“Professional gang, for sure, that robbed the place,” Sam sounded disgusted when he returned to the bedroom door. “Novices would’ve ripped the place apart, left a right mess. Taken even more stuff, like Her Ladyship’s handkerchiefs.”
Kendra was sorting through the gowns hanging on hooks in the big wardrobe, but now she laughed. “Right. I suppose there’s a crime wave on hankies?”
The Runner gave her a strange look. “Aye, Miss. There are plenty of Billy Buzmans around.”
She had to ask. “Billy Buzman?”
“Pickpockets who specialize in silk handkerchiefs,” supplied the Duke.
“We caught plenty of fences that made a fine living outta selling purloined handkerchiefs. We even nabbed a shopkeeper that had a secret room filled with ’em. She used ter remove the owners’ marks from the silk and then sell the handkerchiefs in her shop below. Real canny operation, when you think of it.”
Kendra was silent, absorbing the information with varying degrees of surprise, amusement, and resignation. She recalled reading an article on how human hair had become a lucrative target in beauty supply store smash-and-grabs in Atlanta and Chicago. If hair was popular to steal in her era, then why not hankies during this time?
She put the subject from her mind and said, “I want to see the back entrance.”
The back door was at the end of a long hallway, with only a small window lightening the shadows. Kendra slid back the dead bolt and stepped out into a back alley. On the other side of the cobblestone street were the stable mews. Even now, Kendra could hear the movement of horses inside and smell the hay and manure. Her gaze lifted to the rooms above the stables, where the grooms and stable boys sometimes slept. In another two centuries, those horses would be gone and these buildings would be turned into swanky dwellings for wealthy urbanites. The upper class living in stables—what would Sam think about that?
“Mrs. Pierson said the door was open,” Sam reminded them.
“Why come in the front door and leave from the back?” Kendra wondered.
The Duke scanned the alley. “’Tis certainly more private here.”
“Aye. Maybe someone was on the street when the fiend was leavin’.”
“That’s possible,” Kendra agreed. “The killer must have been familiar with Lady Dover’s townhouse to use the back door.”
Aldridge shook his head. “Not necessarily. Most of the terraces and houses in the area have the same floorplan. Every house has a servants’ entrance. It would not require any great imagination for the villain to find his way here.”
They filed back inside, with Sam throwing the deadbolt. It’s a little late for that, Kendra thought cynically, but kept quiet.
They were approaching the foyer when the front door opened and a man came inside. For a startled moment, they stopped and stared at one another. The stranger spoke first.
“Who the devil are you?” he demanded, raising his lion-headed walking stick like a weapon.
“Who are you?” Sam shot back as he hurried forward. “What’re you doin’ coming into Lady Dover’s residence?”
“’Tis my residence.” The man drew himself up. He wasn’t tall, but he was taller than the Bow Street Runner. Even if he hadn’t been, Kendra suspected he would’ve still been able to look down his nose at Sam. He had that kind of demeanor.
“I am Lord Dover,” the man replied. “Now, I insist that you tell me who you are before I have you arrested for housebreaking.”
8
The newcomer regarded them with arctic blue eyes. He had a lean face that reminded Kendra of a greyhound, and a nearly lipless mouth that looked like it hadn’t smiled in at least a decade. His hair was sandy blond. Kendra thought he was the type to be dealing with male pattern baldness, though that view was obscured by the black, curled-brim top hat that he wore, fashionable for everyday outdoor use now and only acceptable for magic shows in her own era.
Sam frowned. “I thought Lord Dover was dead.”
The man replied, “Don’t be ridiculous. I am Lord Dover. And this is my property. You are trespassing.”
“I seem to recall Lord Dover had a son from a previous marriage.” Aldridge eyed the other man. “You are Lady Dover’s stepson, are you not? I don’t recollect your name, sir?”
“Why should I answer you? Who the devil are you people?”
Sam brought out his gold-tipped baton. “My name is Sam Kelly, and I am the Bow Street Runner investigating your stepmother’s murder. You’re aware that she was murdered, ain’t you?”
“Of course.” He didn’t seem too impressed with Sam’s credentials, merely giving it a passing glance. “My club has spoken of little else since it happened.” His lips twisted. “Cordelia always knew how to set tongues wagging.”
Kendra wasn’t sure whether it was irony or bitterness she heard in his voice. Clearly there was no love lost between Lord Dover and his stepmother. “You don’t seem too upset over your stepmother’s death.”
He looked surprised that she’d addressed him. “Whatever I feel—or do not feel—has nothing to do with you, madam.”
“When did you last speak to Lady Dover?” she asked, ignoring his tone.
“Who—”
“I am the Duke of Aldridge,” Aldridge interrupted, his own tone becoming imperious, “and this is my ward, Miss Donovan.”
The other man responded instantly, the aggression going out of his shoulders as he lowered his walking stick. The hostility was replaced with confusion. “I don’t understand, Your Grace. What are you doing here?”
“As Mr. Kelly said, we are investigating the murder of your stepmother.”
“She was murdered upstairs,” Kendra added.
“I am cognizant of that fact . . . but . . .” Lord Dover shook his head. Then, understanding lit the frosty blue eyes. “Ah. I have heard that Lord Sutcliffe is a suspect in my stepmother’s murder. Your nephew, is he not?”
“Yes. Naturally, he did not murder Lady Dover.”
Lord Dover opened his mouth as though to dispute that statement. But he seemed to reconsider and pressed his thin lips together instead, saying nothing.
“When did you last see your stepmother?” Kendra asked again.
“What? Oh.” He shot her a distracted glance. “I’m not certain . . . Lady Gray’s ball last week. Or Hyde Park? I forget. Cordelia enjoyed being the center of attention. She attended most festivities.”
“I take it you two weren’t close?”
“No.”
“So you don’t know who she may have been involved with?”
She had his full attention now. His lips twisted again, and he shot a sideways glance at the Duke. “Other than Lord Sutcliffe, do you mean?”
“Yes. Somebody who might have wanted her dead?”
“Anyone she may have provoked, I would imagine.”
“You make it sound like she provoked a lot of people.”