Oh, how I wished my daughter were by my side. But then we would not have been doing this at all, dispensing poisons and hiding in shadows. I choked over my response. “She helps me on occasion,” I lied, unwilling to admit that Eliza had arrived without notice at the perfectly wrong time. There were only two chairs at the table for a reason, and I soon felt a cloud of regret in permitting Eliza to stay. I had spent a lifetime valuing discretion, and I saw clearly now the mistake in allowing her to intrude on the secrets exchanged between this woman and myself. “Eliza, perhaps you should take leave of us now.”

“No,” the woman said with the force of someone well accustomed to getting her way. “This peppermint tea is very good,” she continued, “and soon I’d like more. Besides, I find the presence of a child to be...comforting. I don’t have children of my own, you know, as badly as I want them and as much as we’ve—” She paused. “Oh, never mind that. How old are you, little Eliza? And where are you from?”

I could hardly believe it. This woman, surely an heiress to some great estate, shared something in common with me: we both desired the swelling of our bellies, the little kicks in our wombs. And yet, how lucky she was that her time had not yet passed. The skin around her eyes told me she could not be more than thirty years old. It was not too late for her.

“Twelve,” Eliza said softly. “And I’m from Swindon.”

The woman nodded approvingly while I, desperate to conclude the appointment, walked to one of my shelves and withdrew a small sheep horn jar. I motioned for Eliza to help me, and then I directed her to carefully spoon the beetle powder from the bowl on the table into the jar. As I had hoped, her hand was steadier than mine.

Once we finished, I set the uncovered jar before the woman for her to inspect. Inside, a lustrous green powder shimmered back at her, so fine it could run between her fingers like water. “Cantharides,” I whispered.

Her eyes widened. “It is safe to be this close?” she asked. She scooted forward in her chair, her enormous skirts rustling around her legs.

“Yes, so long as you don’t touch it.”

Eliza leaned forward to peek into the jar while the woman nodded, her brows still lifted in surprise. “I have heard of it only once. Something about its use in the Parisian brothels...” She tilted the bowl slightly toward her. “How long did this take?”