“Oh,” Alva said, struggling to remember what the menu for tonight was. “Yes, of course.”

“And there’s a package for you,” Liza said, putting a small box wrapped in brown paper onto the desk.

“Thank you.”

“And about the other thing,” Liza said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You may tell Professor Moore that I’ve been making notes about the tea tray question. I’ve dropped it into conversation with the girls in other houses, casual-like, and I think he’ll be quite interested in what they had to say.”

Alva stared at the girl before forcing a smile to her face. “I’m sure he will be,” she said. “How clever of you to think of it. And you don’t need to go through me, I’m sure he’d be happy for you to drop by.”

Liza beamed. “Do you think so, ma’am? Imagine that, me calling on a famous inventor.” She laughed. “Well, see if I don’t. Would you like some tea while you work?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine.”

“All right then,” Liza said, hurrying away and leaving Alva to her thoughts.

Not that she wanted to be with them. The package caught her eye, and she pulled it towards her and absently began to unwrap it.

She hadn’t slept the night before. The day had been bad enough, trying to pretend like everything was normal while she relived the morning. The proposal—her first, actually. Alain hadn’t ever asked; it had been … assumed … after what her parents had witnessed. The argument. Sam’s strange response.

She’d worried about the damage she’d done to their partnership, whether he’d still be willing to help her with Liefdehuis. She’d desperately tried to convince herself that was what she was worried about, losing his expertise, not about losing him.

Except the night had come and her sheets had still smelled like him.

She slid the elegant black box out of the paper and lifted the lid.

Inside was a beautiful blue silk scarf. Alva threw the lid on top of it and sprang back, as if she’d just picked up a snake.

It was the exact blue of Alain’s eyes.

Her hands shook as she searched the packaging for the note. Finally, she found the small card, familiar black writing on the thick cream paper.

This made me think of you, the card said. All my love, Alfred.

Blindly she gathered everything up—box, scarf, packaging—all of it, and threw it in the fire. She wrapped her arms around herself while she watched it burn.

She needed to go to Liefdehuis. She needed to prove to herself there was something left to her, something Alain and Alfred couldn’t take. She waited until the last of the evidence had burned, and rang the bell for Liza.

Sam wasn’t at Liefdehuis.