“Bertie—”
“I shall be requiring Miss Donovan’s assistance.” He hesitated, then said, “And for the duration of this party, Caro, I’d prefer it if you didn’t go about the park unattended.”
That surprised her. “I’m a bit old for a chaperone, Bertie. And as I’ve been married—God rest Atwood’s soul—I don’t need one.”
“Nevertheless, I must insist.”
Lady Atwood felt a chill race up her arms that had nothing to do with the drafts in her family’s ancestral home. “What’s this about, Bertie?” she demanded, alarmed by the look in her brother’s eyes.
Aldridge recalled Kendra Donovan’s words. I can tell you two things: this isn’t his first kill, and he will do it again.
He believed in trusting his instincts, but he was also a man of logic. An enlightened man. Was he mad for listening to the woman? Or would he be mad not to?
His stomach clenched as he thought of the dead girl. Mother of God, she’d been bitten, beaten, strangled. He looked at his sister now, his expression grim. “’Tis a nightmare, Caro,” he said quietly. “A nightmare like I’ve never seen.”
15
Maybe she was crazy. Maybe at this very moment she was locked in some psych ward in London, having succeeded in her attempt to kill Sir Jeremy. Or maybe she’d never recovered from the gunshot wound to her head. Maybe she was . . . somewhere else.
No! Kendra wasn’t going to go down that road again. She didn’t know what was happening, but she refused to believe that this wasn’t real. That girl on that wooden table in that odd, old-fashioned building had been real. At the very least, the revolting paste made out of water and ash that she was now using to polish the silver teapot in her hand was all too real.
Frowning, she rubbed harder. Her distorted face was reflected back at her in the silver surface, unfamiliar because of the mop cap on her head. Mrs. Danbury had stuck her in one of the backrooms of the kitchen, helping Rose and another tweeny named Molly with the household silver. No doubt she’d meant it as a punishment, but it wasn’t so bad. The work itself was kind of soothing. And it gave her the opportunity to question the girls about life in the castle, and, more importantly, the nineteenth century.
She broached something that had been puzzling her. “Simon Dalton—he’s not a doctor?”
“Mr. Dalton? Oh, nay. ‘E’s a surgeon,” Molly supplied.
“A surgeon, but not a doctor?” She set the teapot down. “What’s the difference?”
Molly blinked at her. “A doctor is ever so much more important! ‘E wouldn’t think ter poke around in somebody’s innards like a sawbones!”
“That’s a bad thing?”
They looked at her like she was crazy. “’Tisn’t proper,” Rose said, “’Course, Mr. Dalton ain’t a sawbones now. ’E resigned ’is commission in the army when ’is aunt, Lady ’Alstead, cocked up ’er toes. Now ’e lives at ’Alstead ’All.”
“Doing what?”
Rose shrugged. “Being gentry.”
Kendra supposed that meant he either rented out parcels of land to local farmers or he hired locals to tend to the land he’d inherited.
“The Duke seems . . . nice,” Kendra remarked casually, picking up a pair of serving tongs to polish.
“Oh, ’e’s an oak. And ever so clever. ’E’s always up on the roof, studyin’ the stars and such. ’Tis a shame w’ot ’appened with ’is wife an’ child.”
“What happened?”
Rose said, “’Twas before I was born, but me ma told me ’ow the Duchess took the wee one sailing. Davy Jones’s Locker got ’em, ’e did. ’Twas a clear day. No one knows w’ot ’appened, but ’is Grace found ’is wife on the beach; Lady Charlotte forever swept out to sea.”
That explained Aldridge’s strange behavior with the victim in the water, Kendra thought.
Molly shivered. “Oi ’eard that ’is Grace went mad.”
“Aye,” Rose agreed in a hushed voice as she buffed and polished. “’E’s always ’ad strange notions—speakin’ no disrespect. But me ma said ’e locked ’imself in ’is study. The only one ’oo could ’elp ’im was the marquis.”
“The marquis?”
“’Is Grace’s nephew—Alexander Morgan, the Marquis of Sutcliffe. An’ ’e was only a young lad.”
“Ooh. ’E’s a fine-looking bloke, ain’t ’e?” Molly sighed.
“’E’s far above your touch, Molly Danvers!”
“Oi didn’t say ’e wasn’t. But Oi got peepers, don’t oi?”
Kendra changed track. “Have either of you heard of any girls from around the area who have gone missing?”
They exchanged nervous glances. “Do you think the monster lives around ’ere?” Rose asked.
“I don’t think anything yet.”
“Nay. Jenny went off ter Bath, but Oi dunno anybody missin’,” Molly whispered.