This merciless woman was not worth another moment of my time; I would not tell her about my story, about the coward who sowed the first seed of the tainted legacy that brought her to my door. As the room continued to whirl about me, her chatter finally ceased. My unsteady hands sought the flat, hard safety of the table.

Unsure of how many seconds or minutes went by, I eventually became aware of Eliza shaking me by the shoulders. “Nella,” she whispered, “Nella, are you well?”

My vision cleared and I saw the two of them, sitting across from me with troubled looks on their faces. Eliza, leaning forward to touch me, appeared concerned for my well-being. The woman, however, resembled a petulant child, fearful that she might not be given what she wanted.

Comforted by Eliza’s touch, I forced a small nod, shaking loose the memories. “I am well, yes,” I assured her. Then I turned to the lady. “It is my business only who I choose to help and who I choose to hurt. I will not sell you this powder.”

She looked at me in disbelief, her eyes narrow, as though it was the first time she had been told no. She let out a single barking laugh. “I am Lady Clarence of Carter Lane. My husband—” She paused, looking at the jar of beetle powder. “My husband is Lord Clarence.” She watched me closely, waiting for my surprised reaction, but I gave her no such satisfaction. “You cannot understand the urgency of this, clearly,” she continued. “As I said in my letter, we are to have a party tomorrow eve. Miss Berkwell, my husband’s cousin and mistress, will attend.” Lady Clarence tugged at the hem of her bodice, rubbing her lips together. “She’s in love with my husband, and he with her. It cannot continue. Month after month, I am sure that I am not with child because he has nothing left for me, having spent it all in her. I will take this powder,” she said, reaching into a pocket sewn into her skirts near her waist. “How much do you want, anyhow? I’ll give you twice what you want for it.”

I shook my head, caring little for her money. I would not have it, just like I would not have a woman—mistress or not—dead on my account. “No,” I said, standing from the chair and rooting my feet to the ground. “The answer is no. You may leave now.”

Lady Clarence stood from her own chair, our eyes level.

Meanwhile, Eliza’s head jerked back and forth as she looked at us on either side of her. She sat up straight, back rigid, lips pressed tightly together. When she asked to be my apprentice, I doubt she imagined an encounter like this one. Perhaps it would be enough to make her change her mind.