What Poppy Heard
Arthur did not move toward the van again.
That was the first thing Poppy noticed, and it gave her just enough courage to keep breathing.
Miles Dray, or the man using that name, shifted one gloved hand near the door frame. His face stayed blank, but his eyes sharpened.
Arthur saw it. He had negotiated with liars for twenty years. Most were loud. The dangerous ones knew how to be still.
“Poppy,” he said gently, without looking away from the driver, “tell me exactly what you heard.”
Her mouth trembled. She looked back at the manor.
The windows were bright. The stone facade looked peaceful. Somewhere inside, her stepmother, Celia, was probably standing in the music room with her phone in one hand and that pale smile she used when servants were nearby.
Poppy pressed her forehead against Arthur’s jacket.
“Last night I couldn’t sleep. I went to ask Celia where you were. She was in the small sitting room.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened. Celia had told him she had gone to bed early.
“She was talking to a man,” Poppy continued. “Not on the phone. In the room. She said you would leave through the front gate after breakfast. She said the new driver knew what to do.”
The wind moved through the oak leaves, loud in the sudden quiet.
“What else?” Arthur asked.
Poppy shut her eyes. “She said you trust cars more than people. She laughed when she said it.”
Arthur finally looked toward the manor doors.
The betrayal did not come like a shout. It came cold, spreading through him from the ribs outward.
Miles gave a small smile then, almost invisible.
May you like
It was the wrong moment to smile.
Arthur turned back, and the man by the van stopped pretending this was only a misunderstanding.
