Kendra glanced up from her eggs, surprised. “How do you know that?”
“Though I do not sit in Parliament, I am a member of the House of Lords, Miss Donovan. And I am not without resources.”
“Of course not.” A man as wealthy and powerful as the Duke of Aldridge wouldn’t be. “When will this happen?”
“Ah, as to that . . . I do not know. It is currently being discussed. However, a fortnight, perhaps.”
A fortnight. Derived from Old English—fêowertyne niht. Fourteen nights.
“Okay.” Kendra took a couple more bites before pushing her plate away. “Let’s go see the crime scene.”
They decided to walk to Lady Dover’s residence on the other side of the square. In truth, it wasn’t a square at all, but a large oval, with a three hundred-acre park at its center. And “park” was also a misnomer. That implied meticulously groomed lawns, tidy shrubs, and trees. What Kendra saw through the black iron gate was a wilderness bisected with a series of paths designed for horse riders and pedestrians. For just a moment, she thought she caught a movement in the dense foliage, and her neck prickled with the sensation of watching eyes. Whether those eyes were human or animal, though, she didn’t know.
She switched her gaze to the neighborhood. The residences were a mixture of mansions, like the Duke’s, and terraces, which were essentially elegant brownstones.
“You said that you canvassed the area. The neighbors didn’t hear anything?” Kendra asked of Sam, scanning the surrounding buildings. Most of the windows were still shuttered. Nine in the morning was like the crack of dawn for London’s aristocracy. But while they might still be in bed, she knew the servants had been awake for hours, preparing for the day belowstairs.
“Based on the defensive wounds on her hands and arms,” she mused, “Lady Dover fought back. I’d think she would’ve screamed.”
Sam shrugged. “The only screams they heard was done by Mrs. Pierson.”
“And no one saw Lady Dover’s visitor either?”
“Nay.”
It took ten minutes at a leisurely pace to loop around to the other side of the park. Kendra didn’t need to see the address to know which home belonged to Lady Dover. She spotted two men in an intense conversation standing on the front steps of a townhouse.
“All’s well?” Sam called out as they approached, and the night watchmen jerked to attention. Even at a distance, Kendra could read the dismay on their faces, and her stomach tightened. Something’s wrong . . .
“Ah . . . hmm, gov’ . . . well, we patrolled the area just like ye told us,” said the taller man.
“Aye. Not a peep around ’ere,” supplied the other watchman.
“But, ye see, well . . .”
Sam’s eyebrows had pulled together, and now he snapped, “Out with it!”
The taller man said, “We went in, just ter look around, mind ye . . . and, ah . . . it’s been tumbled.”
Sam stared at him. “What?”
“It’s been robbed, sir,” the other man clarified. “The door was locked, but a clever cracksman got in.”
“What?” Sam’s face reddened. “You sodding simpletons! God’s teeth, I gave you one bloody order. One! Ter watch the house. Watch the bloody house!” His voice echoed loudly on the silent street. Kendra had never seen the Runner so angry.
“We did, gov’ner! God as my witness,” said the taller watchman. “We patrolled the area, jest like ye told us ter do. Kept our peepers on the house. It was quiet-like, I swear. We never saw nothin’.”
“Damn it!” Sam spat on the sidewalk, then shot a stricken glance at Kendra. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss.” He turned back to glower at the night watchmen. “Send a crew around ter check the flash houses and rookeries, see if you can get a line on the thieves that done it. This kinda job, this kinda neighborhood, word’s gonna go around.”
“Aye, sir!”
They both hurried down the sidewalk, obviously eager to get away from Sam’s baleful glare.
Kendra shook her head in disbelief. “Does this thing happen often here? Crimes scenes robbed?”
Sam shuffled his feet, looking embarrassed. “I wouldn’t say often, nay. But it’s been known ter happen. That’s why I had it locked and watched, ter prevent a bloody robbery.” He pressed his lips together as though to contain a string of curses that he wanted to let loose. Then he expelled an angry breath. “Ah, well. Nothing ter do about it now but to see the damage.”
They went up the steps. The night watchmen hadn’t locked up again, so the door swung open easily. The morning sunlight spilled inside the black-and-white-tiled foyer.
“The silver candleholders are missing from that table, there,” Sam pointed out, sounding aggrieved again. He stomped through the narrow hall. Silently, Kendra and the Duke followed him upstairs to the drawing room. At first glance, it looked untouched, no overturned furniture or anything obviously rifled through. Then Kendra realized that every surface was devoid of ornaments.
“Bugger it!” Sam stormed across the room to glare at the empty desk, hands on hips. “The rogues even stole the bloody glass!”
“Glass?” Kendra echoed.
“A goblet. It smelled of whiskey. I think she gave it ter the killer. We found the glass under the sofa with a fan and a fancy jeweled comb that lasses wear in their hair.”
They turned to the sofa in question. Kendra eyed the dark stains on the cushions. Not much blood, really, given the number of times Lady Dover had been stabbed. But Kendra recalled what Dr. Munroe said, that a stiletto did most of its damage internally.
“She was a beautiful woman,” the Duke murmured. Kendra glanced around to see him staring at the enormous oil painting of Lady Dover positioned above the fireplace.
“Yes,” she agreed simply. The artist hadn’t used his skill to flatter his subject like so many portrait painters did during this era, the nineteenth-century version of Photoshop. Women who looked like Lady Dover didn’t need to be altered.
“I did not know her, really. When we chanced to meet socially, she was always entertaining and pleasant. What was done to her . . .” Aldridge shook his head, remembering the horrors that had been revealed when Dr. Munroe had pulled back the shroud.
Kendra said nothing. Instead, she turned to survey the room again, trying to imagine what it had been like that night. A fire would have been burning in the grate, candles lit. In the twenty-first century, that would be the makings of a romantic evening. Here, it could’ve been an evening like any other.
But it wasn’t an evening like any other.
“Okay, let’s assume the killer came through the front door. He could have murdered Lady Dover as soon as he was inside the door, in the hall,” she said slowly. “They were alone. She obviously answered the door, since she sent her servants away. But he didn’t strike then. He bided his time, followed her up the stairs, into this room.”