At home, still rattled from a bumpy ride in a hired hack, I sat down at a refurbished upright in the shop and, eyes closed, tried to summon a Chopin piece. When my fingers didn’t cooperate, I moved to Mozart. Even that highly accessible melody escaped me. I restarted several times, and it was like my fluid, natural skill had been broken. I didn’t work anymore. My music had begun to splinter apart, as if Hurstwell’s shadows had come home with me, magnifying my uncertainty with each passing hour. I sat with fingertips on the keys and let the sound of the wrong notes fade away, but the frustration didn’t ebb. Not until I left the shop altogether and climbed the stairs to my own space.

There was a sacred spot in my bedchamber’s bay window, overlooking the streets of Manchester. I climbed onto the thick sill and closed the curtains around me—enough seclusion to resemble the larder where God had always met me, but with open views from the window to keep me sane. There I laid my heart bare.

Almighty God, won’t you come into the darkness of this situation? Won’t you bring this woman to light? I know you can make such a thing occur, even when it seems impossible. Please, Lord, I need to be away from that place. And so too, if she lives, does Rosamond.

I rested my heart in his presence, shoring up strength for whatever came next, then opened my Bible, letting the familiar words cascade over me.

I returned to Hurstwell in the morning without a word to anyone, halfway believing my prayer would be heard, and my way would be blocked or some answer would come to light. I was unhindered though, and soon found myself in the laundry again, monitoring the hardworking patients. A nod from Bridget, a smile from Kat, and life quickly settled back into the routine I’d begun to learn.

But then, out in the corridor after lunch, I saw Clara. She saw me and darted my way, visibly trembling.

11

I haven’t understood a bar of music in my life, but I have felt it.

~Igor Stravinsky

“Please, you must make her leave.” Clara clutched my arm, yanking me into the shadows of the dim hallway. The sunny, buoyant light of Hurstwell was terrified. Shaking. “She heard us talking about her the other night, and she hasn’t let me alone since.”

“Who? Who won’t let you alone?” But I knew.