The thought caught her short. Could she indeed “import” stuff from Hatfield, other than the locket? It couldn’t be considered stealing if it was worn-out castoffs like the ruffs Sara had shown her. She wouldn’t ever steal jewels or anything of any value, just scraps and royal trash.

It was at this very moment that she remembered she had promised Princess Elizabeth that she would bring back something for her zits.

I make a paste. . . .

With what?

Lavender’s part of it, and a little salt and . . . and . . . ashes.

Rose made a sharp right at Forty-Third Street, two blocks before her house, and headed over to a drugstore on Pennsylvania.

Chapter 15

A Touch in Time

Back home, with some lavender seeds she had found in the greenhouse, Rose was in the kitchen working up a batch of her own version of Zitbegone in the food processor. Along with a few tablespoons of ashes from the fireplace, she had thrown in some vinegar for good measure. Vinegar was the opposite of oil, after all, and oily skin was prone to zits. So it made sense.

“What in the world are you doing?” Cook asked as she came into the kitchen.

“Oh, just an experiment, Cook,” Rose replied. She turned to look around at her. She was a pleasant-looking, broad-faced woman, but one of those people of indeterminate age. Was she mid-forties? Fiftyish? Early sixties? Her hair was that nondescript hue that could be described as reddish blond or blondish red. “Cook,” Rose said suddenly, “what’s your real name?”

“Shirley.”

“Then how come everyone calls you Cook?”

“Well, my whole name is Shirley Cook, and when your grandmother . . . well.” She poked two fingers into her hair and began stirring it a bit, as she might stir cake batter with a spatula. “As your grandmother began to forget, to lose names, she just settled on Cook for me. It was easy, you know. I had this profession that matched my last name.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You like it here, dear?” Rose shrugged. “I mean, I know it’s not the same.”

You can say that again, Rose thought, and did a slight eye roll as she turned back to her concoction. “Do you happen to have a small empty jar I could put this in?”

Cook looked around the shelves. “Ah!” she exclaimed, and reached up. “Here’s an almost-empty jam jar. Just a tablespoon left in it. I can put it in a plastic container and you can have it.”

“Oh, thanks, Shirley.”

Shirley tucked her chin and chuckled softly. “Sounds nice to have my name back.”

“No problem, Shirley.” Rose smiled.

“I’ll wash out the jar for you.”

“What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Chinese.”

“You cook Chinese?”

“No, no. Once in a while we order in from Little China. There’s a menu pinned to the bulletin board. So tell me what you like. And I’ll call it in.”