“Which aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on. For once—for once—let me be more than a patient at an asylum. Simply let me be a human.” I stood toe to toe with him, looking up into his face. “You seem to forget at times, Dr. Turner, that we’re on the same side. We both wish to help people, no matter the color of our gowns.” I willed that stone wall to crumble.

He turned away from my challenging gaze and fortified the barrier between us. “I’m trying to protect you. And you are a patient here legally, no matter the circumstances.”

“I never asked for your protection, Doctor. I don’t need it. I only want to help the people who are dying for want of it.”

Something flickered in his face, a chink in the wall. He moved to usher us both out.

“Was it not your idea?” My voice was softer as I followed him down the stairs. “You know I’m not mad. You know it.” I leaned forward, compelled to touch his arm, and he paused. “I’ve been set up, Dr. Turner. I believe it was Nurse Duffy, for she hates me, or perhaps Dr. Thornhill. I happen to know a few of his secrets.”

“There’s quite a lot you don’t—”

“No, listen.” My heart pounded and I felt the slipping of time. The immediacy of making my appeal. “Someone has set things in place—arranged things—to make it seem as though I’m mad. I need your help. Just as much as he does. Neither of us belongs here, but we cannot escape.”

He stared at me for long moments. “You’d best get back before you’re missed.”

That was the end of it. I could feel that in his gentle words. I nodded and started down the twisting stairs again. Fear tumbled over the small ray of hope. He turned to me when we reached the next floor, and I paused to look up into his well-cut, intelligent face as he spoke. “There is one thing you can do, though, even on your own. If you would. Help Anna somehow. She needs it.”

“How?” Her feet. Wash her feet. The compelling notion came again, squeezing my stomach at the thought of her damaged feet. Those swollen, aged feet.

He shook his head. “She’s been agitated since she lost her music box. I’m afraid a simple replacement won’t do, either. It wouldn’t be the same and she’d know it. Besides, she’s been going on about this Philippe, and I haven’t any idea who that is or where to find him.”

The note. I never should have read her the note.

He ran fingers through his hair. “Just see if you can find out anything, won’t you? Or at least calm her. Talk to her. Do what you can. She deserves a little gentleness.”