“And are you particularly attached to the city, or do you think your sister could grow accustomed to country air?”

Ingrid blinked, and a sort of terrified excitement began to steal over her face. “We could both become very accustomed, ma’am,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“It’s settled, then. Give your proper notice here and come to Hyde Park to work for me.”

“You’d do that, after the messages I’ve had to give to you?”

“On the contrary, it shows you have quite a bit of backbone.” The girl straightened, as if Alva noticing reminded her it might be true. “Sam, I need your notebook. And a pen.”

He produced both after a bit of searching—Alva didn’t even flinch when he put the snail shell he’d found earlier into her palm for safekeeping—and she wrote down her address and tore the page out, adding to it a bill she pulled from her wallet. “In case she lets you go earlier than expected, or withholds your final wages,” she said. “And to help with the travel. I’ll expect to see you in about a month?”

Ingrid nodded quickly, slipping the paper and money into her apron. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Now I’ll really enjoy giving the message to them.” She turned and walked back to the carriage.

Alva laughed, and the sound warmed Sam’s very bones. “That was … surprisingly fun,” she said.

“You’ve given her hope,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “She’s smart and she deserved it,” she said. “And … you inspired me.” She slipped her arm in his and they began to stroll towards Fifth Avenue, away from the still-waiting carriage and the people within.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you wanted to fight for me. You did fight for me. But you reminded me that I could fight for myself, too.”

He started to grin. “So what you’re saying is, yes, you’re giving the girl a better life, and yes, it’s because she’s smart and you like her, but also you’re stealing her from your mother, thus … giving her a sort of metaphorical black eye.”

“Good help is hard to find,” Alva said.

“And I thought I was being strategic,” he said. “I’m in awe.”

She chuckled again, but as they walked through the twilight, the traffic and noise of Fifth Avenue racketing about them, her face lost some of its humor. “I wish you hadn’t seen that,” she said. “Obviously, the relationship between me and my parents is complicated.”

“It doesn’t seem complicated,” he said. “Of all the children on this earth, they got you, and instead of realizing they’ve experienced a fucking miracle they decide to throw you out with the refuse. Seems simple, actually. Horrifying, appalling, dumb as rocks, but simple.”