He caught my hand and pulled me into the lighted space, shutting the door behind us. I found myself in a small room lined with cupboards and robes on hooks—the sacristy, I believed it was called. The room had no stove, but the absence of chill wind and rain came as a relief.

Daniel wore his working clothes—wool coat patched at the elbows, linen shirt, knee breeches shiny with wear, and heavy boots. He’d removed his cap, showing me that his dark brown hair had grown even longer during his absence.

At least he was Daniel tonight, meaning I did not have to pretend I knew him as a City gent, or a pawnbroker’s assistant, or whoever else he’d decided to be. He disguised himself whenever he worked for the police, but I preferred him as the deliveryman I’d first met a few years ago, who’d heaved a heavy sack to the kitchen floor and given me a smile I never forgot.

“Such language in a church,” I said, disengaging my hand. “I knew you’d not have asked for me if it hadn’t been frightfully important.”

“True. I know you have little time to spare.” His crooked grin was as self-deprecating as ever.

I shook rain from my skirts. “Well, you’d better tell me what you wish to say. I need to make an early start.”

What I wished him to say was that he’d missed me. Perhaps he’d kiss me, and I’d go home warm.

I was a bit disappointed, therefore, when Daniel said, “I need you to meet someone.”

He crossed the room and opened the far door, sticking his head through and speaking words too quiet for me to discern.

The door opened wider to admit a man I’d never seen before. He was as tall as Daniel and as bulky, but there the resemblance ended. Where Daniel’s face was hard and square, this man had narrow cheeks and regular features, so regular they made him quite handsome. His dark hair was neatly trimmed and slicked back from his face, and he had a beard, also neatly trimmed, short and brown.

Instead of a workman’s clothes, he wore a dark suit with a dog collar—a white starched strip around his neck that proclaimed him one of the clergy.

“Mrs. Holloway,” Daniel said, a coolness entering his tone, “may I present the Reverend Errol Fielding.” He paused. “My brother.”

2

I do not know which astonished me more—the fact that Daniel’s brother was a clergyman or that Daniel had a brother at all.

Fielding, Daniel had said, not McAdam, though Daniel had once told me he’d invented his surname.

Mr. Fielding removed his gloves and held out a hand to me. “I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Holloway. Daniel has told me about you and your cleverness. Just the person, he said, to help me.”