Because up until recently, I had been one of them. And years ago, so had my mother. It weakened her in the end, of that I was certain—it had cost her so much, including the chance to enjoy her newborn daughter. No one else would see it that way, though. No one who had not lived there, watching it all occur.

I looked away and swallowed back the words I could not voice, even to this longtime friend of my heart. Some shadows were so deep, one never even thought of opening them up to the light of another’s scrutiny. Instead, I put to him the question that had long been on my heart. “Does it not bother you that women are suffering under our very noses? That no one steps forward to help them?”

“I’m not saying it’s right, but I don’t see what can be done about it. What goes on within a man’s home is his own business, and we cannot simply insert ourselves in another family’s affairs. Especially without a great deal of income to back up a rather outlandish scheme. When it comes down to it, they’re about as hopeless as those inmates of Hurstwell.”

I chewed the edge of my lip. But then a line from my neatly printed brochure, the one I’d meant to slip into the hands of hurting women, came back to haunt me. “There is no such thing as a hopeless case,” I murmured, then looked through the fronds to that odd man—that Frederick Harford—and saw Rosamond’s face. Her sweet, smiling face. “No such thing. Only those who have lost hope.”

Richard crossed his arms, leaning in to study me. “You’re thinking of going, aren’t you? To the asylum, that is.” He shook his head. “You’re actually considering taking that position so you can dig around in your father’s affairs at Hurstwell. Admit it, you are.”

I shook my head, willing my heart rate to steady. “Oh, Richard. Aren’t you listening? I have other plans.”

“How much has the man agreed to pay you, anyway? It must be something princely to drag you near such a place.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No, I won’t be going there. You couldn’t force me. I haven’t time to waste on such things, and it’s probably a ghastly place.” I spoke those words with firm conviction, meaning every one.

5

This is the mark of a really admirable man: steadfastness in the face of trouble.

~Ludwig van Beethoven

I was right—it was ghastly. Hurstwell Pauper Lunatic Asylum stood at the end of a long, rutted drive, a great, menacing giant of timber and rock crouching amidst the trees.

The matronly nurse held the hem of her skirt up out of the muddy drive. “Welcome to Hurstwell, Miss . . .”