“And can you imagine trying to turn a soggy, wet fish into a powder?” At my grimace, she went on. “So it is with these beetles. They will steam if dumped in all at once. We will roast them on a much larger pan, only several at a time, to ensure they are crispy and dry.”

Several at a time, I thought to myself. And more than a hundred beetles? That may take as long, if not longer, than the actual harvesting of the silly things.

“And after they are crispy?”

“Then, one by one, we will grind them up with a pestle, until the powder is so fine, you would not know it from water.”

“One by one,” I repeated.

“One by one. Which is why Lady Clarence best not return a moment too soon, as it will take us every last second to finish the task.”

I recalled the moment when Nella threw her beetle powder into the fire, causing an eruption of green flame; what nerve it must have taken, to throw over a day’s worth of work into the blaze. Until now, it had not been clear to me just how strongly she felt against murdering the mistress of a lord—how strongly she resisted aiding in the death of a woman.

I imagined the tediousness of the day ahead and willed myself to be cheerful about it. Nella had told me that she did not want me at the shop after this chore was complete. But perhaps if I performed it well, she would change her mind and permit me to stay. The idea of it energized me, because the hot, crimson bleeding from my belly had finally ceased, leaving in its wake a russet-colored shadow, and this could mean just one thing: Mr. Amwell’s spirit had decided to make its way out of my body and lie in wait for me. But where? There was only one sensible place, the place where he knew I was soon to return: the lonely Amwell estate on Warwick Lane.

Oh, how I would have rather stayed and roasted a thousand beetles than step foot back into the dwelling place of my dead master. Who knew what ugly form he would take next?

With twelve minutes remaining until Lady Clarence’s arrival, a terrible storm was unleashed outside. But we hardly noticed it, for both of us were bent over mortar bowls, grinding the beetles as finely as we could.

If Nella intended to send me away before Lady Clarence returned, it must have been a distant thought by now; it would have been impossible for her to finish the task without my help. With six minutes to go, Nella asked me to choose a vessel—any appropriately sized jar would do, she instructed. She remained head down, eyes focused and sweat on her forearms as she ground the pestle loudly against the mortar.