Lady Charlotte Christianson was sprawled out on the floor of her loft. Clara, the maid, was anxiously trying to understand what had happened.

“Lady Christianson?” she called out again, the knot in her stomach tightening.

Clara knew it was futile – Charlotte had not stirred in the twenty minutes Clara had been trying to wake her – but she did not know what else to do so she kept trying.

After another ten minutes, which seemed like forever, Clara realized that she needed to tell someone. She looked down at the yellow jar in her hands and, with a twinge of guilt, hid it before she left.