They ate scraps for lunch, sitting in the kitchen, soaked in the light from the back window. Crusts of bread, the scrapings from a pot of porridge, a small portion of cheese between them. Like dogs, Esther thought, eating the leavings of the table. George and Tam—they all called him Tam—were out in the fields. Ivan wandered the yard, tossing feed to the chickens.

“Where do we have baths?” Esther asked.

The others stopped eating and looked at her. All except Mary.

“That thing,” Noreen said, pointing to the tin tub in the back hall. “You don’t get a bath unless they tell you to, though.”

Esther could feel the grime coating her body, under her arms, in the small of her back. And the grease in her hair. She imagined soaking in hot water, breathing in the steam, soap slick between her fingers. The decadence of it.

“Tam told me to have one this evening,” she said. “After tea.”

Noreen and Joy looked at each other, then down at the table, and the last few crumbs of food. Mary chewed on a piece of crust.

“What?” Esther said.

No one answered. Noreen picked at the material that bound her injured fingers together.

“Tell me,” Esther said, even though she knew the answer. Had known since she first saw these women in the dim cellar. A cold weight settled in her gut as she remembered what they’d told her before. Pleasing them, they called it. But she had ignored it, turned her higher mind away, as if that would make it untrue.

Noreen closed her eyes, leaned her head to one side, as if she heard music from some far-off place. A crease appeared in her brow, and Esther knew something pained her. Noreen opened her eyes and spoke.

“It’s always the same. Have a bath so you’re clean. Then you go upstairs and do what needs doing.”

“Have they done it to you?” Esther asked.

“What do you think?” Noreen asked. She looked away, softened her tone. “Aye, but only one. Only Ivan.”

Esther turned to Joy.

“George,” Joy said. “I’m his. You belong to Tam.”

“What about Mary?” Esther asked.

Mary didn’t raise her head, even as Joy put an arm around her.

“Not yet,” Joy said.

“But it’s only a matter of time,” Esther said, “isn’t it?”

Joy gave her a look so full of hate that she could not hold her gaze.

“We have to do something,” Esther said.

“Don’t start,” Noreen said. “Not again.”

“I won’t let him touch me.”

“Then he’ll hurt you,” Joy said.

“Let him try.”

“Oh, God and Jesus,” Noreen said, burying her face in her hands, and Esther wondered for a moment if it was truly a prayer, or merely blasphemy. “You’re going to get us all killed.”

Reaching for a strand of hope, Esther spoke to Mary. “What about the plan?”