God help you, Gabriel, if you had anything to do with that girl’s death.
“It’s too late, Sutcliffe,” he whispered. God, he knew, had abandoned him years ago. There would be no hope in that quarter. He put his head in his hands again, and wept.
29
Kendra was with Rebecca when they got word that Sam Kelly had returned.
“Do you think he has learned the name of the fiend?” Rebecca wondered with some excitement as they hurried down the halls.
“I don’t know,” Kendra admitted.
The Bow Street Runner was telling the Duke and Alec something, but broke off when they entered the study. Kendra felt the full impact of his gaze as he flicked her a look, hard enough to make the back of her neck tingle.
“Good morning, ladies,” Aldridge greeted. “Mr. Kelly has only just arrived. I suggest we sit down to hear his report. Would you like anything to drink?” He gestured to a side table that was laden with elegant silver pots, a creamer, and a sugar bowl. “I ordered tea, chocolate, and coffee.”
Some things here aren’t so bad, Kendra decided. At least this was a lot nicer than the thousands of Styrofoam cups filled with bad cop coffee that she’d consumed over the years.
Sitting down, she surveyed Sam. He looked like he’d spent the last four days sleeping in his clothes—or, rather, not sleeping in them, judging by the bags under his eyes. His cravat and shirt seemed more gray than white, only a few shades lighter than his dove-gray topcoat. This, along with the black waistcoat and breeches, was wrinkled and dirty. A film of dust coated his scuffed Hessian boots. His eyes held the same flat, watchful expression that she remembered from their previous meeting, so at odds with his elfin features.
After everyone had the beverage of their choice, the Duke settled behind his desk and nodded to the Runner. “Now, we shall begin. Mr. Kelly. Pray tell, have you discovered anything of significance?”
“First, I’d like ter say that several of me men made inquiries on the rattlers that go between here and London Town. There’s not many, so it made the job a good bit easier.”
“Rattlers?” asked Kendra.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, miss—I mean ter say, coach.”
“Perhaps if you’d limit your cant, Mr. Kelly. Miss Donovan is an American and is unfamiliar with some of our English vocabulary,” Aldridge put in.
“Aye, sir.” Again, the detective’s eyes were hard with suspicion as he flicked another look in Kendra’s direction. He continued, “I asked a friend ter copy the likeness of the young lass from Lady Rebecca’s sketch. It ain’t as good as yours, milady.”
“You are too gallant, Mr. Kelly,” Rebecca said mildly.
“Excellent notion.” The Duke stirred his tea. “I should have thought of it myself.”
“Even so, no whip—er, coachman—remembered her as a passenger. Not in the last month, that is. And she’s pretty enough ter draw somebody’s peepers.”
“You don’t think she came by public coach then?”
“Hard ter say, sir. She could’ve worn a bonnet and veil. As no one recalled seeing anyone wearing that either, I wouldn’t wager on it.”
“Then somebody brought her here in a private carriage,” the Duke mused.
“Aye. Most likely.”
No one said anything for a moment, but Kendra knew they were considering the implications. A private carriage added weight to her theory that they were dealing with a member of their own class.
She asked, “Any luck with the brothels?”
“Depends on what you mean by luck, miss.” He paused, then put down his teacup with a sigh. Reaching into his inside breast pocket, he pulled out a small wedge of paper, which he carefully unfolded, increasing its size to reveal Rebecca’s original pastel sketch of the victim. The paper was now smudged and creased from being repeatedly folded and unfolded, and passed around.
“This is why I came back,” he said slowly. “There was naught that knew this lass.”
“Oh, what a shame,” Rebecca said, her face falling in disappointment.
“You can hardly have gone to every academy in London,” the Duke said.
“Nay, sir. I told you that me and me men would stick ter the mid-range bawd houses.”
“It was only conjecture on our part that this girl was from London. In point of fact, it’s only conjecture that we’re dealing with a madman who has killed before and will kill again.” Alec shot a veiled look at Kendra. “Mayhap we need to review this entire affair. Miss Donovan could be wrong.”
Kendra stiffened, but the Bow Street Runner was already shaking his head. “Nay. I do not believe Miss Donovan is wrong.”
Everyone looked at him.
Rebecca frowned in confusion. “You said that no one knew the girl.”
“Aye. No one claimed ter know this lass. But in the course of our inquiries, we found something peculiar.”
“What, Mr. Kelly?” asked the Duke.
Sam drew in a deep breath. “We found other lasses who’ve gone missing, sir.”