Nella paused and looked down at her own hands as if ashamed. “Remember what I told you, Eliza,” she finally said. “This is not a shop of magick. The gifts of the earth, while valuable, are not infallible.” She lifted her head, shaking herself from her reverie. “But it’s all right. For if the Indian hemp had worked too well, then your mistress would not need your help writing letters. And you would not be sitting here now, helping me with my register. And you remember what I said about the importance of the register, right?”

Aiming to impress her, I recited what she’d said a few minutes ago. “The register is important because the names of these women might otherwise be forgotten. They are preserved here, in your pages, if nowhere else.”

“Very good,” Nella concluded. “Now, let’s do a few more. The sun is falling fast.”

How did she know? Without windows, and without glancing at the clock, I certainly could not tell the sun was falling fast. But I could not ask her, for Nella had already turned to another page, hovering her hand over an entry that needed attention.

I got back to work, eager to please my new tutor.

After sundown, I gathered my coat and pulled out my gloves, which had never sifted through shrubs or dirt or wherever it was that beetles made their home, and eagerly pulled them on.

My hands were sore already—the careful tracing had left them stiff—but I could hardly wait for the next adventure.

Seeing the spark in my eye, Nella raised her brows. “Don’t expect your gloves to be so clean when we’re done,” she said. “This is dirty work, child.”

We walked for more than an hour, eventually making our way to a broad, quiet field separated from the road by hedges that were taller than me. The air grew unbearably cold as darkness spread across the sky, and I could not help but think that if I were a beetle, I would have traveled south long ago to the warm, humid air of some seaside village. And yet, Nella assured me that the beetles liked the cold—that they preferred starchy root crops, like beets, where they could nestle in to dine on the sugar and then sleep.

There was only a sliver of moon to see by. Nella and I each held a linen sack, and I watched her closely in the dark as she got onto her hands and knees, located a bundle of green, veiny leaves, and brushed aside a thin layer of hay until she reached the shoulders of the beet bulb underneath.