I had no idea where I was when I awoke. I lay trying to remember how I had arrived here. Images began to slowly follow one on another, forming pictures in my mind. I remembered getting off the ship, the smells at the docks and the crowds. Then I remembered the hard-faced woman who held up the sign with my name on it. I shivered. Had she brought me here? As if in answer, a shaft of sunlight pierced the window, sending dust mites dancing and lighting up the cozy bedroom. No, I thought, she couldn’t have. This room was far too nice for a servant girl. Surely that housekeeper would never have let me sleep here. Then new images followed quickly on: Mrs. Donahue and the car, the tall, stately house and the hot whiskey by the fire. At last I realized where I was and remembered what I had done.

I began to panic. How could I have done such a thing? How could I have pretended to be my dead sister? I had meant to say I was Nora Sweeney’s sister, but the rest of the words had stuck in my throat. What had come over me? And how could I have just walked on past the first woman, ignoring the sign she carried? My da had arranged for me to go and work there and I had thrown it back in his face. What would he ever say if he knew? I had hardly ever told a lie in my life. Father McGinty used to bang his fist on the pulpit and say lying was the worst of all the mortal sins. There was no forgiveness for lying, he said, you went straight to Hell. I believed him then, and I believed him now.

A knock came on the door, and the maid, Kathleen, came in with a cup of tea and some sort of a bun on a plate. She set down the tray beside the bed.

“W-what time is it?” I whispered.

“Ah, ’tis past twelve,” she said, “but no bother. I’ll be back with some clothes for you, and when you’re ready, you can come downstairs.”

I finished the tea but couldn’t look at the bun. My stomach was roiling with nerves. Kathleen came back with an armful of clothes, set them on a chair beside the bed and left again. I climbed out of bed, took a quick wash and prepared to get dressed. I found underwear and stockings, but there was no sign of a uniform. Instead, there were three cotton dresses: one a plain, dark blue with a small white collar, another gray with a delicate floral pattern running through it and a bright yellow with a matching belt and hat. The last one must be for Mass, I thought. I pulled on the blue one, assuming it must be my uniform, although I found no apron to go over it.