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Her feet were already moving.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” asked a bewildered Mrs. Sloane, now following on her heels.
Inside, Jacqueline was screaming. Her voice when it came out, however, sounded calm and subdued. “The children—we must check on the children.”
Dear Lord, please let them be safe! Let this be a ruse to frighten only!
Mrs. Sloane interrupted her fervent prayer. “I’ll fetch Mr. Woodson an—”
“No!” Stopping, she turned and nearly collided with her friend. “I—I mean yes, but send for Dr. Horton first—immediately.” Panic clawed at her insides. “I’ve just received another threat, this one directed at the children. I fear poison.”
…
Will looked up at Jacqueline’s ashen face, marking how her hazel eyes appeared almost green against the pallor of her cheeks. Her hand rested atop the damp blonde curls of young Miss Reed, an eight-year-old who’d been at the school for a little more than a year. The girl lay motionless, her glassy-eyed stare indicative of the strong dose of paregoric she’d been given.
His gaze roved across the makeshift sick ward they’d set up in the dining hall. Rage filled him at the sight of the fifteen cots containing small bodies suffering either agony or the drug-induced stupor of its aftermath.
The girls had been stricken with severe stomach pains shortly after breakfast. Upon arriving, Horton had examined them. After questioning those able to speak, he’d determined the toxic juice of the mistletoe berry had been introduced into their morning milk—milk which had tasted sweet for the honey added to it, yet had left a bitter tang in the mouth.
Syrup of ipecac had been administered to induce vomiting and, once the poison had been ejected, followed by paregoric to ease suffering. Two girls, young Janet being one of them, weren’t responding well to the treatment and were still violently ill. Horton and Mrs. Sloane were attending them now.
If I ever lay hands on the one who did this…
Jacqueline’s voice cut into his vengeful thoughts. “She will never stop until she gets what she wants—or we are all dead,” she said dully. “I’ve no choice. I cannot put his life before all of these.”
“I’ll pretend to be the Archangel.”
Her gaze snapped up to meet his. “She will know it for a lie at once. The Archangel is rumored to be a man of wealth and power. You are—to all appearances, at least—a mathematics teacher.”
“What better disguise? I tell you she has but to dig a little to discover ‘Will Woodson’ is a fraud.” He forced a smile. “If I’m not the Archangel, then who am I?”
“If she finds out the truth, she will kill us all,” she hissed.
His inner debate lasted only a moment. “Woodson is not the first false identity I’ve ever used,” he confessed, wincing as her eyes widened. “Recently, I was known as Lord Harold Huxton, the wastrel son of a little-known—but quite wealthy—baron from upper Darlington. Give her the name Huxton, let her see ‘Mr. Woodson’ reassume that identity, and she’ll believe I’m your accomplice.” He lowered his voice yet more. “We’ll ‘let slip’ that we’re engaged in front of her spy, and she’ll think ‘Lord Huxton’ adopted this guise to be close to you.”
She shook her head. “No. I will not put you at risk.”
“Darling, I’m already at risk simply by being here. You cannot allow personal feelings to cloud your judgment in this. If you give her the real Archangel without first warning him—which I doubt she’ll allow—he’ll be completely unprepared when the attack comes. At least I’ll know to look for it and be ready.”
“No. It will only bring the danger closer.”
“It won’t if I leave. I’ll go to Huxton’s house in St. James. It’s one of several addresses secretly kept for use in our more elaborate schemes. I happen to know it’s currently unoccupied. Everything should still be there. Sir Gonson’s policy is to leave everything intact for several months after a case’s resolution to ensure no untidy ends remain.”
“And once you are there?”
“I lay an ambush and wait.”
Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “She will send her best men to kill you.”
“Let her. I’ll be ready.” He softened his tone. “I know what I’m doing, and I’ll have help—the moment I arrive, I’ll send word to my comrades.”
But the stubborn light in her eyes remained. “You think to lure her away from here, from me, but I know her. She will never let—”
“Headmistress?” called Horton from across the room.
Will stifled a curse.
“Yes?” answered Jacqueline. “Has the sickness stopped yet?”
