“I haven’t the strength,” she whispered at last. “I spent all of last night in the field gathering the beetles, and until sunrise I roasted and ground them. When she comes back, I’ll tell her such. I’ll show her the swelling underneath my gown, the places I am unwell, if she insists on seeing them. I could not remake the powder, even if I wished to do so.”

An opportunity now stood before me, if I could be smart about it. My fears about Mr. Amwell’s spirit had not lessened, and now I was burdened with yet another misfortune: the bailiffs uncovering Nella’s shop and register.

I retrieved the empty mugs on the table and took them to the washbasin, rinsing them out. “I will do it, then. I will gather the beetles, if you tell me how, and I will roast and grind them.” After all, I was well accustomed to doing another person’s dishonorable work. Whether it meant writing lies in letters for Mrs. Amwell or crushing poisonous beetles for Nella, I was no tattle. I could be trusted.

Nella did not answer for some time, so I continued to rinse the mugs long after they were clean. Her nerves seemed to have quieted for the moment, though I could not tell if it was because she felt hopeful at my offer to assist her or because she had resigned to her fate.

“The field is across the river,” she said at last, leaning forward in her chair as though exhausted by the mere idea of returning. “It will be a long walk, but you cannot do it alone. I’ll gather the strength. We will go after the sun falls. The beetles are easier to catch at night, when they rest.” She coughed several times and wiped her hand on her skirts. “Until then, we may as well make use of our time. Earlier, you mentioned helping me with the labels on my vials.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “It’s not needed. I know them by heart, with a label or no.”

“What if they get mixed up? Put out of order?”

She pointed first at her nose, then her eyes. “Scent, then sight.” She motioned to the register at the center of the table. “But there’s something else. I’ll have you fix a few of the faded entries in my book. I’ve not the steadiness of hand to do it myself.”

I frowned, pulling the broad book toward me, wondering how the names and dates in the register could possibly be more important than the vials on her shelves. In fact, I’d expect the opposite; this book held the names of everyone who had purchased Nella’s poisons. It seemed to me the pages should be burned, not repaired.

“Why is it so important to fix the faded entries?” I asked.