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“I cannot!” gasped Sally. “She vowed to have me tossed in the Thames in a weighted sack if I went against her. She’ll know I’ve helped you. Her spies are everywhere. She’ll know!”
“Unless you tell me what I want to know, a trip to the bottom of the Thames will be bliss compared to what you’ll be made to endure.” But her sobs grew only louder. “By all that’s holy, woman, I’ll get it out of you one way or another, even if I have to—”
“Will.” It was Jacqueline. “Stop. Look at her.”
He paused, his wrath ebbing not at all. “Don’t let her fool you. You said it yourself, she’s a talented little actress—”
“No, I mean look at her,” she insisted, grabbing the crying girl’s hand and shoving back the cuff. Bruises marched up Sally’s forearm. The thumbs and fingers that must have caused the fading, greenish-yellow marks were those of a huge brute of a man.
His heart constricted with remorse, and he loosened his hold a little. “Who did this to you?”
Silence.
Jacqueline stepped in. “Sally, you never have to go back. We will protect you. Just tell us what you know. Help us.”
“I have to go back,” whispered the girl, lifting eyes filled with despair. “She has my sister.”
Suspicion warred with anger. “What is her name?” he asked, trying to sound gentle in spite of his mounting fury.
“M-Marian.” Fresh sobs accompanied her answer so that it was nearly unintelligible. “If I don’t give her what she wants, she said she’ll put Marian to work in her bawdy house—my sister is only eleven. But if I do as she says, she’s promised to let us both go. I don’t even care about the money—I just want to take Marian and leave London!”
Jacqueline’s eyes met his. “Sally, I know this woman,” she said softly. “Her name is Boucher, and she will never let either of you go free. You know too much. It’s too great a risk for her.”
Her words sapped the remainder of the girl’s resistance. “Is there no hope for Mari, then?”
The scent of a trap was too strong not to take note. But it was also exactly what Will needed. Letting out a long sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose as though pained. “There is always hope, Sally,” he said grimly. “Tell me where Marian is. No, Jacqueline,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall the retort he saw forming behind her eyes. “I cannot in good conscience allow innocent blood to be spilled for my sake. A life is more important by far than my secret.”
Sally’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed a little O of surprise as his words sank in. “You’re the Archangel?”
The look on Jacqueline’s face was murderous as he nodded gravely. “I’d hoped to leave that name behind and live a simpler life here, but it seems I’m not to be granted such peace.”
There was a long silence, and then Sally spoke, her voice small and full of doubt. “Do you really think you can save her?”
“I do. And I can ensure that Madame Boucher will never again threaten you or anyone else. But I must know everything you know, down to the last detail.”
Words began to flow from Sally like a river in flood.
Nodding to Jacqueline to follow, Will led the chattering girl away from the sick ward and into an empty room. There, they questioned her and learned that Boucher had several bolt-holes and rotated between them every few days. One was near the docks in The Feather and Thistle. Another was above the Golden Bird public house at the southeast corner of Cross and St. Martin’s.
Will was familiar with the establishments. Both catered to the criminal element, having hidden rooms and exits from which a person could escape unseen. There were such places all over London. He’d be willing to bet she was using some of them, as well.
As for their nighttime visitor, they learned there were actually three watching the school in shifts around the clock. They were boarding only a few doors down from Mrs. Hayton’s house.
Will repressed a shiver. Before moving in, he’d passed beneath their window every morning on the way here.
“And there are others,” the girl told them. “The marketplace is full of her spies. A boy in her pay works for the butcher, another for the lamp oil man. They’re all over, in the stalls, pushing carts. And there’s her urchins everywhere. I see them watching me when I go to run errands for Cook. Sometimes they bring me messages or leave them in my basket with the goods I’ve purchased.”
“We know at least one of her people works for the milkman,” murmured Jacqueline darkly.
The girl had the good grace to hang her head. “I don’t know who delivered the children’s milk this morning, but it could not have been Mr. Farnsworth—he would never do such a thing. He’s a kind man. The others always treat me no better than I deserve, but him, he’s always spoken to me as if I was a lady. And now, because of me, he’ll be ruined.” She began to cry.
Will had no patience for emotional outbursts or girlish infatuations.
Before he could say so, however, Jacqueline spoke. “I’m sure Mr. Farnsworth is not at fault,” she told Sally. “I’ve known him several years. I shall send to him this morning and ask if he will assist us in appreh
ending the culprit.”
“The poisoner doubtless left immediately after the deed was done,” Will cut in. “But send to Mr. Farnsworth anyway and get a description of the lad. Be sure to inquire regarding any unique traits that might help us identify him in the event he returns here to make another attempt.”
