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But he shook his head. “Mah fee is already paid.”
“By whom?” she demanded, frowning.
“The constable.”
She knew he meant Will, but Mrs. Sloane, who was doubtless listening to every word, would think he meant Deering. “I see. Nevertheless…” Opening her desk drawer, she withdrew two guineas and extended them toward him. “For your swift response and a job well done.”
His cheeks pinked further as he reached out to take them with a brusque nod of thanks. “I’ll remember it, ma’am. If ever ye hae need, ye hae but tae send, an’ I’ll coom.”
“Again, you have my deepest gratitude.” She called out softly for Mrs. Sloane. “Here,” she said, handing her a set of keys. “Take him out through the kitchen to the back,” she instructed, picking up the padlock. “While there, replace the old lock with this. The new chain can join it later tonight.”
“But S—” Mrs. Sloane stopped and glanced nervously at the locksmith. “She’ll see and know something is afoot.”
“Indeed. My hope is that she will concentrate on the gate’s fortification and not notice the other locks have been altered.”
Sloane nodded and set off with the locksmith in tow.
Jacqueline took a new set of keys and slipped it into her pocket, using the ribbon sewn into its lining to secure it with the others. The other set went into her strongbox. Agnes had agreed to keep wearing her old keys to help maintain the ruse. Once all was resolved, she’d receive the new set. Until then, Mrs. Sloane would be the one to lock and unlock the back gate.
…
All remained quiet and the watcher was not seen again for the next fortnight. Though tempted, Jacqueline knew better than to relax her vigilance. Just because no one saw the watcher didn’t mean they weren’t being watched. Sally had doubtless told he
r accomplice they were aware of the eyes upon them.
The enticement to believe the danger ended wasn’t the only temptation. Every day spent in Will’s company was a trial of restraint. It was imperative that she set a flawless example of modesty and virtue for her girls. Thus, they’d agreed there were to be no more clandestine kisses in the hall, and no midnight trysts.
It was torture of the most acute kind.
When Jacqueline rose on Thursday morning after another restless night, she dressed with grim resignation. I can do this. I can wait. I will wait. Never let it be said that I’m without self-discipline.
Knowing Will suffered the same torment didn’t help much. His eyes silently voiced his desire, and every touch, no matter how innocent, sent a thrill of want through her. At night, her dreams were now plagued by remembrances not of past evils, but of their passion. Never had time’s progress seemed slower.
And so Jacqueline trudged downstairs, looking forward to another day of having to exert iron self-control, of having to ignore the constant pull of attraction between them. She spied Mrs. Sloane bustling down the hall and called out a greeting.
“I was hoping you’d be down soon,” said her friend. Reaching into her apron pocket, Mrs. Sloane withdrew a letter. “A lad delivered this for you not five minutes ago. I tried to ask who sent it, but he bolted.”
Turning it over, Jacqueline frowned. There was neither name nor address to identify the sender. She broke the unadorned wax seal, and as she unfolded the parchment something fell out. Bending, she retrieved from the floor a long, thin braid tied with a red ribbon. Mystified, she turned it over. Multiple shades of blonde, brown, black, and copper told her this wasn’t the hair of one individual, but many.
“How odd,” mumbled Mrs. Sloane, peering at it with puzzlement. “What does the letter say?”
Jacqueline handed her the braid and turned her attention to the correspondence.
My Dearest Raquel,
Cold sweat broke out all over Jacqueline’s flesh, and her heart began to pound as though trying to escape its cage. The paper in her hand trembled violently.
“Headmistress?”
Ignoring the prompt, Jacqueline forced her hand to steady itself, and continued reading.
I was so pleased to learn of your good health and new position. Provided you follow my instructions, I am willing to keep your secret and allow you, your staff, and your brats to continue undisturbed. Fail to comply and none shall survive. If you doubt my resolve, look to my gift, a recent harvest from Covent Garden.
Looking up, Jacqueline stared in open-mouthed horror at the braid dangling from Mrs. Sloane’s fingers. The Covent Garden killings! That plait was comprised of hair taken from the victims. Blinking back sudden tears, she once again turned her gaze to the parchment.
A small favor from you can prevent another harvest. I want your associate, the one they call the Archangel. Write his name at the bottom of this letter and at seven o’ clock this evening give it to the man in the red waistcoat waiting outside Rutherford’s Emporium. Do not think to flee or seek help. My eyes are everywhere, and I am poised to act. If you require more proof, look to your lambs’ milk, and remember that their innocent lives are in your hands.
–B.
