Mr. Feldman snorted. “We buy ink by the barrel. Of course we have that sort of pull! And I won’t stop until this country is blanketed with the information. I don’t care if a new mother lives in Boston or Des Moines or Timbuktu. No infant shall be spoon-fed a concoction of pumpkin laced with formaldehyde if I can stop it.”

Mrs. Sharpe held up the latest issue of Good Housekeeping. “This is our rallying cry,” she said. “Never underestimate the American woman when the health and well-being of her family are at stake. We shall fight it in the press, the grocery stores, and in our kitchens.” Then she turned her steely glare on Gray. “And we will fight it in the halls of Congress. Mark my words, Mr. Delacroix. Passing those laws will be a challenge, but we’ll get there eventually.”

She slapped the magazine down on the table, drew a calming breath, and then adopted a pleasant smile. “Now. Let me wrap up the watercress sandwiches for your train ride back to Boston. Mr. Feldman, shall we also send them home with the apricot tart? I think we shall! I’ll have the secretary wrap it so it will travel well.”

Mrs. Sharpe led them down the hallway toward the front of the building, stopping briefly to make arrangements for a hansom cab. It was hard for Gray to contain his sense of triumph as they walked down the hall. Annabelle instinctively reached for his hand, and he grabbed it, squeezing tight. They’d done it. They had done it. Mrs. Sharpe noticed their clasped hands, but he couldn’t have let Annabelle go right now if his life depended on it.

When they reached the foyer of the building, Mrs. Sharpe leaned over to speak in a stage whisper into Annabelle’s ear. “I shall expect a wedding invitation in the near future!” she said with a large wink at Gray.

Anabelle choked on her breath, but Gray smiled. “Mrs. Sharpe obviously has crystal clear vision,” he said with a wink of his own.

As they headed out the door, he carried the box of sandwiches in one arm and clasped Annabelle’s hand in the other. The weather was wet and miserable, but the second they stepped onto the portico, Annabelle could no longer contain herself. With a shriek of happiness, she leapt into his arms for a hug. He almost dropped the box but returned her embrace as laughter bubbled up from deep inside. Rain drizzled down on them, but he didn’t care. For the first time since he’d embarked on this audacious quest, it looked like they would actually succeed.

“Look, there’s Captain Haig!” Annabelle said.

Sure enough, Haig huddled beneath the awning of the pharmacy across the street. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out to them. “How did it go?”