“Of what sort?”

“I—I worked in the nursery. Here, at the Cascades.”

“Do you know how to treat scrapes and runny noses?”

“Of course.”

“Crankiness?”

She smiled. “I am an expert.”

“I will need someone to teach her to read. Are you literate?”

“‘You may deny me, but I’ll be your servant / Whether you will or no,’” she said softly.

He paused. The corners of his mouth twitched. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She couldn’t help it; she smiled again.

He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dropped it at her feet. She watched it fall, a crisp white pocket square. Bending down, she picked it up and waved it toward the superintendent.

Mr. Hutchinson strode over. “Good morning, Mr. . . . ,” he said to Dunne.

“Frum,” he said. “Doctor Frum. Good morning.”

“I see you’ve selected Miss Ferguson. For what kind of employment, may I ask?”

“To take care of a child.”

Hutchinson grimaced showily.

“Is that a problem, superintendent?”

“Well . . . I must warn you, Dr. Frum, that this particular convict may not be the most appropriate choice. She was recently sent to the crime yard for a related offense.”

“What was it, may I ask?”

“She impersonated a mother in order to get preferential treatment. To work in the nursery.”

Dunne gave Hazel an appraising look. “And what does the real mother say?”

“The real mother? I believe she is deceased.”

“And the father?”

“I—nothing is known about the . . . father,” Hutchinson stammered.

“So this girl—what is your name?” Dunne asked abruptly, turning to Hazel.

“Hazel Ferguson, sir.”

“This girl, Hazel Ferguson, assumed the care of a parentless child.”

“Well, yes. But—”

“Did she take adequate care of the child?”

“As far as I know.”

“Were there complaints about her conduct?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“And as superintendent you would know, would you not?”

“I suppose I would.”

Dunne stood back on his heels. “Well, Mr. Hutchinson, it is precisely her experience caring for a parentless child that qualifies her to work for me. Her ability to do the job is my only concern.”

The superintendent shook his head and sighed. “If I were you, I might be concerned about the deceit, sir. The . . . impersonation. There are other suitable—”

“I think,” Dunne said, “I’ll take my chances with Miss Ferguson.”

Hazel fought to keep her eyes down and her posture submissive as he made arrangements for the assignment. She felt as if they were conspiring to pull off an escape, or a heist. When he beckoned her forward, she followed him through the wooden gate with her head bowed, like any dutiful convict maid. She trailed him down the street to his dun-colored horse and four-wheeled open buggy, and when he sprang up onto the driver’s seat, she climbed onto the bench behind. Without looking back, he handed her a small parcel, then took the reins. He swatted the horse with a leather whip and they jolted off down the road.