It was a beautiful, bright morning and I decided to walk. Ma had told me Aidan O’Hanlon’s address and I had memorized it. I asked the hotel clerk for directions. I tried to push away my anxiety as I made my way up Fifth Avenue. I blessed myself as I passed St. Patrick’s Cathedral, more out of habit than anything else. Everybody I knew in Donegal blessed themselves when passing a church. I thought maybe I should go in and say a wee prayer but decided against it. I couldn’t stop now; I had to keep moving.

The O’Hanlon house wasn’t anywhere near as grand as the other houses on the street. Some of them were even bigger than the Van Cline mansion, where I’d gone to the Christmas Eve party with Sinclair. I broke out in goose bumps at the memory. I shook off the feeling and went back to staring at the O’Hanlon house. It was white with black shutters, three stories tall, with windows that reached from the ceiling to the floor and a wrought-iron balcony on the second floor.

I straightened my shoulders and walked up the path to the front door. I let the brass knocker rise and fall with a thud. When nothing happened I knocked two more times. At last the door opened about six inches and a pair of eyes squinted out at me.

“What are ye after wanting? If you’re selling something, ye may be on your way.”

I pushed on the door to open it more. Standing in front of me was a sour-looking girl about my own age, dressed in a maid’s uniform. I smiled at her, hoping to win her over.

“Oh, please forgive me, miss,” I began. “My name is Miss Sweeney and I’m looking for my sister, Delia Sweeney, who works here as a governess. Is she about?”

The girl stared at me as if I was astray in the head. She gave a tired shrug, as if the effort of talking was too much for her.

“There’s nobody by that name here.”

“Delia. Delia Sweeney,” I said again.

She tried to push the door closed in my face, but I put out my hand to stop her. I was desperate to get an answer. She must have seen she was not getting rid of me that easily. She heaved a lengthy sigh.

“There was a governess here,” she said in a flat voice. “But her name was Nora Sweeney.”

I realized my mistake. Of course. She had called herself Nora.

“You say was,” I said. “She’s gone away?”

“Aye, she and the child and himself. I never saw them. I was taken on after they left. But that’s the story I heard.”

“Do you know where they went?”