Lavinia presses a fist to her mouth, her wedding ring glinting in the fading afternoon light. “I’ve done nothing improper, sir.”

“That will be for us to decide, won’t it?” O’Shea turns to us with a smug, self-important smile. He stands like a bantam rooster with his chest thrown forward, shoulders back, legs spread wide, in the way of a small man trying to seem bigger. I take an immediate dislike to him. “Good day, Sisters. Here to deliver weekly rations?”

“Yes, sir.” Alice bows her head, but not before I see the flash of mutiny in her blue eyes.

“It’s a pity your charity’s been wasted on the undeserving. Poverty is no excuse for wantonness,” Helmsley snarls. “Just lost one husband and already setting her cap for another! It’s scandalous is what it is.”

Mrs. Anderson clutches Henry’s thin shoulder, her face suddenly white.

“Do you deny that you allowed a man to escort you home last night? A man who was no relation to you?” Brother O’Shea asks.

“I do not deny it,” Lavinia says carefully, her voice quavering. “Mr. Alvarez is a customer at the bakery. He was leaving the same time I was and offered to see me home.”

“As a widow, Mrs. Anderson, your behavior must be beyond reproach. You cannot consort with strange men on city streets. Surely you know that.”

I bite my lip, face cast down. What other choice did she have—to walk home alone and risk being robbed or accosted? To hire a carriage with money she cannot spare? To beg her employers for an escort? This problem would never present itself to girls like Alice or me. Before we joined the Sisters, our movements were shadowed by ladies’ maids and governesses. A proper lady rides hidden away in a closed carriage, not down in the dust and dirt for anyone to stare at and take liberties with.

But Mrs. Anderson cannot afford a carriage or a maid. She has neither parents nor a husband to look after her. What, precisely, would the Brothers have her do? Stay home and starve?

“I wasn’t consorting. I mourn my husband every day!” Lavinia insists. Her shoulders are thrown back, her chin is up, and she meets O’Shea’s eyes straight on.

“You’re a liar.” O’Shea nods at Helmsley, who slaps her across the face.

I flinch, remembering the way Brother Ishida once struck me. My hand flies to my cheek. The cut from his ring of office is healed now, but I will never forget the indignity of it—and the vicious pleasure on his face.

Lavinia stumbles back against the cradle. The baby lets out a wail.

Henry launches himself at Helmsley’s legs. “Don’t hit my mama!”

He shouldn’t have to watch this. No child should. “Should we take the children into the other room, sir?” I ask O’Shea, who is clearly the brains behind this visit.

“No. Let him see his mother for the slut she is.” O’Shea leans down and grabs Henry’s small shoulders, shaking him. “Stop that. Stop it this instant, do you hear? Your mother is a liar. She betrayed your papa’s memory.”

Henry stops fighting, his brown eyes wide and frightened. “Papa?”

“I haven’t!” Lavinia protests, tears coursing down her face. “I would never!”

“Your neighbor reported seeing you arm in arm with Mr. Alvarez,” Helmsley continues, looming over her. He must be six feet tall.

Lavinia cowers away from him, pressing back against the peeling blue-flowered wallpaper. “I stumbled over a loose brick, and he caught me before I fell. That’s all there was to it, I swear! It won’t happen again. I’ll be home before dark from now on.” But that means giving up several hours of work—and pay—that her little family can scarcely afford.

“A woman’s proper place is in the home, Mrs. Anderson,” O’Shea says. He releases Henry and turns to Helmsley, sneering. “You see, this is what comes from permitting women to take on outside work. Gives them false notions of propriety. Turns their heads from the Lord.”

“Makes them think they can do for themselves just as well as men,” Helmsley agrees.

“Do you think I like going out to work?” Lavinia shrills, and I want to clap a hand over her mouth. Arguing will only make this go worse for her. “I only took this job after my husband died. We can’t depend entirely on the Sisters’ charity. We’d all starve!”

“Hush!” Brother O’Shea roars, strutting up to her. “Your insubordination does you no favors, madam. You should be thankful for what you get.”

Mrs. Anderson takes a deep breath and offers up a watery smile. “I’m sorry,” she says softly, looking at Mei and me pleadingly. “I am very grateful. I’ll do whatever you want. I’d swear on the Scriptures, I’ve done nothing wrong!”

O’Shea shakes his head as though she has committed another grave sin. “Then you would forswear yourself.”

A grin settles on Helmsley’s ugly bearded face, and I sense a trap closing around her. “Your neighbor said Alvarez kissed your hand when you parted. Do you deny that?”

“I—no, but—” Lavinia sags against the wall. “Please, let me explain!”

“You’ve told us enough falsehoods for one day, Mrs. Anderson. I think it’s clear what’s been going on here. We are arresting you for crimes of immorality.”

The baby begins shrieking. Henry is crying, too, clinging to Lavinia’s skirts.

“We could stop this.” Alice’s lips barely move. Her voice is so low I can hardly hear her over the commotion, but I catch her meaning immediately.

What she’s suggesting is dangerous. Doing magic outside the convent puts every one of us at risk. And mind-magic is the rarest, wickedest kind of magic there is. Erasing one memory can take other, associated memories with it; performing mind-magic repeatedly on the same subject can leave devastating mental scars. Long ago, when the witches ruled New England, they used mind-magic to control and destroy their opponents. The Brothers tell those old stories to keep people frightened of us, though Alice and I are the only two students at the convent even capable of it.

“No,” Mei begs, her dark eyes frantic. “Stay out of it. It’s not our business.”

“Four of them. We could do it, together.” Alice’s soft hand clasps mine. “Count of three.”

What the Brothers are doing is hateful and wrong; it wouldn’t trouble me overmuch to use magic on them. But Alice is more confident in her skill than I am. I’ve never performed mind-magic on more than one subject before, and certainly never on a child. What if we fail or it goes wrong and we damage Henry’s mind permanently?

I snatch my hand away. “No. It’s too risky.”

Then the moment is gone. Helmsley is binding Lavinia’s wrists with coarse rope.

“Our work is never done, Sisters. I’m sorry to subject you to such a scene,” O’Shea says, though it’s obvious he’s rather enjoyed having an audience. He gestures to the fresh bread and vegetables piled on the kitchen table. “You’ll want to take that to someone else in need. No point in letting it go to waste.”

“Yes, sir.” Alice snatches up her basket from the floor and begins to gather up the food.

Mei steps toward O’Shea. “Sir? What about the children?”