Shadowdance(52)

The cold shaking within Mary grew. Poppy had wanted her to keep watch over Jack. Yet again, Mary had been maneuvered. “If you had intended for me to spy on my partner, you might have said when I began.”

“Come now, Mary,” Poppy snapped. “You and I both know you had reasons for picking this particular case. I did not bother to ask, because I trust you. But surely now you can confide in me as to what those reasons were?”

Good God, what did Poppy know? It had to be damning for her to turn against Talent. “Forgive me, mum, but Jack Talent has been more than loyal to you and yours. According to the Ranulf, he is your family.”

“Of course he is!” Poppy’s slim shoulders slumped, and she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Last night, about an hour before Lord Darby’s ball, Mistress Evernight was abducted in front of the SOS offices.”

Mary’s hands clenched convulsively. “What can I do? How can I help?”

Grimly, Poppy bent to retrieve a strip of vellum pressed between two sheets of paraffin paper. “This was found near the spot where Mistress Evernight was taken. I do not know if it pertains to Evernight or not, but we kept it regardless. Mr. Lane is going to have a look at it under a microscope to see if it yields any clues to its origin.”

Taking care not to damage or over-handle the note, Mary put on her gloves and peeled back the paraffin paper. “ ‘Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’ ” Mary glanced up at Poppy. “My mother used to quote that verse to me.” Unfortunately, those whom Maman considered angels were not quite benevolent, winged beings.

“Bible verses,” Poppy muttered. “I do hate it when they resort to using quotes. It smacks of an overdeveloped sense of one’s own cleverness.”

Mary fought a smile. Many a criminal liked to taunt, and Poppy Lane hated taunts. Mary handed Poppy the papers. “While most attribute the quote to a basic Christian duty to be hospitable, given that we know angels are real, I wonder if this message is trying to tell us something more.”

“Mmm.” Poppy tapped her fingers upon her lap. “Do you suppose someone has entertained angels unawares?”

“Perhaps so. Or perhaps it is all nonsense. I can tell you that, to my knowledge, the Bishop of Charing Cross has never before left a message behind. Perhaps this incident is not linked to the case.”

“Perhaps.” Poppy smiled vaguely. “A bit too much ‘perhaps’ for my liking, Mistress Chase.”

“Mum, forgive me, I do not see how this involves Talent.”

But Poppy’s pale lips pursed in negation. “A witness has come forward,” she said. “She claims she saw a man greatly resembling Jack Talent grab Mistress Evernight.”

Bloody hell. The precise time Mary had been getting ready for Darby’s ball. She’d assumed Talent had been doing the same. Now she could not be sure.

Poppy took a slow sip of tea, and her hand shook. The porcelain cup landed on the saucer with a delicate clink. “No one knows of this but you and me.”

“And his accuser. Who is it, if I may ask?”

“Tottie.” Poppy tapped her nails upon her thigh. “As she is my assistant now, she came directly to me.” Poppy frowned a bit, and her tone became almost sorrowful. “Jack is not the same. Not after…” She took a bracing breath. “You must understand how it would grieve me were it true, but I cannot ignore this. So I am asking you, do you have any suspicions that Jack Talent has turned against the SOS?”

For years Mary had entertained herself with little fantasies of being the one to bring Talent down. She’d imagined herself in this very office, telling Poppy that she had finally found proof of his perfidy. Now Poppy stared at her, those keen brown eyes searching. The perfect opening. And yet Mary paused.

Despite the iron-hard will and resolve in Poppy’s countenance, there was a plea in her voice. It was well hidden and slight, but there just the same. Jack’s downfall would do more than grieve Poppy; it would devastate her and her family.

For that alone, Mary could only pray that Talent was innocent. Even though she feared he was far from it.

“I need to know,” Poppy said in a low voice. “Is Jack the Bishop of Charing Cross?”

Mary stared straight at Poppy as she consigned her honor to the devil. “I do not know, mum. But I shall find out who it is.”

He whispered through the night, black ink spilling over ebony wood. Unnoticed, unheard. But alive, so alive and waiting for the moment. The moment when he could breathe without that sick, choking feeling taking hold. His prey slithered in the darkness as well, comfortably ensconced in a stolen coach and not quite as silent, for he was too sure of himself and his role as predator, never realizing that there was a bigger predator in town now.