Fingersmith

by Sarah Waters

When I try now to sort out who knew what and who knew nothing, who knew everything and who was a fraud, I have to stop and give it up, it makes my head spin.

He drew on the cigarette, then breathed out in a sigh. The smoke stained the cold air blue.

All, I thought, for love! I had never seen anything like it.

Then I thought she might think me rude.—Which is pretty rum, in light of what happened later.

That put rather a dampener on the meal.

I saw the oars dip and rise, and scatter coins of moonlight;

the meat in a thickening coating of butter and sauce.

congealing

and guardians, I am afraid, are often less than scrupulous in the handling of their wards’ fortunes

That’s the mother, that is, coming out in the child . . .’

‘Dear girl,’ she says. ‘My own, my own dear girl—

So the young woman we knew as Maud Lilly, living at Briar and married to Mr. Rivers, then brougbt to Lant Street in London where she was told she was actually Sue Trinder, the murderer's daughter, is now being told she is Mrs. Sucksby's daughter. Which begs the question, who is the young woman in the madhouse?