She tried not to think of Brigid. She could not take on Brigid’s fate as well as her own. If only she had not come back up the stairs. Monster! Would I have wished to leave that poor child alone? Better to feed Rachel and Agnes to the bear. And yet, Brigid was not a helpless child. She might have broken loose—stomped his foot or … Well, it was too late for that. Lyddie had gone back. She had, mercy on her, picked up that pail of filthy water and crammed it down on the overseer’s neat little head. And all she had need to do was speak. When she had called his name, he had turned and let Brigid go. But, no, Lyddie could not be satisfied. She had taken that pail and rammed it till the man’s shoulders were almost squeezed up under the tin. The skin on her scalp crawled …

Why didn’t they open the gate? She was as weary of the scene in her head as if she’d actually picked up that heavy bucket and brought it down over and over again and run the length of the yard dragging Brigid behind her a thousand times over. Laughing. Of course he must have heard her. She had howled like a maniac. He must have heard.

The other operatives were crowded about, jostling her as they all waited for the bell. And still, when it rang, she jumped. It was so loud, so like an alarm clanging danger. She tried to turn against the tide, to get away while there was still time, but she was caught in the chattering, laughing trap of factory girls pushing themselves forward into the new day. She gave up and allowed the press of bodies around her to propel her to the enclosed staircase and up the four flights to the weaving room.

Brigid was not at her looms. Mr. Marsden was not on his high stool. Her execution was delayed. She felt relief, which was immediately swallowed up in anxiety. She needed it all to be over.

One of the girls from the Acre approached her. “Brigid says to tell you she’s feeling a wee bit poorly this morning. You are not to worry.”

The little coward. She’s going to let me face it all alone, ey? When I was the one risked all to help her.

The girl glanced back over her shoulder and around the room. She bent her face close to Lyddie’s neck and whispered. “The truth be told, she got word not to report this morning. But she had no wish to alarm you.”

Now Lyddie was truly alarmed without even the slight armor that resentment might provide. Would they, then, be punishing Brigid instead of her? What sin had Brigid committed? What rule had she ever trespassed? And she with a sickly mother and nearly a dozen brothers and sisters to care for?