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“Well, I reckon we’ve got t’ give worms some credit fer knowin’ what’s good, then,” Hannah said.

“You are absolutely right,” Emily said. “Shall we see the butterflies now?”

Hannah nodded enthusiastically, and they followed Rutherford to the very end of the landing, where a sign proclaiming No Admittance hung on a solid wood door.

Hannah gave Emily an anxious look, but Emily raised her chin and faced the door boldly. “Is this it, Rutherford?”

“Yes, miss. Don’t worry about the sign. We have to put it up while the tours are going on.” He knocked, turned the brass doorknob, and stepped inside. “Miss Norton is here to see you, sir,” he said.

“Thank you, Rutherford.” Henry’s voice reached her from behind a tall crate. “Please have her come in.”

The porter nodded and moved aside to allow them entry. Natural light spilled into the room through two large windows. Shelves filled with boxes lined the walls. Crates were piled in untidy rows, and two long tables carried piles of books, sculptures, and pottery. In one corner, a tiger with glassy eyes stood on its rear legs, staring down at a shelf of stuffed tropical birds.

With a squeak of terror, Hannah backed up a few paces. “Mercy, miss. Is that a real tiger?”

“I believe so,” Emily said. “But it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.”

Hannah nodded numbly and inched a little farther from the fearsome creature while Emily scanned the cluttered room in search of Henry.

A third table stood a little apart from the others. An open crate sat beside it, the straw from within spilling onto the floor. Part of the table was obscured by a tall cupboard, but she could see the corner of a large display case surrounded by stacks of paper.

Chair legs scraped against the floor. Footsteps sounded, then Henry appeared around the cupboard. “Good afternoon.” He smiled, and Emily discovered that not all the butterflies in the room were in the display case—a full flight were fluttering around in her stomach.

Hannah immediately bobbed a curtsy.

Pressing her hand against her corset, Emily attempted a natural smile. “Good afternoon,” she said. “I hope we have not come at an inconvenient time.”

“Not at all.” Henry gestured toward the cluttered table. “As you can see, I have a great deal of work ahead, but the butterflies are out of the crate and ready for your perusal.”

Emily stepped toward the table. “Oh!” The word escaped on a sigh.

At least a hundred butterflies, their wings outstretched, were set out in rows within the display case. Afternoon light bathed them in a warm glow, catching the iridescent quality of their wings and deepening the vast array of colors.

“They are . . . so . . . so . . .”

“Magnificent,” Henry finished. “You were right. That’s the perfect word.”

She nodded, gazing down at the variety of shapes, sizes, and colors. “Can you see, Hannah?”

The maid moved closer. “There’s so many,” she gasped. “And ev’ry one is different.”

“That’s one of nature’s greatest miracles,” Emily said. She looked at Henry. “What will you do with them?”

“Lord Grenville made a valiant attempt at identifying them. I shall have to go through and verify that he has labeled them correctly. Those that are older or did not withstand the journey will be replaced, and we will house the rest in a more secure case.”

Hannah stepped back, and Emily moved a little closer to Henry. She lowered her voice. “Can you identify all the colors?”

“Probably not.” There was chagrin in his voice. “I shall simply have to do my best and then ask Fernsby to confirm my descriptions.”

“Mr. Fernsby is the curator who wears the brightly colored clothes?”

“Yes. He seems to fancy himself as a painting.” He smiled wryly. “It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t know I shall never fully appreciate his brightly colored wardrobe.”

“I’m glad he’s willing to help you,” she said.

Henry eyed the piles of paper on the desk and sighed. “To be honest, ascertaining the colors of the butterflies is the least of my worries.”

“What do you mean?”