Kitty carried in a taper in a stubby brass candlestick.

“Sister Michael will need more than that,” said Lib.

“I’ll bring another, so.”

“Half a dozen candles won’t be enough.”

The maid’s mouth hung a little open.

Lib tried for a conciliatory tone. “I know it’s a lot of trouble, but I wonder whether you could get hold of some lamps?”

“Whale oil do be a shocking price these days.”

“Then some other kind of oil.”

“I’ll have to see what I can find tomorrow,” said Kitty with a yawn.

She came back in a few minutes with some milk and oatcakes for Lib’s supper.

As Lib buttered the oatcakes, her eyes slid to Anna, still lost in her book. Quite a feat, to go all day on an empty stomach and give the impression of not noticing food, let alone caring about it. Such control in one so young; dedication, ambition, even. If these powers could be turned to some good purpose, how far might they take Anna O’Donnell? From having nursed alongside a variety of women, Lib knew that self-mastery counted for more than almost any other talent.

She kept one ear open to the clinks and murmurings around the table on the other side of the half-open door. Even if the mother proved to be blameless as far as the hoax went, she was relishing the fuss, at the very least. And there was the money box by the front door. How did the old proverb go? Children are the riches of the poor. Metaphorical riches—but sometimes the literal kind too.

Anna turned the pages, her mouth forming silent words.

A stir in the kitchen. Lib put her head out and saw Sister Michael taking off her black cloak. She gave the nun a courteous nod.

“You’ll kneel down with us, won’t you, Sister?” asked Mrs. O’Donnell.

The nun murmured something about not liking to keep Mrs. Wright waiting.

“That’s quite all right,” Lib felt obliged to say.

She turned back to Anna. Who was standing so close behind—spectral in her nightdress—that Lib flinched. That string of brown seeds ready in the child’s hand.

Anna slipped past Lib to kneel between her parents on the earth floor. The nun and the maid were down already, each fingering the little cross at the end of her rosary beads. “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth.” The five voices rattled out the words.

Lib could hardly leave now, because Sister Michael’s eyes were shut and her face in its obstructive headdress was bent over her joined hands; nobody was keeping a sharp eye on Anna. So Lib went and sat by the wall, with a clear view of the girl.

The gabbling changed to the Lord’s Prayer, which Lib remembered from her own youth. How little she retained of all that. Perhaps faith had never had much of a hold on her; over the years it had fallen away, with other childish things.

“And forgive us our trespasses”—here they all thumped their chests in unison, startling Lib—“as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

She thought perhaps they’d stand up and say their good nights now. But no, the group plunged into a Hail Mary, and then another, and another. This was ridiculous; was Lib to be stuck here all evening? She blinked to moisten her tired eyes but kept them focused on Anna and on the parents, their solid bodies bracketing their daughter’s. It would take only the briefest meeting of hands for a scrap to be passed over. Lib squinted, making sure nothing touched Anna’s red lips.

A full quarter of an hour had gone by when she checked the watch hanging at her waist. The child never swayed, never sank down, during all this wearisome clamour. Lib let her eyes flick around the room for a moment, just to relieve them. A fat muslin bag was tied between two chairs, dripping into a basin. What could it be?

The words of the prayer had changed. “To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve…”

At last the whole palaver seemed to be over. The Catholics were standing up, rubbing life back into their legs, and Lib was free to go.

“Good night, Mammy,” said Anna.

“I’ll be in to say good night in a minute,” Rosaleen told her.

Lib picked up her cloak and bag. She’d missed her chance for a private conference with the nun; somehow she couldn’t bear to say out loud in front of the child, Don’t take your eyes off her for a second. “I’ll see you in the morning, Anna.”

“Good night, Mrs. Wright.” Anna led Sister Michael into the bedroom.

Strange creature; she showed no sign of resenting the watch that had been set over her. Behind that calm confidence, surely her mind had to be scurrying like a mouse?

Lib turned left where the O’Donnells’ track met the lane, heading back to the village. It wasn’t quite dark yet, and red still stained the horizon behind her. The mild air was scented with livestock and the smoke from peat fires. Her limbs ached from sitting for so long. She really needed to talk to Dr. McBrearty about the unsatisfactory conditions at the cabin, but it was too late to go seeking him out tonight.

What had she learned so far? Little or nothing.

A silhouette on the road ahead, a long gun over one shoulder. Lib stiffened. She wasn’t used to being out in the countryside at nightfall.

The dog came up first, sniffing at Lib’s skirts. Then his owner passed, with barely a nod.

A cock called urgently. Cows filed out of a byre, the farmer behind them. Lib would have thought they’d put their animals outdoors by day and indoors (to keep them safe) by night, rather than the other way around. She understood nothing about this place.