“That is neither here nor there,” said Aldridge. “No reputable newspaper would publish a sketch of an Unfortunate Woman. We shall have the Runner take the girl’s description and make inquiries around London.”
“Assuming the whore was from London,” Morland pointed out. “London is scarcely alone in having brothels. She may have come from an academy in Bath or Manchester or Glasgow.”
“London is the closest city,” Kendra pointed out. “Why would he search farther for his victim?”
Morland eyed her over the rim of his brandy glass. “If we should discover the chit’s identity, pray tell, how will that help us identify her murderer, Miss Donovan?”
Kendra gave a slight shrug. “It’s a lead. If she belongs to an . . . academy, he may be a client. Someone else at the brothel might know who he is.”
The Duke’s gaze was troubled as he met hers. “And you really believe he will kill again?”
“I know he’s killed before. I know he’ll kill again. And . . .” she hesitated, and licked suddenly dry lips. She couldn’t tell if he—if any of the men—accepted what she was telling them. The next bit, she knew, would be even more difficult. “And,” she said firmly, “you probably know him.”
She didn’t have to wait long for a reaction. Morland looked indignant. “That’s preposterous!”
Hilliard gaped at her. “I say!”
Even Dalton shook his head. “No . . .Whoever did this is a . . . a . . .”
“A madman. A monster. Yes, we’ve already been over this,” she said impatiently. “I told you: he’ll be quite ordinary. You could talk to him, and never really know him. His nature. What he’s done. He most likely lives in the surrounding area, or at the very least, he’s familiar with it.” She saw their disbelief, and couldn’t really blame them. Hell, the idea of having a serial killer living in one’s community was difficult to digest even in the twenty-first century.
Everyone was silent, staring at her, at each other.
The Duke sighed, then stood. “Well, you certainly have given us much to consider, Miss Donovan. The Bow Street Runner ought to be here tomorrow.”
Aware that it was a dismissal, everyone stood. Aldridge came around the desk and laid a detaining hand on Kendra’s arm as all the men, with the exception of Alec, filed out of the room.
When the door had closed behind them, Alec lifted his glass in a mocking salute. “Well, Miss Donovan, you do liven up what would’ve been an otherwise tedious house party.”
She shot him an exasperated look, and then turned to the Duke. “Do you believe me?” she asked bluntly.
“I don’t want to,” he admitted. “But I saw what was done to that girl. I cannot disregard what you have told us. We shall see what the Runner has to say.”
Kendra frowned, and wondered what that meant. Would the Duke turn the entire investigation over to the Bow Street Runner? A detective, perhaps, but a nineteenth-century detective.
Her stomach clenched. There was still one thing she could do.
“Do you have a chalkboard, by any chance?” she asked.
The Duke seemed puzzled by the question. “Chalk . . . board?”
“Yes.” Oh, hell, when was the chalkboard invented? She didn’t know. But from the Duke’s reaction, obviously not now. “Something to write on.” She pantomimed the activity. “You know, children use it in school.”
“I believe she’s referring to a slate board,” Alec offered, sounding amused.
“Ah. Yes, we’ve a slate board in the schoolroom. Why?”
Kendra considered the question. “In your laboratory, you make notes regarding your observations of the night sky. It allows you to extrapolate data and come up with theories. Edmond Halley used Newton’s law of gravity to identify his comet and predict its orbital pattern. I need to organize my observations in a similar manner.”
Aldridge eyed her with interest. “You expect to predict a pattern for our killer?”
“Yes. And if we’re lucky, we can use it to catch him before he kills again.”
16
There was no question about it: Kendra Donovan was a bold, brazen creature, Alec thought, as he leaned against one of the Carrara marble columns near the entrance of the ballroom, where his aunt had organized the evening’s entertainment of dancing. Could Kendra’s calculations possibly predict the mind of a madman? He very much doubted it. Who had ever heard of such a thing?
“Is it true?”