“I’m sorry.”
The lump that had formed in Kendra’s throat was as unexpected as it was unwanted. She jerked her gaze away from the body and it fell instead on the pile of rags tossed on the table that ran along the wall. No, not rags—guilt slammed into her as she stared at the torn velvet cloak, shredded, muddy, and stained with blood.
“Mr. Barts and I have concluded the visual examination,” Munroe said. “Nasty business, this.”
“Murder usually is,” Kendra said softly.
But Miss Cooper’s murder had been particularly gruesome, she thought, as she turned back to the body. Miss Cooper had been quite literally pulverized by the horses hooves and wagon wheels. The maid’s head was misshapen, her face crushed and caked liberally with mud and blood, grotesque. Her neck had been broken, twisted now at a peculiar angle. Her flesh had been torn asunder; her bones had snapped and pierced the skin.
Until now, Kendra had no idea what being trampled could do to the human body. Now, she knew, and she would never forget the horror.
“You are already aware we are dealing with murder?” Dr. Munroe asked, surprised.
“It’s wasn’t an accident, Doctor,” Sam said.
Kendra was grateful to have a reason to look away from the maid’s brutalized form. She turned to address the doctor. “We don’t have an eyewitness, but we think someone pushed her into oncoming traffic.” Again she heard the sharp cry before the team of horses had gone crazy. Before. “Is there any way you can confirm that she was pushed through the autopsy?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, then—”
“You misunderstand, Miss Donovan,” he said, and his spectacles glinted as he turned his head to stare at the body. “This poor wretch may have been pushed into the traffic, and that undoubtedly contributed to her death. But there’s something else.”
“Something else?”
“The victim wasn’t only trampled—she was stabbed.”
Munroe and his apprentice turned the body over and the doctor retrieved a magnifying glass, which he handed to Kendra.
“She sustained considerable damage from being crushed, of course. Look—you can even see the imprint of a horseshoe here. But this injury . . .” He took a moment to find the spot, lost amid the other lacerations. “If you’ll notice, it’s dissimilar.”
Kendra put aside her own horror that the thing lying on the table was the woman who had buttoned up her dress that morning and peered at the wound through the lens. She then took the time to compare it to the other slashes. “I see what you mean. The flesh around the wound is more uniform. A cut rather than a tear . . . no, a puncture.” She looked up at Munroe. “A stiletto?”
“I’d say so, but I would need to wait until after I’ve done the autopsy to give you a conclusive answer.” He gave her a long look. “I know you are an extraordinary female when it comes to postmortem surgeries. But under the circumstances, I don’t think you ought to attend this one.”
Kendra wasn’t entirely sure what her response would’ve been. She was prevented from having to give one when the door suddenly swung open and the Duke and Alec came hurrying into the room.
Aldridge went immediately to Kendra, taking her hands as he scanned her from head to foot. “My God, Miss Donovan . . . we got word there was an accident and you were here. How are you? Are you injured? What happened?”
Kendra was aware of Alec’s intense scrutiny as well.
“I got a note claiming to have information about Lady Dover’s death,” she explained. “He wanted me to meet him at the Crown at Piccadilly.”
A muscle ticked alongside Alec’s jaw. “And you thought you’d oblige this unknown person—a person most likely responsible for Lady Dover’s murder?”
“I didn’t go unprepared. I was armed.”
That startled the Duke. “You had a weapon with you?”
Aldridge caught the glance she gave the wicker basket on the ground. He let go of her hands, and bent to lift the blanket, revealing the two flintlocks tucked inside. “You are a remarkable woman, Miss Donovan,” was all he said.
Alec wasn’t appeased. “Devil take it, you went alone, didn’t you? That is why you’re dressed as you are! Have you no notion of the danger you were in?”
“I know . . .” Against her will, her eyes traveled to the figure on the autopsy table.
“The boy told us there was an accident, and Miss Donovan and Miss Cooper were involved,” Aldridge said. Then, understanding, he stared in horror at the body on the table. “Dear God, is that Miss Cooper?”
“Aye,” Sam said simply.
“I don’t understand any of this,” the Duke said. “If you went unchaperoned, how did Miss Cooper . . . become involved?”
Kendra drew in a deep breath. “She must have followed me.”
“The lass was waiting ter cross the street,” Sam added. “It looks like someone stabbed her with a stiletto and pushed her into the traffic. A team of horses and a wagon did the rest.”
“But why?” Aldridge shook his head, his blue-gray eyes dazed. “Who had such vitriol against Miss Cooper?”
“Not her,” Alec breathed, and Kendra saw that his gaze had locked on the velvet cloak. In two strides, he was across the room. His fingers brush the shredded material. When he turned back, his expression was rigid, his emotions held tightly in check. Yet the light that blazed in his green eyes was dangerous. “He mistook your maid for you.”
Kendra forced herself to answer. “Yes. We think so. We’re similar in build and coloring—if he got a glimpse of her hair. She probably had the hood up, so he might not have seen her face—”
“But he saw the cloak,” Alec cut her off. “Your cloak.”
Kendra said nothing.
Aldridge stared at her, then shot a glance at the maid on the table. “My God . . . somebody tried to kill you, Miss Donovan. He deliberately lured you out, laid in wait, and tried to kill you. Your disguise saved your life.”
Kendra put a hand to her violently churning stomach. Yes, her disguise had saved her life—and cost Eva Cooper hers.
32
Rebecca arrived at the Duke’s residence later that day to find the Duke, Alec, and Kendra in the study. Sam had left for Bow Street to gather more men with the intention of returning to Piccadilly to go through the businesses lining the street. The others had gathered around a table in the study, Kendra again holding the note she’d received earlier that day. Rebecca quickly learned the horrifying news that Dr. Munroe was at that moment conducting the postmortem on Miss Cooper.
“Someone tried to murder you,” she managed, eyes wide with concern as she looked at Kendra. “But who? No, that’s a stupid question. ’Tis obvious it was the same person who killed Lady Dover. But why?”
Kendra was staring at the names on the slate board, but shook her head. “I don’t know. Perception is reality. The killer obviously believes I know something.”