“You’ll have it,” Amanda called over her shoulder. The landlady, a perpetually harried-looking woman by the name of Primm, gave a skeptical nod before turning back down the staircase. The groan of the rotting stairs punctuated the woman’s descent. Amanda fumbled with the keys, then dropped them. As she stooped, she saw that her hand shook. The interview had not gone as she’d expected. The door swung open as she straightened. Olivia Mather looked down at her from a height usually achieved only by men. The girl’s red hair was wrapped tightly around her head and concealed, at present, by a calico turban. This strange new affectation she would not explain. “Good news?” she asked, stepping back to allow Amanda to enter. There was not far to go. The little apartment was barely big enough for a grate, two slender cots, and a wash basin. “Mrs. Primm wants the rent,” she said. “I don’t have it.
