Beatrice gave me a huge smile. She came over and put her arms around me. “You just get some sleep. Poor child, you done been through so much trouble already. You bound to be tired. I’ll leave a tray of food outside your door later in case you hungry. Go on, now.”

Gratefully, I pulled away from Beatrice and dragged myself up the stairs. I lay down to think. But I was too tired even to do that. I floated straight into my dreams.

* * *

After that first day, I slowly began to get my bearings. Mrs. Shaw was like a madwoman, rushing in and out of the house, giving out orders to Beatrice and Teresa. It wasn’t so much that she was bossy, more that she was keen to get on about her business. She moved as if the divil was right behind her. I supposed it explained why she was so firm about everybody being to meals on time. One day I risked asking Teresa what business it was that took herself away all the time. Where was she going at all?

For once, Teresa laughed. “Ah, sure, you’d be hard-pressed to keep up with that one. She has a finger in everything—charity work, rescuing animals, not to mention the women’s movement—‘suffragettes, ’ they’re called.”

“What in the name of God are they?”

“They want the right to vote.”

I shrugged. “What’s so important about that?”

“You should ask herself. You’ll get a lecture and a half.”

I made up my mind to stay away from that subject altogether. Besides, I could never have pronounced the word.

Teresa turned to go but paused and looked back at me, a sly expression on her face. “And taking in strays like yourself is another one of her hobbies.”

I was dumbfounded. What did she mean, “strays”?

Teresa went on her way and I stared after her. Her words had struck me like a blow to my stomach. I almost bent over from the force of them. Stray? Wasn’t that the word you used for lost dogs? Is that how Mrs. Shaw saw me—a lost dog?