Life at the inn wasn't exactly what Catherine would call pleasant. It was better than living on the streets would have been – she got a bed each night and had a roof over her head, along with food and clothes – but Annie wasn't the kindest of mistresses. There were a few other girls working at the inn, and all of them answered to false names: Sweet, Dear, Blonde. All of them were jumpy, too; there didn't seem to be one who wouldn't race to work as soon as Annie so much as said her name. Catherine did her best to keep up, but she wasn't quite as graceful as the others, and sometimes she thought Annie would send her out.

It took her about a week to get used to her new name, though once she did get used to it, it still felt strange and unusual. She had always thought of herself as Catherine, even when her mother called her Kitty as though she were a pet or a replacement for her sister, but being called Doll made her feel like a poppet that could be moved around by anyone who cared to, and there were a great many people who did. Annie sent her scurrying about with food and drink in the common room and fresh blankets and washbasins to the rooms. The other girls pushed her into the smallest corner of the room they shared, and the customers shouted for her and called her things that made her blush bright red. The other girls thought it was funny to see her so flustered, and she couldn't find the words to fight anyone.

Sometimes she wondered if she stayed there long enough she would become a doll.

Her days were all the same. She and the other girls woke early to make breakfast for everyone and serve the other early risers, and after that it was cleaning and busywork until the lunch hour, when they started cooking and serving again. The afternoon was more cleaning and work, and the evening was filled with dinner. Dear and Blonde always vanished at night, and when they returned they whispered together and laughed. Sweet would bother them for details, but they always shook their heads and said she was too young to know. Catherine thought she was too young to be working; the girl looked no older than twelve.

Despite the long days and wearying work, Catherine was glad she had made it to the inn. Winter had set in not long after she arrived, and if she didn't have the walls around her and the fire in the common room that sent heat throughout the building, she would likely have frozen. Her clothes were thin enough that she shivered even on quick walks down the street to fetch something for Annie, and the four girls nestled together at night for warmth. Dear and Blonde were gone longer these nights, and when they returned, they slept close enough to the other girls that Catherine could see how sweaty and flushed they were.

"What are you two doing so late?" Catherine whispered one night. Sweet had already fallen asleep, but she had burnt her finger on the stove and was waiting for the pain to subside.

The two girls looked at each other and giggled. "Oh, Doll, you ought to know by now," Dear said. "You've been out here long enough."

"Unless she's not from London." Blonde sat up, letting the blanket fall to her waist. "You never told us, Doll. Where do you come from?" She leaned forward eagerly. "I know we haven't had time to talk much, but I think we'd be great friends if only we had a chance for some gossip."

Catherine looked away. Gossip reminded her too much of her mother and how she had treated everything, even the most serious issues. "I'm not from London," she said. "My family lives in a town a long way away." She didn't know exactly how far it was, and she didn't remember which direction she had come from. She didn't want to, either. The more mysterious her home was, the better chance she had of never having to go back.

"Your family? You're not an orphan, then?" Dear had grown interested now, and she leaned around Blonde to hear better.

"No. Are you?"

"All three of us," Blonde said. "My folks died of pneumonia a few winters ago. Dear lost hers in a fire, and Sweet's been out on the street since she was just a child." She set a hand tenderly on Sweet's head, and the girl smiled. "Well, a much younger child, anyway."

Catherine shifted uncomfortably. She felt a bit guilty for still having family, even if they were family she was glad to be rid of. Her mother and father could surely do without her, and her other relatives wouldn't have to see her parents just because they wanted to visit her. "I ran away."

"Why?" Blonde and Dear both leaned over Sweet, so close Catherine could make out their faces perfectly, even in the dim lamplight.

"Did your father beat you?" Dear asked, sounding as though she were asking about the end of a novel. "I knew a girl who ran away from that. She had frightful marks all up her arms and back."

Catherine shook her head. "It wasn't anything like that. They were just so… silly."

The other two girls sat in silence, staring at her, and Catherine felt her cheeks grow warm. It sounded like such a foolish answer now, no matter how dreadful it had been at home to be a somber girl with silly parents. Blonde was the first to break the silence.

"So you haven't been out here long, then," she said. "Of course you wouldn't know. Probably think babies are still handed out by angels." Dear giggled at that.

"What do you mean?" Catherine looked from one to the other, and they shared a conspiring look.

"You see," Blonde began, "there's a thing men and women do together at night. Sometimes it's only between married couples, but you don't have to be married to do it. Sometimes it makes babies, but if you're careful, you can avoid all that business."

"You mean…" It took several seconds before Catherine could speak. "You… lie with them?"

Dear had to cover her mouth to muffle her laughter, and even that nearly woke Sweet. "Lie with them? Oh, Doll, you're such an innocent!"

"It gets us some extra money, and it's warm on these cold nights," Blonde said gently, as though explaining to a child. "Annie doesn't force us to do it like some mistresses might, and she makes sure the men don't force themselves on us. It's really not all that bad."

Catherine turned away, barely able to believe what she heard. She had nearly become friends with girls who did what her mother had done with her father. Even her mother's action had been less extreme than this. At least her mother had thought she was in love with her father; Dear and Blonde gave their bodies to men for money.

"You're a religious one, aren't you?" Blonde asked. Her voice was gentle, coaxing, and Catherine almost wanted to turn back and ignore everything. Perhaps she could still be friends with these girls.

"No more than anyone else," she said. Her mother and father rarely went to church, and when she had gone with Aunt Elizabeth, she had found the sermons frightfully useless compared to the other books. "I don't think I can stay here any longer."

"You'll have to," Dear said, and for the first time that night she sounded serious. "Annie doesn't like it when her girls leave. It's hard enough to find ones that talk nicely and don't hit the customers. She'll keep you here, whether you want to stay or not."

"It's better you stay," Blonde said. "You don't know what it's like on the streets."

Catherine lay down and pretended to sleep, but all she could think of was the cold outside and the pain in her finger.