“And you attacked me. I am certain Judge Frankenstein will want to hear of this.” It was false—both that he would want to hear, and that he was still an active judge—but the title was enough to make her even more frightened.

“No, no, I beg you! Let me make it right.”

“You have injured my shoulder. I will need a maid to help me while I recover.” I crouched down and gently pried the girl’s hand away from protecting her own face, never taking my eyes off the hateful woman. “In exchange for not involving the law, you will give me your servant for my own.”

The woman could barely contain her disgust as she looked at the girl, who was uncurling, her movements skittish, like those of an injured animal. “She is not my servant; she is my oldest daughter.”

I tightened my fingers around the girl’s to anchor myself, and to prevent myself from striking the woman. “Very well. I will have the contract of employment sent to you for a signature. She will live with me until I decide otherwise. Good day.” Tugging on the girl’s hand, I dragged her stumbling behind me. Henry was hurrying toward us, having been left behind in my rush. I ignored him, quickly crossing a street and darting into a side alley.

The rush of emotions I had worked so hard to contain came over me, and I sagged against a stone wall, breathing heavily. The girl did the same, and we rested there, my head level with her shoulder, our breaths and hearts racing like the rabbits we were on the inside: always watchful, always afraid of attack. I had not outgrown it after all.

I knew I should go back to find Henry, but I could not manage to yet. I trembled, feeling all my years of separation from my caregiver stripped away.

“Thank you,” the girl whispered, wrapping her slender fingers around mine so that neither of our hands shook anymore.

“I am Elizabeth,” I said.

“I am Justine.”

I turned to look at her. Her cheek was bright red from being struck. It would blossom into an ugly bruise by the next day. Her eyes, large and wide-set, stared back at me with the same gratitude I remembered feeling when Victor accepted me and took me away from my own painful life. She looked about my age or, judging by her height, perhaps a year or two older.

“Is it always like that?” I whispered, brushing a soft curl away from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear.

She nodded silently, closing her eyes and leaning down to rest her forehead against mine. “She hates me. I have never known why. I am her daughter, her own child, same as the others. But she hates me, and—”