“I know you are loyal to the Smithsonian,” Gray finally said. “I know you consider them peaceable, harmless scientists. They aren’t. They have an agenda.”

“Yes!” she said passionately. “Their agenda is to unlock the mysteries of the world around us. There’s no profit motive involved, just the insatiable, unquenchable need to know. Curiosity is what makes us different from the animals. It’s what makes us strive to discover new things or come up with remarkable products like the spices and herbs that came out of your kitchen tonight. If you have that orchid in your greenhouse, it might be another piece of the grand, worldwide puzzle botanists are trying to piece together.”

He scrutinized her for so long it became uncomfortable. Candlelight flickered on the planes of his face, and it was impossible to read him. “All right,” he finally said. “Tomorrow morning I’ll show you everything I have.”

Relief flooded through her.

At the end of the meal, Annabelle wanted to thank the cook, for everything had been marvelous. The kitchen was modest, with copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling alongside bundles of dried herbs.

The housekeeper took her compliment in stride, nodding to a row of spices stored on a shelf above the counter. “It all comes from proper seasoning,” she said simply.

Gray gestured Annabelle over to the shelf containing dozens of identical bottles, all sporting the Delacroix label. In short order, he collected six bottles and set them on the counter.

“Take these home with you,” he said. “Aside from the cayenne, they are easy to use and won’t ruin your meal. Be brave.”

The bottles contained cardamom, cumin, sumac, paprika, turmeric, and cayenne pepper. She picked up a glass bottle that easily sat in the palm of her hand. “How much does a jar like this cost?”

“Fifty cents,” he said. “I still need to get the price lower and figure out a distribution system to get them affordably shipped all over the country. Soon even Kansas won’t be safe from properly seasoned food.”

She loved his dry sense of humor, but before she could reply, he opened a cabinet and retrieved a different sort of bottle. It was tiny and dark. He unscrewed the cap and extended it to her.

“Your collection would not be complete without this,” he said. “Smell.”

She took a whiff and almost fainted with pleasure. “Vanilla?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s liquid!”

“Yes,” he said again. “We’ve been working on it for a decade. Vanilla extract is a challenging process, but it stays fresh longer than the ground seeds.”

It was late, but when Gray escorted her to the base of the stairs, Annabelle didn’t want the evening to end. Darkness had fallen, allowing the kerosene lanterns to provide soft illumination in the hallway.