These women were not queens and great heiresses. Rather, they were middling women whose names would not be found in gilded lineage charts. My mother’s legacy embodied the brewing of potions to ease maladies, but it also meant preserving the memory of these women in the register—granting them their single, indelible mark on the world.

No, I would not do it. I would not erase these women, obliterate them as easily as I’d done with the first batch of cantharides powder. History might dismiss these women, but I would not.

“No,” I said at last. “The book will be safe here. They will not find this place, child. No one will find this place.”

A few minutes later, we stood in the storage room. The hidden door to my shop was closed and the lever latched. I placed my hand on the top of Eliza’s head, her hair soft and warm against my fingers. I was grateful that the frankincense had numbed more than just my bones, for my innermost turmoil had also been tempered. I was not breathless or forlorn, nor did I await the rushing water with any sense of dread.

I considered it fitting that in the final moments of my life, I was aided by one of the many vials on my shelf. In life and in death, I relied on the palliative nature of what sat inside those glass bottles, and I was reminded, then, of more good memories than bad: more births than murders, more blood of life than of death.

But it was not only the frankincense that gave me comfort in this decisive moment; it was also the company of little Eliza. Despite the fact that her error had brought all of this upon us, I chose not to harbor ill feeling toward her, and instead I regretted only the day that Lady Clarence left me her letter. Indeed, if it weren’t for her renown and her scheming lady’s maid, I would not be in the predicament I now found myself.

Yet, there was no use in looking back. In the face of this hard goodbye and, very soon, my own departure from life, Eliza’s inquisitive spirit and youthful energy were salves upon my heart. I never met my own daughter, but I suspected she would have been much like the girl standing next to me. I put my arm around Eliza’s shoulder and pulled her close to me.

With a final glance behind us, I led Eliza out the storage room door. We stepped into the alley, the cold air wrapping around us, and began to walk. “Up here—” I motioned to where Bear Alley opened up to the avenue “—you will continue on to the Amwell house, or wherever it is you choose to go, and I will go my own way.”

In the corner of my vision, Eliza nodded. I moved closer to her, as a final, invisible goodbye.