Her insides went a bit softer. Margot offered him a smile for taking her side, despite the fact that he had no real reason to. Then she looked back to Dot. “I don’t care what anyone says.” She meant only to blink, but her eyes stayed shut for a long moment. Squeezed. “She just made me so . . .”

“Angry?” Now Dot’s voice was soft. The kind of soft that meant she was trying to be understanding, and perhaps probe a bit. Maman had always excelled at that particular tone.

Margot forced her eyes back open. “Of course not. That wouldn’t be logical.”

“No.” Dot drew the word into three syllables. “It would be emotional. You’ve had a trying week.”

Trying. The English word came from the French. To examine, to separate the good from the bad. Is that what losing her mother was supposed to do? Cull and test and examine her? Or bits of her? Or perhaps just try her, as a whole, and sit in judgment?

No. There could be no purpose to it. None. Not from God.

But someone else could have had a purpose. A black one. Hitting directly at Room 40, perhaps. Or at Margot.

Margot sucked in a breath and angled away. “Do you mind if I leave? I don’t mean to abandon you, but I know well I didn’t cut it in a straight line, and—”

“Oh, it’s straight.” Dot’s lips twitched. “Just . . . diagonal.”

That was enough to make her twitchy, and she squirmed her shoulders in protest. “Short I don’t mind. Crooked won’t do.”

Her friend laughed. “No. It won’t do at all. Do you need my help?”

“Willa can fix it, I imagine. You enjoy your time with your brother.” She sent him a tight smile over Dot’s shoulder. “Sorry to have caused a ruckus.”

“Are you kidding?” His grin looked almost nearly without pain. “This is the most interesting thing to happen here in days. You’ve made yourself the heroine of the ward.”

With a shake of her head more amused than she’d thought it could be, Margot tucked the journal and the duchess’s card into her handbag and calculated how long it would take her to reach her brother’s house—and how many horrified looks she’d have to ignore on the walk.

12

Ignore your brother.”

Margot kept her gaze on the mirror, but she moved it from the reflection of Willa as she snipped at the back of her hair to Lukas, who stood glowering in the doorway. An image that might have looked more intimidating were Zurie not gurgling happily in his arms and smacking his cheeks with chubby hands.

“No, do not ignore me. I am only saying what everyone else will. Short hair on women is scandalous.”