It would have been considered quaint if not for its dilapidated condition. Large sections of the thatch were missing from the roof, which sagged in the middle; the stone itself was chipped in places and crumbling to dust in others. The shutters had at one time been painted blue, but most of the paint had faded to gray or chipped off altogether. Still, Kendra knew that Americans in the twenty-first century would probably happily fork over a fortune just to spend the night in this place, and consider the experience to be authentically English.
About five men were sitting on crates and the stump of a tree outside the cottage. Four of them jumped to attention when Sam walked toward them. Kendra suspected they were his men, fellow Bow Street Runners. The fifth man, his muscular frame clothed in a grubby, homespun smock and wool trousers, remained sitting on the tree stump, his curly brown head hanging low. But at Sam’s approach, he raised his head with a snarl. If he hadn’t been shackled, Kendra thought he might try to leap at the Bow Street Runner. Instead, he simply glared at Sam, not an easy task as one eye was swollen shut. His lip was also split, and his face a patchwork of bruises.
Kendra stopped to stare. “What happened to him?”
“He took exception ter our arrival,” said Sam.
In her time, the thief would be shouting police brutality, calling for his lawyer to file a million-dollar lawsuit against the city.
“Ye focking—oof!”
One of the standing men slammed the butt of his rifle into the ruffian’s stomach, causing him to gasp and double over, his head bent to his knees.
“Hey.” She frowned at the guard, her own temper rising at the needless violence against a man who couldn’t fight back. “Try to keep his teeth in his mouth. I might want to talk to him, you know.” She moved past the group of men and through the low door of the cottage. Alec, Sam, and the Duke followed.
Just inside the door, Kendra came to a halt. “Wow.”
There was a long oak table and chairs, and every surface was filled with items that clearly didn’t belong in the ramshackle thatched cottage. Even though the light was dim inside the room, Kendra could see in the jumble silver candleholders, cutlery, gold-edged and monogrammed plates, and crystal decanters and glasses. It looked like a Black Friday sale at Macy’s.
“Shit. Is this all from Lady Dover’s house?” she asked, staring in amazement.
“Aye.”
“How did the rogues manage to get all of this from Grosvenor Square to here?” wondered the Duke, clearly as astonished by the massive haul as she was.
“There’s a lot of incentive here, sir,” remarked the Bow Street Runner. “We got the lad outside, but he’ll lead us ter his gang, I suspect.”
The “lad” was probably a few years younger than Sam, Kelly thought with a flash of amusement. And she wasn’t entirely sure he’d give up his fellow thieves.
As her gaze swept the table, she caught the glimmer of jewels and perked up. She hurried to that side of the table, her hand delving into the tangle, sorting through it.
“Lady Dover had been wearing that hair frippery,” Sam said, coming up next to her and pointing at the Spanish comb that winked with rubies and moonstones. He reached past to pick up another item. “And here’s her fan.”
The gold-and pale-blue-painted fan flopped limply in his hand, its delicate spokes broken. Why would the thieves take a broken fan? It was made of ivory, so maybe it could be fixed, or reassembled into something new?
She didn’t have time to ponder the thieves’ motives further, as the door to the cottage was yanked open to reveal a man almost vibrating with rage. She would have recognized his black top hat and lion-headed walking stick anywhere.
“Put that down, sir!” Lord Dover ordered as he came into the room. “That is mine! Everything in this room is mine!”
“It’s evidence in a criminal investigation,” snapped Kendra.
“Who told you about this, sir?” asked Sam, but he set down the broken fan, as ordered.
The arctic blue eyes narrowed in the lean greyhound face. “I am not without resources. I hired several Runners to investigate, with the hope of retrieving the stolen goods. I was contacted an hour ago and hired a carriage to bring me here.”
Sam looked like he wanted to let loose a few choice words. His face turned red. “We are investigating Lady Dover’s murder,” he finally said. “We need ter go through everything here.”
“I told you before, whatever Lady Dover owned is now my possession.” He looked down his nose at Sam. “My servants ought to be arriving shortly to pack everything up and return it to my townhouse at Grosvenor Square.”
Kendra raised her eyebrows. “Your townhouse?”
He shifted his cold eyes to her. “We have already discussed this, Miss Donovan. I am the rightful heir to that house.”
Kendra had crossed his name of the list herself. Still, she asked, “Why didn’t you tell us that you argued with your stepmother after she wore the Weston necklace to the theater?”
He stiffened. “I can scarcely recall the event. My stepmother and I had many disagreements.”
“This disagreement was loud enough to be heard all the way down to the kitchens.”
“I was appalled by Cordelia’s conduct, and thought a reprimand was in order.”
That annoyed Kendra. She might not have liked Lady Dover, but who the hell was Lord Dover to scold her like she was a two-year-old? “I’m sure that went over well,” she commented drily.
“She’d embarrassed the Dover name. Her behavior at the theater was utterly without decorum. When I spoke with her about the incident, I was overcome with emotion. Cordelia tended to shout like a fishwife. No doubt the staff heard her.”
“I think they heard both of you.”
He drew himself up. “I do not need to explain myself to you. And as I’ve said, I did not kill Cordelia. I was at my club.”
“Have you ever used a stiletto?”
Lord Dover’s mouth dropped open. But he snapped it shut and replied, “Of course not.” He paused. “Is that how Cordelia was murdered?”
“You don’t seem too upset by the thought,” Kendra observed with narrowed eyes.
“I . . . I have made no secret over my feelings for the woman who married my father,” he said finally. “She was an ill-mannered baggage from questionable origins. Now, I ask you to leave. The servants will be here shortly to pack up my items.”
“You can’t take anything—it’s evidence,” Kendra repeated, irritated. She glanced at Sam, who frowned. Oh, shit. “He can’t just take it . . . can he?”
“Well, Miss . . . ah, you see . . .”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Your Grace?” She whipped around, taking her appeal to Aldridge. “We need to make absolutely certain that the necklace isn’t here. It’s important.”
“The necklace? What necklace?” Lord Dover asked sharply.
“The Weston necklace,” she shot back. “Or are you going to try to claim that, as well?”
He went quiet, but the expression that came into his eyes made Kendra think he was contemplating it. Greedy bastard.
Aldridge spoke up at last. “Your Lordship, surely you are concerned about justice? It is in our best interests to keep society—polite society—safe from the fiends who walk our streets. You must allow us to search through the stolen items before you take them.”