The Marquis shrugged and said nothing.
Kendra caught the speculative look in Sam’s eyes and was annoyed when she felt her face heat up. This can’t be personal.
“Did Lady Dover try to contact you when you arrived in London?” she asked abruptly.
“Not that I am aware. I do not believe she even knew I was in Town.”
“Are you sure?”
“My journey here was impulsive. No one in Town knew I was arriving. And, as I said, I spent the evening alone.”
Kendra frowned, turning to Sam. “The housekeeper didn’t see the killer, and it’s only her belief that Lord Sutcliffe was the man Lady Dover was waiting for. That’s pretty flimsy evidence on which to charge the Marquis with murder.”
Sam raised his eyebrows, astonished. “His Lordship ain’t been charged with murder, lass. That would require an indictment by the House of Lords. Only they can charge the nobility with a crime.”
Kendra stared at the Bow Street Runner, not sure she’d heard him correctly. She’d known there was a class system here, but two justice systems?
“Don’t look so bloody appalled, Miss Donovan. With luck, mayhap I’ll be sent to Newgate once the House of Lords convenes,” Alec said sarcastically.
“That’s not the point,” she snapped, irritated. “It’s not about you. It’s about justice, regardless of class, gender, or race.”
“A noble sentiment, but we’re not in your America.”
She glared at him. “You don’t have to tell me that.”
Of course, if she were absolutely honest with herself, Kendra had to admit than even in her America, justice wasn’t always blind to race, gender, the political elite, or privilege. How many times did a celebrity get away with a crime because their face was known to millions? How many times did an average citizen get prosecuted for an offense that a politician walked away from, untouched?
“Alec may not be clapped in irons, Miss Donovan, but his future is by no means secure,” Aldridge intervened calmly. “If there is enough sentiment against him in the House of Lords, he could still find himself swinging or transported. We must find the real murderer.”
The familiar weight of responsibility settled on her shoulders. She met the Duke’s gaze and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll need to see the crime scene and the body myself.”
Aldridge frowned, uncertain. “The crime scene perhaps—”
“And the body,” she repeated firmly, and fixed her eyes on him. Damn the proprieties of this century. She wouldn’t back down on this, not if they wanted her to do her job properly.
“I don’t think Dr. Munroe will object, sir,” Sam put in carefully.
“’Tis not Dr. Munroe that I am concerned about,” the Duke said ruefully. “Oh, very well. Is it too late in the day, Mr. Kelly, to pay the doctor a visit?”
“Not at all. I shall bring you ter him, sir, Miss.”
As she rose, Kendra saw that William Drake was eyeing her oddly again. She hadn’t done a very good job pretending to be the Duke’s assistant. She decided not to worry about it.
“You can’t come to the morgue,” she told Alec when he stood as well.
“I understand that, Miss Donovan. I have no wish to see Cordelia in such a state,” he said quietly. “Regardless of our relationship, she didn’t deserve what was done to her.”
“I know. I understand.” Responding to his bleak gaze, Kendra reached over and gave his hand what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze. She’d known Lady Dover slightly, during Lady Atwood’s house party. She hadn’t liked her, but the woman was now a victim of a violent crime. She deserved justice.
“I’ll do my best,” she told him. That was all she could promise.
5
Covent Garden, where Dr. Munroe’s medical school was located, had once been a trading town called Lundenwic in the days when the Roman Empire had conquered half the world. It was still a trading center, but its commerce was slightly different from the time centuries before when farmers and merchants bartered over pigs and bags of barley. Since the eighteenth century, the largest trade in the area was prostitution. Kendra could easily pick out the working girls. They strolled the area boldly, their faces enhanced with rouge, powder, and lipstick, and wearing brightly colored gowns with plunging necklines that revealed more than they concealed, their skirts rucked above the knees or cut into slits to reveal a seductive flash of thigh.
Once again Kendra was struck by the sheer number of people as their carriage rolled past Tudor-style taverns, shops, and a slew of crowded coffeehouses. Starbucks, apparently, wasn’t a new concept.
The Royal Opera House loomed over Covent Garden. It wasn’t the same building that existed in her timeline, she knew. This one, like its predecessor, would eventually be destroyed by fire and rebuilt. As she scanned the narrow wooden buildings on either side of the street, Kendra wasn’t really surprised that London had been and would continue to be razed by fire. Considering the vast number of candles, oil lamps, and coal-and wood-burning fireplaces that existed in each dwelling, she only marveled that the city hadn’t burned down more often.
The carriage drew to a jerky halt in front of a wide, three-story brick building. There was no sign outside to indicate its purpose. Kendra supposed that was deliberate. Although some of the antiquated rules against dissection had been lifted, the role of a medical examiner was still a dubious one. Only cadavers from executed criminals could be used in anatomy schools like Dr. Munroe’s, which meant a constant shortage. As Prohibition had given birth to bootleggers, this governmental regulation led to new criminals, as well—the resurrectionists, or body snatchers, who filled the void by robbing graves to deliver fresh specimens. Sometimes a little too fresh, Kendra knew, with a few impatient and unscrupulous resurrectionists resorting to murder to fill their quota.
The coachman opened the door and unfolded the steps so they could descend. Kendra noticed how the man’s eyes darted around the vicinity, his hand resting on the butt of his blunderbuss, which was tucked into his belt. It occurred to Kendra that the man wasn’t only the Duke’s driver. He was also his bodyguard.
“Come, my dear.” The Duke took her arm and they followed Sam up the short flight of steps to the door. Inside, oil lamps hissed, revealing a darkly paneled foyer. At the end of the foyer was a hallway that split to the right and left. Straight ahead was a pair of open double doors. Curious, Kendra paused long enough to peer inside. The room was as dark as a witch’s cauldron, but she got the sense of space. She could just make out the stage area with a table slab set in the center, circled by wooden bleachers.