coat had been cut to drape smoothly over the shirt, coming in at the waist and then flowing loosely into the skirt. Laid out in front of me, the outfit looked infinitely more comfortable than my current options, and it was simple but elegant.

“The waist cinches up in the back, and there are pockets sewn into the hem, here and here.” Jenny gestured to the skirt.

Pockets! I was thrilled. I have never understood the aversion to pockets in ladies’ fashion—as though it has become some great shame to appear as if one might actually need to possess anything.

“These were yours?” I asked, feeling immediately indelicate about my use of the past tense. Jenny did not seem to notice. She nodded.

“Drab, I know.”

“Not at all—they’re brilliant!”

She smiled again. “I have some other skirts and aprons if you prefer. Not as much fun to wear, but they served me well helping out around the laboratory.”

“Laboratory? You were a scientist?” I asked.

Jenny’s smile faltered. “My fiancé was the scientist, but I was studying. I dare say it helped to prepare me for sharing a home with Mr. Jackaby. Well—as much as anything could prepare one for Jackaby.”

“And your fiancé? What happened to him?” I was beginning to let myself feel like I was gossiping with an older sister.

Jenny pursed her lips, and did not answer. I instantly regretted the question. After several moments, she smiled politely. “Do try them on, why don’t you?” she insisted.

I turned around to unbutton the billowy red gown, and found a large, prim mallard perched on a mossy cabinet just behind me.

“Goodness—Douglas! Are you going to—erm—fly off or something?” I said to him.