47
The sun was sinking behind the green and gold fields, casting long skinny shadows over the landscape, by the time Sam returned to Aldridge Castle. He’d spent the entire day riding over the sodding countryside, trying to chat up the snooty servants in the neighboring households. It always amazed him how they adopted the airs of their betters, looking down their noses at the likes of him, even when he brought out his Bow Street Runner baton. He much preferred outdoor servants, the stable hands, and gamekeepers, down-to-earth folk whose tongues could be loosened with a dram of whiskey.
Unfortunately, even the free use of his flask hadn’t elicited much information, he reflected ruefully.
Fifteen minutes later, a footman escorted him to the Duke of Aldridge’s study. Entering, Sam saw that everyone was gathered around a table, studying the map of London that had been spread across it. Someone—Kendra Donovan, he guessed—had marked it with red and blue dots, using Lady Rebecca’s colored sticks.
“Ah, Mr. Kelly.” The Duke glanced at him, straightening. “Good evening. We are attempting to determine whether or not there is a pattern to where the girls vanished. Would you like a refreshment?”
Music to his ears. “Whiskey, thank you, sir.”
Alec took it upon himself to stroll over to the side table that held the selection of crystal decanters. He poured a generous three fingers into a stout glass, and brought it over to the Bow Street Runner.
“Have you found a pattern?” Sam asked curiously as he took the glass from the marquis.
“Not really,” Kendra answered. “There’s a heavier concentration of brothels near Sutton Street where Harris once lived.”
“Which may be attributed to Sutton Street’s location in a less desirable area in Town,” Munroe pointed out.
Aldridge picked his pipe off the desk, and lit it. “And you, Mr. Kelly?” he asked. “Have you learned anything of value?”
“The vicar’s household ain’t enamored of Mr. Harris.”
Rebecca gave a sniff. “That, my good man, I could have told you.”
“Aye, ma’am.” He grinned and took a sip of whiskey, appreciating the superior quality compared to the stuff he usually could afford. “’Tis a small household—a butler, the cook, a valet, and a maid-of-all-work. The cook does not live in. The butler, valet, and maid have rooms near the kitchen, on the other side of the vicarage from the family’s rooms.”
Kendra shot him a look. “Basically you’re telling us that only Mrs. Harris would know if her husband left in the middle of the night. And I doubt if she’d say anything.”
“Aye, miss.” Sam eyed the American. “Mrs. Harris ain’t one ter preach . . . er, ter share personal information about her husband.”
“What of the other households, Mr. Kelly?” Aldridge asked.
“As they are much larger than the vicarage, me and me men didn’t speak with everyone.” He hesitated. “Mr. Morland’s mum, Lady Anne, had an episode earlier this morning. He went ter London ter fetch a mad-doctor. The servants are a closed-mouth bunch, but I was told she wandered into the stable yard, demanding a horse and calling herself a lass named Myrna or Mina.”
Rebecca put a hand to her throat. “Good heavens. Is there nothing that can be done for the poor woman?”
Munroe shook his head. “I’ve heard of this kind of madness before. There is no cure, my Lady.”
“Most likely Lady Anne was calling herself Myrrha. The other day, she called Mr. Morland Adonis. Myrrha is the mother of Adonis.” Aldridge sighed heavily. “It makes a dreadful sort of sense, doesn’t it? Lady Anne spent her life with her father’s passion for ancient Greek mythology. Now she can no longer distinguish reality from the myths she studied as a child.”
“I cannot imagine a worse fate,” Rebecca said softly.
Kendra remembered how she thought she’d had a psychotic break on her first day in this time period, and had to suppress a shiver. “Neither can I.”
Another heavy silence descended. Sam cleared his throat. “Aye, well. We checked the list of tenants that you gave us. No one remembers seeing Mr. Morland riding the other day.”
“He also said that he did not see any of his tenants,” Aldridge reminded him. “What of Mr. Dalton?”
“Mr. Dalton has gone ter Barking for a cattle auction, so it was easy enough ter conduct the interviews. Much of the staff at Halstead Hall served his aunt. The general opinion is that he is a likeable enough fellow, but they’re suspicious that he was a sawbones, especially when his pa was a doctor, and he has ties ter the gentry. Why lower himself in such a way?”
Kendra assumed the question was rhetorical, so she asked instead, “Did they say anything about Dalton’s late wife?”
“They never made her acquaintance. But Lady Halstead referred ter her as a flighty piece of baggage.”