Though I was listening to her words, I did not fully hear them; the tap tap tap was too loud, and the story which Lady Clarence had just shared no longer seemed her crisis alone. Like I had just sipped from the crystal glass of cantharides myself, I choked out her name: “Eliza.”

A memory began to crystallize. Yesterday afternoon, just before Lady Clarence arrived to retrieve the poison, Eliza had selected the jar that would hold the powder. I hadn’t paid any attention to the jar she selected, for any within easy reach were etched with the bear logo and nothing more. Only those deep in the back of my mother’s cupboard were marked otherwise.

“Eliza, yes, where is she today?” Lady Clarence asked, unaware of the storm brewing inside of me.

“I must find her immediately,” I gasped. “The cupboard...” But I could not speak another word, much less explain myself to Lady Clarence, for I could not think about anything except making haste to Warwick Lane, where I would find the Amwell estate. Oh, how I prayed she was there! “And you,” I said to Lady Clarence, “go, now! Get the jar immediately and bring it to—”

“Your eyes are that of an animal,” she cried. “Whatever is the matter?”

But I was already moving out the door, and she followed close behind. As I stepped outside, I did not feel the cold against my skin or the tightness of my shoes against my swollen ankles. Ahead, a flock of blackbirds took flight; even they were scared of me.

At some point, Lady Clarence went her own way—to retrieve the jar, I prayed. I continued onward, rushing up Ludgate Street, the cathedral rising high above me. The Amwell estate was very close now, only a couple of blocks ahead.

As I neared my turnoff to Warwick Lane, I spotted a small, shrouded figure on a bench ahead, near the churchyard. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? My heart surged as I observed the light, playful manner in which this mysterious figure turned the pages of the book in her lap. I was close to the Amwell home; it would not be out of the realm of possibility to encounter Eliza at any moment.

My hopes were soon confirmed: it was undoubtedly her. Not an hour ago, I feared the child may be fear-stricken and morose, but that did not seem the case whatsoever. For, as I drew closer, I saw indeed that as the girl perused the book she wore a wide smile, as fresh and bright as a bloom.

“Eliza!” I shouted when we were only meters apart.

She jerked her head toward me. Her smile fell, and she clutched the book to her chest—but it was not the book I gave her. This one was smaller, and the cover a lighter color. “Eliza, oh, do listen to me, for it is very urgent.”