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a who it might be?”
Again, Will stepped in. “We suspect it was the builder hired prior to the one now overseeing the school’s expansion. He was stripped of his masonry license after being found guilty of fraudulent practices.”
“Mmm, I can see why he might hold a grudge.” Coombs took a small leather-bound booklet from his pocket along with a stick of string-wrapped graphite and began writing. “The name of this fellow?”
“Seamus Feeny,” answered Trouvère, giving Will a slight nod as if to say she understood what it was he wanted. She answered all of Coombs’s subsequent questions in alignment with this direction.
As he escorted Coombs back through the school, Will couldn’t help noticing the way the man’s gaze roved about constantly, as if he was looking for something. His gut tightened.
Relax, Danbury, whispered Reason. You’re no different. Always examining your surroundings, always seeking evidence. You question everything.
Seeking evidence? replied Suspicion. What could possibly be in these corridors to interest the man after what he just saw? All of the “evidence” is back in the courtyard.
“You say Birdsley is away on holiday?” he asked aloud, uncomfortable with the silence.
“Yes, visiting family,” said the other man, flashing a smile. “He mentioned a wedding.”
Will dismissed his unease and wondered if he was quite sane. Still, he was glad to shut the door behind Coombs. Now to deal with the mess I’ve made. He never should’ve told her the truth about himself. To make matters worse, Sloane now knew, as well.
“Bollocks,” he muttered, resolving to go at once and try to make amends. The look in her eyes when he’d told her had convicted him—and rightly so. She’d trusted him, and he’d rewarded her with a betrayal. He either ought to have told her who he really was the day she’d found him poking through the files, or remained silent and let her believe him to be a mathematics teacher until they parted ways.
“Is your name even William Woodson?” The words whipped out, sharp as a razor’s edge.
Whirling, he saw the very subject of his ruminations standing there. “I was just going to come and help dispose of the—”
“It’s already done,” she interrupted. “Agnes and I gathered it up in the canvas. She’s burning the remains now while the others wash the courtyard clean. Answer my question.”
“It’s Will Danbury.”
Her chilly, unwavering gaze searched him as if he were completely foreign to her. “Thank you, Monsieur Danbury, for finally honoring me with the truth.”
“I should have told you the moment I knew you were innocent.”
“Yes, you should have,” she retorted. “But we can do nothing about what has passed. What I want to know is what you intend for the future. Will you be leaving us now?”
He shook his head. “I’ll stay until I know who is behind this. Someone has attempted to use Westminster for their own ends, and I cannot allow such a precedent to be set.”
A crease marred the space between her brows. “Then you remain only to continue serving your superiors’ interests?”
An uncomfortable pounding began beneath his ribs. “No, not only…” The words popped out before he thought better of them. “The girls, they need protecting,” he added quickly. “What harms this school harms them.” And you.
“It may already be too late,” she said, looking away. “If the Archangel is exposed, it will mean the end of this place, the end of my work. Those he has angered will not stop until they have him.”
“Is he the one behind the brothel owners’ deaths?”
She didn’t answer.
He didn’t really need her to. “I cannot say I don’t admire him for taking the initiative. God knows someone needed to, especially where the children were concerned. I know now that he’s been saving them, but the fact is, he’s working outside the law to do it. You must warn him to stop before it’s too late. If Westminster catches him—and I prefer not to see that happen—there will be nothing either of us can do to save him from the noose. The law is the law. He’ll be tried for murder.”
A telltale glimmer appeared on her lower lashes, and he felt a total heel for having said it. But it couldn’t be helped.
“I understand.” She blinked and dashed away her tears. “I can send word to him once I know it’s safe to do so. In the meantime, I believe you should know the whole truth concerning my relationship to the man of whom we speak.”
Everything in Will tensed as if in anticipation of a blow.
“While some of what I told you is true, I have not been entirely honest with you. I was saved by the Archangel from torment and a terrible death at the hands of the one who gave me my scars. But I was never married.”
Will listened as she told him about a monster of a man—whom she refused to name, claiming he was dead—a brothel proprietress called Boucher, and a young Frenchwoman named Raquel. The Archangel’s identity she withheld. He didn’t press for it. In truth, he didn’t want to know. He’d be obligated to report such information to his superiors—which was exactly what the enemy wanted.
