Shaking her head, Nora moved to her dressing table and peered inside her bag. The servants had returned it to her, after they had ostensibly tossed everything inside it with little regard. And why should they treat her with politeness or hold her in regard when their master of the house so obviously did not?

She caught a whiff of various herbs and knew something had either broken or spilled inside the bag.

Sighing, she set to work organizing it as it had been before, ignoring Bea who continued to argue the merits of staying at Birchwood House.

Nora grabbed a linen cloth and attempted to wipe up the ointment that had spilled in the bottom. Tears burned her eyes for some unaccountable reason. She blinked them back and told herself to stop such nonsense. There was no reason to be emotional.

Her hand brushed a vial that was on its side, tucked in the corner of the bag where it had rolled. She pulled it out to identify it and stilled, staring down at it in her hand.

She sucked in a little breath. She’d forgotten it was in there. She did not remember packing it. She would not have done so. She must have grabbed it when she was taking items from her cabinet, where she stored it with so many of her tonics and salves.

Marian thought she had destroyed it. Nora had done nothing to correct that misapprehension.

Marian had advised her to do so, insisted, in fact . . . even knowing Nora could simply replicate it and make a fresh batch. She claimed she would feel safer in the house if the tonic did not exist, if it was not sitting somewhere on one of Nora’s shelves. As though it was a keg of gunpowder that could erupt and explode accidentally.

Nora had not, however, destroyed it. Of course not.

She’d kept the original mixture, feeling almost loyal to it. It was the reason Charlotte and Kingston came together. At least initially.

She studied the little bronze bottle, turning it over in her hand, well aware of the power that was inside it.

She had promised Marian she would never use it again.

“Miss Nora? Are you listening to me?”

“Hm?” Apparently Bea had been talking to her.

Nora shook her head. No, she had not heard a word the girl had said. She could only stare at the small vial and consider it for what it was. Charlotte had been her unwitting test subject.

Bea approached and peered at what she held in her hand. “What is that?”

“Something I concocted over a year ago for Charlotte . . . to ease the pains of her menses.”

Bea perked up. “Indeed. Does it work?”

“It eased her monthly pains, yes,” she admitted, stifling a wince. Indeed, it had eliminated Char’s monthly aches, but it replaced them with aches of another fashion.