Augusta produced a large golden key from her purse, and with it unlocked the gates. She gestured grandly for the Lady Premiere to precede her into the yard. Inwardly, Augusta trembled with excitement. A visit! From the Lady Premiere! Who was a princess in her native Spain (or was it Portugal . . . ?)! It was outstanding! It was unheard of! The neighbors would seethe with jealousy.
She hoped they were looking out of their windows right now. She thought she’d seen the corner of Susan Salway’s dining room curtains swishing. Good. Let Susan see her, Augusta Hortense Varice-Morbower, escorting the Lady Premiere into her home. It would serve Susan right, for forcing Augusta to suffer her endless monologues about the accomplishments of little Jeremy and Josephine—as though those two sallow-looking creatures with the faces like the bottom side of a waffle iron were anything to boast about!
Augusta was slightly disappointed when she had to actually admit the Lady Premiere into the house, where the powerful woman could not be seen and admired.
Then Augusta had a dark thought: a thought so black it wrapped her in a momentary fog. This—the visit from the Lady Premiere, the envious looks, the golden carriage parked just outside her gates—was exactly the kind of thing she would lose if Liesl, that sniveling snot, were not found quickly.
In that moment, as Augusta bustled through the grand hallway with her guests, she came to a snap decision.
Risk or no risk, she could not have Liesl, the real Liesl, running around, ready to turn the life Augusta had earned—the life she deserved—to smoke.
No. It could not be. When she found the girl, she would kill her.
Augusta felt much better after coming to this decision.
“Would you like tea?” she asked brightly. “Coffee? Chocolate?”
“There is no time for that.” The Lady Premiere sailed past her into the drawing room, as though it were her house and not Augusta’s.
Once Augusta, the Lady Premiere, and the alchemist were safely seated—Vera having slipped away as soon as the opportunity presented itself—the Lady Premiere directed her penetrating gaze at Augusta. In that moment, Augusta couldn’t help but feel a slight chill. Perhaps the idea of the Lady Premiere’s visit was preferable, she thought, to the real thing.
“I will come right to the point,” the Lady Premiere said. “There has been a terrible misunderstanding. You are in possession of something that belongs to me. And I am in possession of something that belongs to you.”
“Oh?” Augusta was more than a little disappointed that the visit was not purely social—she had been hoping that this marked her ascension into the highest ranks of society—but she did her best not to show it. “And what is that?”
The Lady Premiere stared at the alchemist, who had, in the short time he had spent with the Lady Premiere, learned that it was best to remain absolutely silent and hope that she would forget you were there. When the alchemist did nothing, the Lady Premiere stepped on his foot, and he started nervously out of his chair with a yelp, producing, as he did so, a wooden box.
“I believe this is yours,” the Lady Premiere said. The alchemist opened the box, and Augusta found herself staring at piles of soft ash. “His name was Henry, was it not?”
“I don’t understand,” Augusta said.
“That is your husband,” the Lady Premiere said placidly. “Or, it was your husband. I imagine there was more to him when he was alive.”
“There must be some mistake.” Augusta was beginning to feel that the Lady Premiere was quite out of her mind. “The remains of my dear husband—rest his soul—are sitting right on top of the . . .”
Augusta trailed off in the middle of gesturing grandly toward the mantel, where she had been keeping Henry Morbower’s ashes on the off chance that anyone important came by to pay respects. (She wanted to play the part of the grieving widow convincingly. Eventually, she planned to bury the box in the backyard, next to the turnips. Or perhaps she would just dump the ashes in the little servants’ latrine out back. The wooden box itself was very nice, and could easily be reused.)
Now, she saw, the wooden box was missing.
Augusta made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. The sound turned into a high whine, which soon became a roar. Hearing the terrible sound, Vera came running into the room. She looked more like a sad tadpole than ever, now that she had removed her hat. Her brown hair was plastered listlessly across a large, shiny forehead.
“Is everything all right, Mama?” she ventured.
“Everything is not all right,” Augusta croaked out. “Did you remove the wooden box from the mantel?”
“No, Mama. I haven’t touched it.”
Another rumble quaked upward through Augusta’s expansive body. The warts on her forehead looked ready to explode. “Karen!”
Karen reappeared, her eyes red and swollen.