“No. I had other matters to attend to.”
Kendra asked the standard questions: Where did you go? What did you do? Did you meet anyone? See anyone?
No. No. No . . . Yes . . .
“I saw your hermit, Your Grace,” he drawled. “I forget his name.”
Kendra leaned forward. “You saw Thomas?”
Harris shrugged, as if he couldn’t be bothered with such details. “He was in the woods. We didn’t cross paths. I don’t know if he saw me.”
It wasn’t really an alibi, Kendra thought. Even if Thomas could corroborate seeing the vicar, it only meant Harris had been out riding. But there was also the possibility that the vicar wasn’t the only one Thomas had seen in the woods. She made a mental note to visit the hermit again.
“What about last night and last Sunday evening?”
“Last Sunday evening, my wife and I were at the castle. ’Twas the first night of Lady Atwood’s house party.”
“What time did you leave?”
“When the other guests departed—half past nine, I believe.”
“What did you do after you left the party?”
“We returned home. And retired for the evening.”
“Your wife can verify that?” asked Kendra.
“My wife sleeps in her own bedchamber as I do mine,” he said stiffly.
She’d forgotten about the upper class custom of this era to sleep in separate bedrooms. “What about last night?”
He gave her a cold look. “We did not deviate from the norm, if that is what you are asking, Miss Donovan.”
She switched subjects. “How often do you go to London?”
He looked puzzled by the question, but shrugged. “Rarely. I find the city vulgar.”
“Do you know a woman named April Duprey?”
“No. Is she the whore found in the forest this morning?”
“She’s the woman found murdered and dumped in the forest this morning.”
His eyes were expressionless as he stared at Kendra. “I did not realize she had been identified.”
“Yes, Mr. Kelly recognized her. That’s a bit of good news, isn’t it?” The Duke’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, which remained watchful. “It’s only a matter of time before we identify the killer.”
Harris picked an infinitesimal piece of lint off his sleeve, looking bored. Either he was a damn good actor or he was innocent.
“Good,” he drawled. “Then we ought to be able to put this disturbing incident behind us.”
42
“So much for the idea of the kindhearted vicar,” Kendra remarked sarcastically. They had settled in the carriage for the short ride home, but she couldn’t contain her anger any longer.
“Pardon?”
“What’s up with that guy? He’s . . .” An asshole, she wanted to say. “He’s not exactly empathetic, is he?” she said instead. “He’s a pastor. Women have died. Where’s his compassion?”
Aldridge frowned. “He is not a vicar by choice, Miss Donovan, but by circumstance. There are very little acceptable employment options open to younger sons of the aristocracy. It’s either the military or the clergy. His father, the Earl of Clarendale, asked me to appoint him to the vicarage here, not wanting him involved in the conflict with Boney. I saw no reason to deny him, although I fear you are correct about his lack of compassion for these Unfortunate Women. ’Tis troubling.”
It would be even more troubling if Harris was responsible for their murders, Kendra thought. The Duke must have been thinking the same thing, because his expression turned dark, almost forbidding further discussion. They lapsed into an uneasy silence until the carriage came to a halt outside the steps of the castle.
The Duke of Aldridge chose one of the smaller drawing rooms in which to conduct the interviews with Captain Harcourt and Gabriel. It was comfortable rather than imposing, done in warm burgundy and muted grays. The footmen had been in to light the wall sconces, candles, and fireplace, which cast the entire room in a rosy glow.
Captain Harcourt was the first interview, and he came in with an expression that was polite but quizzical. Being summoned to privately meet with the Duke was both a privilege and a puzzle.
“You wished to speak with me, Your Grace?”
“Yes. I hope you are enjoying my sister’s house party?”
“It would be impossible not to enjoy the festivities. Lady Atwood is a highly skilled hostess.”
“Having two dead women murdered in the vicinity probably casts a pall on the revelries,” Kendra said dryly.
Harcourt hesitated, shooting her a wary look, but nodded. “Yes. ’Tis dreadful.”
Aldridge said, “Please sit down, Captain. Would you like something to drink?”
“A whiskey, thank you, sir.”
The Duke poured a glass, and brought it over to the young man. “Miss Donovan? Do you wish anything?”
“No, thank you.”
Aldridge settled himself into the wingback chair near Harcourt, and fixed his gaze on the man. “I’m certain you are aware that we are investigating the death of those two women.”