Her child lived, he lived, and now he must be found. He must be brought back to her, where he belonged.

 Reginald must find him, must pay whatever needed to be paid.

 Careful, careful, she warned herself as she felt the scream beating at her throat. He would only believe her if she remained calm. He would only heed her if she were beautiful.

 Beauty seduced men. With beauty and charm, a woman could have whatever she wanted.

 She turned to the mirror and saw what she needed to see. Beauty, charm, grace. She didn’t see that the red gown sagged at the breasts, bagged at the hips, and turned her pale skin a sallow yellow. The mirror reflected the tumbling tangle of curls, the overbright eyes, and the harshly rouged cheeks, but her eyes, Amelia’s eyes, saw what she had once been.

 Young and beautiful, desirable and sly.

 So she went downstairs to wait for her lover, and under her breath, she sang.

 “Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly. Lavender’s green.”

 In the parlor a fire was burning, and the gaslight was lit. So the servants would be careful, too, she thought with a tight smile. They knew the master was expected, and the master held the purse strings.

 No matter, she would tell Reginald they needed to go, all of them, and be replaced.

 And she wanted a nursemaid hired for her son, for James, when he was returned to her. An Irish girl, she thought. They were cheerful around babies, she believed. She wanted a cheerful nursery for her James.

 Though she eyed the whiskey on the sideboard, she poured a small glass of wine instead. And settled down to wait.

 Her nerves began to fray as the hour grew late. She had a second glass of wine, then a third. And when she saw through the window his carriage pull up, she forgot to be careful and calm and flew to the door herself.

 “Reginald. Reginald.” Her grief and despair sprang out of her like snakes, hissing and coiling. She threw herself at him.