“What?” Startled, Kendra turned to look at the Bow Street Runner. “You know who she is?”
“Aye. She was a cagey one—all bawds are. But I didn’t know—didn’t suspect—she was telling me a Banbury tale. I interviewed her during the course of my inquiries about the lass in the lake. Her name is—was—April Duprey. She owns an academy on Bacon Street.”
Alec frowned. “You showed her the sketch?”
“Aye. She claimed not ter recognize the lass.”
The Duke said, “It would seem she lied to you, Mr. Kelly.”
“Aye.” He let out a sigh. “She lied.”
Kendra caught his eyes, and knew what he was thinking: April Duprey had lied, and it had cost her everything.
Kendra did what she could. She walked the area. She studied the path. She made copious notes and a rough sketch of the perimeter and the body within it. Twenty yards, she judged, to the edge of the forest and open glen. Even though she didn’t think it would mean a tinker’s damn, she dropped to her knees and went over the dead woman with the magnifying glass and tweezers, carefully plucking some of the tiny twigs and leaves from her hair and placing them on the sheet of foolscap, which she folded into an improvised envelope.
“There’s a slash through the glove on the back of her right hand, and what looks like blood,” she observed, frowning. She slid the tweezers into the gap and pried off the leather, stiff now with dried blood, to view the cold, bluish-gray flesh beneath. “Hmm. It appears to be only one laceration. Odd.”
“Why is that odd?”
She twisted her head to look at Alec. She’d forgotten she had an audience. Her eyes traveled to the dozens of curious eyes circling her. Remembering how quickly gossip had flowed through the castle with the last victim, Kendra shook her head, sat back on her heels, and sighed, “There’s nothing more I can do here. We might as well move the body.”
“To the icehouse?” Rebecca glanced between Kendra and the Duke.
Kendra shrugged. “There’s a vacancy.”
39
The woman was laid on the same wooden table as the first victim. The Duke’s normally soft blue eyes were shadowed in the lamp-lit room, his expression forbiddingly grim.
Kendra looked at him. “Dalton can’t do this autopsy.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I see where that would pose a problem.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Ah, Your Grace, I may be of assistance. I know a London sawbones that the Watch uses on occasion. Dr. Munroe—he was actually trained as a doctor before he studied in Edinburgh ter be a sawbones. He opened an anatomy school in Covent Garden two years ago. I can vouch for his character.”
“Very good, Mr. Kelly. If you give me his address, I shall post a letter immediately.”
“Well, as ter that, sir, I feel I should go back ter Town, show the sketch again ter the other light-skirts at the brothel. ’Tis clear Miss Duprey misled me the first time.”
“I’d like to go with you,” said Kendra.
Four pairs of eyes swiveled around to stare at her in shock.
Alec was the first to recover, shaking his head. “Impossible, Miss Donovan. You cannot venture into a brothel and consort with prostitutes. Your reputation would be damaged beyond repair.”
Kendra raised her eyebrows and gestured to the body lying in front of her. “But it’s all right for me to consort with dead prostitutes?”
Despite the grisly atmosphere, Aldridge’s mouth twitched. “I rather think society would frown upon this, as well, but allowances have been made. Don’t fret, my dear. I’m confident Mr. Kelly will be able to conduct this inquiry without your assistance. Now, I suggest we return to the castle. Nothing more can be done here until Mr. Kelly’s man arrives to conduct the postmortem.”
As they gathered in the study around the breakfast that the Duke had ordered, it occurred to Kendra that for all this era’s finely tuned sensibilities, no one’s appetite had evaporated. Then again, it was still a time when public hangings were viewed as date nights.
“Miss Duprey clearly saw an opportunity to extort money from the killer,” Alec said, as he forked eggs and sausage onto his plate from a silver platter.
Kendra stared at them, suddenly feeling queasy. “It’s my fault. I’m the one who thought to do a sketch of the victim and send it around to brothels for identification. If she hadn’t seen that, she’d never have tried to blackmail the murderer.”