In Chapter 15:

One week later, Gallant scrambled to his feet and growled at the front door a moment before a soft tapping interrupted Orla’s cash counting at her desk. His black hackles ruffled.

She glanced at the wall clock. “Near three o’clock. Not a man’s knock, and they’ve all left. And who’d be out in this storm?” She grasped her shawl from the chair-back, wrapped it around her shoulders and long braid, and unlatched her door. A chill wind off the lake brushed over her, spattering raindrops onto her cheeks.

Huddled a few feet from the doorstep, stood a drenched girl. Her hair was so dirty and wet it disguised the color, and it stuck stubbornly to her head when the wind battered it. “Name’s Colleen. Heard you were Irish. Like my parents were.” Her teeth clattered as she shivered. “And I need a job, Madam Rose.”

Orla jerked back and huffed. “Now? You come to me in this storm? Unbelievable, girl.” She remembered to close her mouth after she spoke.

The girl straightened from her slump, shuddered fiercely, and pointed at the sign in Orla’s window with a makeshift cane made from a chipped broom handle.

“Oh, me sign brought you here.” 

Colleen stared at Orla’s uncovered scars, then shifted her gaze to the windows. “Yes, mam. I saw your sign. For help needed, aye?” She glanced through the door, past Orla to Sir Gallant, and backed up two steps, dragging her feet in an awkward pattern.

“Well, and another sign says only clean girls may apply.” This girl reeks. Nonetheless, pity is a virtue.

The rain paused, and Orla glanced up. The wind scattered the clouds, and stars twinkled between them in the midnight sky.

“I wish . . . To be clean. . .  I do.” Colleen’s voice trembled. “And dry. And warm. And eat.” She fidgeted with her matted, unknown color hair, and kept her face turned away as though she could read the sign through the wall. “Clean girls must mean . . . you care about people. In some way. Somehow?” She peeked at Orla sideways. “Am I right, then?” 

What do I do? “Me apologies for keeping you standing there, all soaked through to the skin.” Orla stepped closer to Colleen, then wrinkled her nose when the breeze shifted. “Do you know ’bout this establishment? Have you done this sort of work before?” Unbelievable that, but the world is surely a wicked place.

“Might have. Not exactly?” Colleen turned her face away. 

Was that a blush? Her skin was too dirty to tell for sure. Her lips had a bluish tint for sure. The trickles of water down her face made stripes on it like a tiger. Orla tugged a handkerchief from her dressing gown pocket. “Hoping this doesn’t offend you.” She covered her nose.

Colleen shook her head, and droplets flew out from her hair like a shaking dog. Gallant had done that many a time. “What’s your age, girl?” 

“Fourteen.”Orla caught her breath. “Well, holy angels. There’s no way in God’s heaven. Colleen, you must allow me to tell you the truth. The sort of work we do cannot be described as ‘not exactly’ done, don’t you know? You either have or you haven’t. Don’t believe there’s halfway. If there is, I’d like to hear more ’bout it, because that’s a valuable trick I’d surely like to learn.”