“Oh. I . . .” Aldridge shot a longing glance at the cloudless night sky beyond the open French doors, clearly intent on quietly escaping to observe the celestial heavens.
“One game, Bertie,” his sister insisted, and before he could protest again, she dragged him off to a card table.
They brushed past Alec, who was heading toward Kendra and Rebecca. He’d ditched the blonde, Kendra saw; the woman in question now stood alone, and not looking too happy about it.
Alec greeted Rebecca with an easy smile, then cocked a brow at Kendra. “I see you’ve changed your status yet again, Miss Donovan. One can only wonder what tomorrow will bring.”
“It was my decision to hire Miss Donovan.” Rebecca rapped him with her fan. “At least now she’ll be able to mingle in polite society without raising eyebrows.”
“One has the impression that eyebrows are permanently raised when it comes to Miss Donovan,” he murmured. Still, he grinned at Rebecca, flicking her nose affectionately. “Hiring a maid to be your companion is simply not done, minx. As well you know.”
“The Ton has an amazingly short attention span, as well you know. And it helps having influential friends like the Duke . . . and you.” She smiled at him, and picked a minuscule piece of lint off his dark green velvet sleeve. “No one shall dare give myself or Miss Donovan the cut-direct with your patronage, Sutcliffe.”
Kendra was surprised to find herself growing annoyed. “You know, I’m not a complete idiot. I didn’t drink out of the finger bowl at dinner, did I?”
Alec suppressed a grin as he flicked her a look. “Yes, I noticed. Your table manners were very pretty.”
“Gee, thanks.”
The tone was so sharp that he had to laugh. He looked at Rebecca. “Even so, I’d like to know the reason behind this unorthodox promotion.”
Rebecca tilted her chin. “’Tis simple. The man responsible for the atrocity allegedly walks among our class. I’ve made it possible for Miss Donovan to be in a position to converse with whomever necessary. The Duke is in agreement.”
Alec shifted his gaze back to Kendra, no longer smiling. “You shan’t win any friends in your endeavor, Miss Donovan. You may even make enemies. This could become very dangerous.”
“It’s already dangerous. One girl is dead,” Kendra reminded him flatly.
“And you believe you are the one to stop him?”
His tone was just incredulous enough to put her back up. “I’m the best chance you’ve got. I know what I’m doing. If you can’t accept that . . .”
“What?”
“Then there won’t be enough water in all of England to wash the blood off your hands, because more girls are going to die.”
26
The victim was decomposing.
Kendra had known that the girl couldn’t be kept in the icehouse forever, but she still felt uneasy watching the simple pine box being lowered into the grave by thick ropes and four burly workmen. There was nothing more she could do, she reminded herself. The body wouldn’t yield more evidence.
Kendra turned her attention to the meager gathering of mourners at the village cemetery: Alec, Rebecca, the Duke, the vicar and his wife, the constable, Morland, Dalton, Alec’s brother Gabriel, and his friend, Captain Harcourt. The last two looked like they’d gone on a bender last night, given their bloodshot eyes and pasty complexions. The only thing that brought them out this morning was curiosity.
Maybe. Sometimes murderers attended their victim’s funeral; inserted themselves into investigations. It was something to consider.
Across the open grave, Mr. Harris read his bible passage. The breeze carried a hint of rain, fluttering the pages of the book in his hand and ruffling his dark hair. She’d heard that he’d objected to burying the victim in the village cemetery, given the suspicion that she was a prostitute. But the Duke had overruled him.
Mr. Harris finished reading and immediately turned to the Duke to exchange a few words. Beside him, Mrs. Harris bowed her head and waited.
She looked like a timid crow, Kendra thought, dressed in unrelenting black, from her veiled bonnet to her ebony shoes. As the vicar’s wife, she probably had clothes set aside for funerals. Rebecca had explained earlier that she hadn’t brought any mourning colors to the house party, and there was no time to dye dresses for the event. She wore her long brown velvet coat and a matching bonnet over a navy pinstriped frock, and loaned Kendra a cape of deep forest green and a lighter, apple green bonnet decorated with yellow silk roses, bows, and ribbons.
“We don’t even know the name of the poor girl,” Rebecca murmured as everyone began walking through the ancient cemetery. “How can a soul be at peace without a name?”
“If there’s such a thing as a soul, I’d think it would be more interested in justice. After all, the dead already know their names.”