“Where is Lady Louisa’s room?” she snapped, turning back to the door. “If I have to search this entire house for her, I will.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Lady Weston spoke in a measured tone. She slid another look at the clock as she pushed herself to her feet. “I tell you, she’s asleep. She retired hours ago.”
“Then I’ll wake her up.”
Lady Weston set aside her embroidery. “If you insist. I shall bring you to her, Miss Donovan.” She looked to Aldridge, Alec, and Sam. “I realize this is an unusual circumstance, but I would not be comfortable having gentlemen enter my daughter’s bedchamber while she is sleeping. You understand, I’m certain.”
Kendra found Lady Weston’s concerns bizarre, but no one else seemed particularly surprised.
Aldridge inclined his head. “We shall wait here, my lady.”
Weston didn’t even glance around from his position by the fireplace. It was as though he’d been hollowed out; the only thing remaining was the outer husk of a man.
The Countess picked up a single candle to light the way. Kendra glanced at her compatriots and saw some of her own tension reflected on their faces. She followed Lady Weston out of the room and her sense of wrongness intensified as they walked silently down the hall.
Lady Weston stopped outside a door and, for just an instant, Kendra saw her icy composure crack a little. Then the woman drew in a deep breath and reached out to turn the knob.
The door swung inward. The room beyond was absolutely silent, dark, and cold, with no fire in the hearth to offer light or warmth. Lady Weston advanced a step and light from the single candle touched on the bed. A shiver of uneasiness danced across Kendra’s flesh.
Lady Weston took another step, slow, almost hesitant. The candle’s glow now reached out to trace the outline of the occupant of the bed. Lady Louisa was lying there, eyes closed.
“I told you she was abed.” Lady Weston’s voice broke the silence, sounding strained and hoarse. “You can return tomorrow morning.”
Kendra stared at the still figure. Then she grabbed the candlestick from Lady Weston.
“What are you doing . . . ?” the other woman demanded.
But Kendra wasn’t listening. She hurried over, bringing the candle close so the light played over Lady Louisa’s utterly still features. She didn’t need to press her fingers against the carotid artery to confirm her suspicions, but she did it anyway, her breath catching in her throat. Lady Louisa was dead.
62
Laudanum.” The Duke infused the word with horror. They’d finally returned to the carriage, which was now making its way slowly through the thick soup of the fog that had invaded the city. Somewhere in that grayish mist a church bell clanged three times. “’Tis tragic, but I dare say, she couldn’t accept the prospect of spending the rest of her life in a madhouse.”
They’d stayed with the Westons until Dr. Munroe could be summoned to examine the body. It almost didn’t seem necessary, given the empty laudanum bottle found next to the teacup on the bedside table. Regardless, Dr. Munroe had pronounced Lady Louisa’s death an accident. Apparently it wasn’t unheard of for ladies of the Ton to accidentally overdose themselves with the narcotic. Kendra had to wonder how many of those deaths, like Lady Louisa’s, were actually suicides.
The lie didn’t set well with Kendra, but the Duke informed her that since suicide was against the Canon Law of the Church of England, Lady Louisa couldn’t be buried on consecrated ground, nor could the Westons hold a funeral if it was determined that was what had actually happened. Besides, what did it matter whether Lady Louisa had accidentally taken too much of the drug, or if she’d deliberately killed herself?
So they’d left the body lying in the bedchamber in which she’d spent her life. Without the need for an autopsy to determine the cause of death, and since Lady Louisa wasn’t actually a convicted criminal, she wouldn’t end up in Dr. Munroe’s autopsy school. At least not right away, Kendra amended silently. It could still end up there eventually. This was, after all, the era of resurrectionists.
“God have mercy on her soul,” murmured the Duke.
“I wish I’d had the chance to question her,” Kendra said.
Aldridge eyed her. “What purpose would that serve? Lady Louisa is a murderess. That is the question we came here to answer. What else is it you wish to know, Miss Donovan?”
“Why she killed Lady Dover, really. Why she killed Miss Cooper.” She shrugged. “Rebecca said that Lady Louisa was afraid her father was planning to leave the family for Lady Dover. She claimed that she was trying to protect her family from further humiliation.”
“You don’t believe the claim?” asked Alec.
Kendra was silent as she thought of Lady Louisa, so desperate to marry, to avoid becoming a spinster. She’d probably thought Lord Ludlow was her one shot at stepping away from the sideline along which she’d always hovered, only to watch him slip away after Lady Dover had flaunted the Weston necklace that fateful night at the theater. Was that when she’d begun plotting the other woman’s death?
“I don’t know,” she finally said, lifting her gaze to Alec’s eyes. “But now I’ll never find out.”
Kendra woke up at seven the next morning, and, despite only having had a couple of hours of sleep, she felt clearheaded and ready to accomplish a certain mission—one that she didn’t want the Duke or Alec finding out about, and trying to stop her. Unfortunately, she needed Molly’s help.
The tweeny proved surprisingly stubborn about her request. It took at least half an hour to convince her. But afterward, dressed as a servant with a plain wool cloak over the maid’s uniform and wearing a serviceable bonnet, Kendra managed to dodge the staff that were awake and sneak out the back door of the mansion. She wondered if Lady Louisa had used similar tactics to evade her household’s servants when she’d murdered Miss Cooper.
The fog curled around her skirt as she hurried across the street into the park. The air was cold enough to make Kendra grateful that she had put on the wool cloak. She walked through the park, scanning the trees as she hurried through, not surprised to find it empty. When she exited the park on the other side of the square, she was forced to continue walking for another quarter of a mile before she found a hackney. The jarvey eyed her, but, disguised as she was as a servant, he didn’t appear to find her appearance on the early-morning street all that unusual. He did, however, demand that she pay his fare upfront, before he agreed to bring her to her destination.