“I’m used to Alice doing that sort of thing … Ivy never has.” Claire shrugged, making even the supposedly unladylike gesture seem poised. “Of course, I’ve feared for Ivy’s life before. More so than with Alice. I’ve rarely thought Alice was going to die, though I do worry whenever she’s on a horse.” Her fingers played with her hair, but she left it up—undoubtedly a maid would be able to undo Claire’s complicated chignon easier than she herself could. “But now Ivy is running off places.”
“Indeed.” Nora didn’t know what else to say. How did one respond to her daughter’s working through her thoughts aloud? Nora wasn’t used to anyone sharing their thoughts with her, and yet Claire seemed comfortable with doing just that—and as of yet to no purpose.
Jonathan, Nora’s husband, had always been direct. He’d told her what he expected of her in quick words, a few syllables at most, and then he’d expected her to obey without question. He’d certainly never asked for her opinion.
Nora’s chest rose slightly in pride. It was a different world now that he was gone—and Claire’s slowly opening up to her showed that more than anything.
“I worry that it’ll happen again.” Claire turned away from Nora and walked over to her large wardrobe. “What if, next time, she isn’t found? It’s only through the grace of God that she’s not dead now … He may not spare her next time.”
Nora winced. “I’ve always felt that what happens will happen. Not that we shouldn’t be careful.” One should always be careful; Nora would never say anything to the contrary. She’d lived a cautious life. Foolishness simply wasn’t her forte.
“Of course—that’s exactly what I mean.” Claire opened the door to her wardrobe and shuffled through her clothing absently, perhaps thinking of what she would wear tomorrow. “I only hope I can find a solution. I must find a way to keep Ivy safe. Yet, if by now she hasn’t learned how to care for herself, and given that Pearlbelle Park could present a less-than-safe atmosphere … You can see why I worry.”
Nora nodded, unsure if she should speak or not. Perhaps she did have a solution—but her input wasn’t often appreciated. Jonathan would have slapped her, or at least looked like he wanted to, if she’d given her opinion.
Usually his opinion was decided in moments.
But Claire was different. Claire was reaching out to her.
If the solution Mrs. Angel suggested was a viable one, it was her duty to share it … right?
Claire turned to Nora. “What would you suggest? If you were a mother of such a child, what would you do? I can be more vigilant—hire someone who can be more vigilant—anything like that. But I worry that Ivy … that Ivy needs to learn to live in this world, and I’m sadly ill-equipped. So little is known.”
Yes, and what was known wasn’t sufficient. The world wasn’t friendly to girls like Ivy, and the older she got, the more people would mock her existence. In most cases, an inconvenient person was eventually sent off, though Ivy was far from unwanted. Claire clearly loved her child. Still, it couldn’t be easy—when Ivy wasn’t like Alice. When Ivy wasn’t like other girls her age.
There was hope for Ivy, wasn’t there?
“I … I might have a suggestion.” Nora forced the words past her trembling lips.
“Oh, really?” Claire sat delicately on the chair in front of her dresser table and regarded her with an open face that indicated readiness to listen.
Nora took a deep breath. “Yes. I was speaking with Mrs. Angel—one of your guests—and it turns out … Claire, she noticed Ivy’s behavior—”
Claire’s wince confirmed everything that Nora suspected—that, though she loved Ivy, Claire was slightly embarrassed by the child. She was affected by others’ opinions.
Yet love for her child must win out. It must. Love always won. Nora was learning that more and more with every day that passed, with every prayer uttered.
“She noticed Ivy’s behavior,” Nora continued, “and she spoke to me about a solution for the child. You see, Dorothea Angel has a child like Ivy.”
Claire stilled and curiosity entered her like a tidal wave—Nora could see it in her eyes. “A child like Ivy?”
“Yes. A little girl, two years older than your daughters. Her name is Violet.” Nora stepped forward and took a seat on a chair nearby. “When she was born, like Ivy, she seemed perfect in every way—but as she grew older, Mrs. Angel quickly noticed that Violet was different from most children. Quieter, more difficult, often having fits and tantrums. By the time Violet was five, Mrs. Angel decided she could no longer keep the child in her house.”
Claire’s eyebrows raised, much as Nora’s would have done, if she weren’t too polite, when Mrs. Angel had originally told her the story. To send a child off at five, as the mother, was worse than anything Nora could imagine.
“Surely this child must be nothing like Ivy.”
Nora sighed. She believed so, too, to a degree. “Mrs. Angel didn’t go into detail, but apparently Violet has some other issues. She behaves dangerously at times and seems to have dark impulses.”
“I see.” Claire nibbled on her bottom lip pensively. “But where … where could they send the child? At that age, surely not to an … to an asylum.” She shuddered. “At any rate, that wouldn’t be an option for Ivy.”
“No, not an asylum. It’s different from that—the Angels sent their daughter to a school in Scotland, not far outside of Edinburgh. It’s called McCale House.” Nora swallowed and watched Claire’s face closely. “It’s a school for children like Ivy—and children like Violet—and others with similar struggles. It primarily runs as a research institute. Apparently Dr. McCale believes such people can be helped. Violet has been there for almost a decade now.”
Claire blinked. “You think this would be a good place to send Ivy?”
Nora trembled. “I-I don’t know, Claire. From what Mrs. Angel told me, it is perfectly respectable. They have a large home in the country, and a staff of doctors, and they take good care of the children there. Parents are encouraged to stay—Mrs. Angel has visited several times herself, and she says it’s lovely.”
Claire didn’t speak for a time, and when she did, her voice was low and steady, not portraying any emotion. “How long has it existed?”
“Less than twenty years. It’s experimental. I believe Mrs. Angel said there are always less than ten students, and they’re carefully and individually worked with.” Nora cocked her head. “It sounds like a great deal of work is put into helping these children with their various problems. And their goal is to help people like Ivy learn to survive in the world they’re born into but don’t seem fitted for.”
Had she said too much? Claire was quiet for a long time, and Nora wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She hoped she wouldn’t be angry or think Nora was a fool or anything of the sort. She really did want to help Ivy.
Perhaps she could explain better.
“Mrs. Angel put it like this.” Nora cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “McCale House is a school for children who are slightly delayed and struggling to cope with the world, but not necessarily to the point where one would call them ‘insane.’ The mission of McCale House is to help these children learn to manage at least enough to stay safely out of asylums.”