Kendra forced herself not to hurry as she moved past the kitchen doorway. She kept her head angled away, though, just in case Mrs. Danbury happened to glance her way.
Once she cleared the door, she released her breath, and hurried quickly toward the servants’ stairs. Along the way, she passed two maids who were sweeping and dusting in the hall. They recognized her, but didn’t say anything or stop in their duties. The staff had become inured to what they viewed as her peculiarities.
Instead of returning to Molly and Abigail’s room, Kendra let herself into her own bedchamber. Inside, Molly was unpacking an enormous trunk.
“Oh, thank ’eavens, miss!” the maid declared, dropping the silvery beaded evening gown she’d been holding, and coming forward to take the wool cloak from Kendra. “Oi was ever so worried about ye!”
“There was nothing to worry about.” Kendra dragged the mop cap from her head, tossing it on the bed alongside the reticule. “Did anyone realize I was gone?”
“Nay.” Molly bit her lip. “At least, Oi don’t think so. No one inquired about ye. ’Is Grace is ’aving breakfast in the mornin’ room. ’Er ladyship is still abed.”
Kendra turned so Molly could undo the buttons of the dress. She glanced at the dainty porcelain clock on the fireplace mantel. It was ticking toward 9:30.
“But ’Is Grace will probably find out,” Molly warned. “’E always does.”
“I’m not planning on hiding it from him.” She dropped the gown, letting it pool around her ankles. She stepped out of the homespun uniform. “In fact, I’ll be telling him about it.”
Molly looked suspicious. “Then why didn’t ye tell ’im about it afore ye went out?”
The maid had her there. “‘It’s better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission,’” she quoted with a smile.
“W’ot?”
Kendra sighed. “There are times when His Grace is more protective over me than he needs to be. You don’t realize how lucky you are, Molly, to be able to come and go as you please.”
Molly frowned as she picked up the garment off the floor and draped it across a chair. “Oi can’t go about without the say so from Mrs. Danbury, miss.”
“Still, once you’re outside, nobody notices you.”
The maid gave her a strange look. “Ye don’t want anybody ter notice ye?”
“There are times when I don’t want to call attention to myself . . .” Her gaze fell on the maid’s uniform, and a possibility began to take shape in her mind. “Is there a place where I could buy a maid’s uniform?” she asked. This was not a world of ready-made clothes. At Aldridge Castle, the head laundress/seamstress, Mrs. Beaton, was responsible for sewing the maids’ dresses and aprons. Still, there were secondhand shops around that sold used clothing, much like in the 21st century.
Molly asked, “Why would ye wanna buy such a thing?”
“It might come in handy.”
“So ye can run about with no one noticing ye,” the maid surmised with a disapproving look. “Maybe ye should buy a bonnet with a veil ter conceal yerself. Ye’d still be a lady then.”
Kendra decided not to point out that being a lady was the least of her concerns. And a bonnet with a veil wasn’t a bad idea either. “You might be right,” was all she said.
Molly shook her head, a resigned look on her face as she went to open the wardrobe. “Will ye be staying in the rest of the mornin’, miss?”
“No. I plan to visit Lady Holbrooke.”
That, of course, meant Molly would choose a different kind of dress—more fitted than the comfortable morning gowns. Kendra went into the dressing room to wash her face and brush her teeth while Molly shuffled through the wardrobe. By the time she came out, the maid had selected a pretty moss-green cambric gown with a triangle pattern embossed across the material. Ivory lace trimmed the long sleeves and ran along the modest neckline. A ruffle of the same fabric was sewn along the hemline.
“Will this do?” Molly asked.
The question was a mere formality, as Molly had learned a while ago that Kendra had little regard for fashion. Kendra tugged it on, waited for Molly to button her up. Once finished, Kendra sank down to the seat before the mirrored vanity and Molly styled her hair into a simple chignon. After trading her half-boots for a pair of wedge-heeled green silk shoes, Kendra made her way down to the morning room.
The Duke was sitting at the table, remnants of breakfast on his plate, sipping tea and reading a newspaper—the Morning Chronicle, she noticed, as she stepped into the room.
He glanced up. “Good morning, my dear.”
“Good morning.” She crossed to the sideboard, which had a breakfast buffet laid out in silver warming trays. She loaded her plate up with the full English breakfast: eggs, bacon and sausage, mushrooms and grilled tomatoes. She was starving, she realized. “Did Muldoon write about Sir Giles’s murder?”
“Yes. He didn’t mention about the invisible ink, so we can assume he hasn’t yet been able to ferret out that piece of information. And he only mentioned our involvement in the vaguest of terms.”
“What?” Kendra whirled around so quickly that only her quick reflexes saved a plump sausage from rolling off her plate. She set the plate on the table and wiped her fingers with a linen napkin, eyes on the Duke. “He actually wrote about us?”
“Not specifically.” Aldridge raised his teacup. His blue eyes twinkled as he took in her aghast expression. “But I do believe I am the high-ranking nobleman that he references, and you are the young lady who has taken a unique interest in uncovering the truth.”
Kendra scowled. She circled back to the sideboard to pour herself a cup of coffee from the tall silver pot. “You don’t sound angry,” she finally said as she brought her cup back to the table and sat down opposite the Duke.
He sipped his tea slowly before putting down the delicate china cup. “It’s pointless to be angry, my dear. Mr. Muldoon is not revealing anything that is not already known or whispered about among the Ton. Our involvement in Lady Dover’s murder was certainly remarked upon.” He smiled at her. “I do not fear that invitations will suddenly become scarce. It’s not as though we were in trade.”
“God forbid,” she said dryly. She added lumps of sugar from the small Wedgewood bowl, and stirred her coffee with the minuscule silver spoon.
“Caro may view this article in a different light, of course.” He paused to take another swallow of tea. “But I believe we can trust Mr. Muldoon to continue to be discreet about our involvement in the investigation.”
Kendra was reserving judgment on Muldoon’s trustworthiness. In her own dealings with the Fourth Estate, journalists usually fell into two categories: the ones you could trust, and the ones who would stab you in the back and climb on top of your corpse to be closer to the spotlight. There was rarely a middle ground.
“I think he might be useful,” she allowed.
“Still, we do need to be careful,” the Duke said. “It wouldn’t do to tell Mr. Muldoon about your predilection for wearing servant’s attire, and racing about London alone.”
His tone was so mild that it took Kendra a moment to realize what he’d said. Slowly, she set down her coffee cup. “You know.”
He regarded her steadily. “Did you think I would not find out what is happening in my own household?”
Twenty-six years old, and I’m feeling as guilty as a child caught playing hooky. “I was going to tell you.”
He lifted his eyebrows to telegraph his doubt.
She picked up her coffee again and studied it for a long moment before she finally let out a frustrated sigh. “You know, where I come from, women don’t have to ask for permission to step outside. And they don’t require chaperones to follow them around. I miss my freedom.”
“I am aware we come from different worlds, my dear. But these rules are in place to protect ladies from harm.”
They were at an impasse. The Duke belonged in a different era. This era. She was the one who didn’t really be
long.
“Who did you visit this morning?” he finally asked.
“Bear.”
“Bear!” The Duke set down his teacup with a rattle. “Good God. Are you speaking of the ruffian who had you and Alec kidnapped last year? Who beat Alec? Who threatened to molest you?”
Kendra smiled weakly. “Now you know why I didn’t tell you.”
“This is not amusing, Kendra.” A steely note sharpened the aristocrat’s voice. “The man could have killed you this morning.”
“I had my gun.”
Aldridge pressed his fingers to his eyes and shook his head. “Dear God in heaven.”
She forked up egg and tomato. “You know that I know how to use it.”
“I am aware.” He dropped his hand and looked at her. “Do you realize that if he had murdered you and dumped your body in the Thames, Alec and I would have been none the wiser? We may have concluded that you had disappeared through another wormhole or vortex, or whatever phenomenon had brought you to us in the first place.”
She hadn’t thought of that.
The Duke said softly, “It would have broken our hearts. And, I think, Alec would have been driven mad not knowing what had become of you.”
Kendra had never had anyone truly worry about her before. Her parents had been concerned about how she’d performed academically, and of course her superiors at the FBI had been concerned for her welfare, just as they were for the welfare of every agent in the field. But worry that came from a place of love and caring was something else entirely.
She must have looked disturbed, because the Duke reached over to squeeze her hand. “I am aware that you often feel chafed by the restrictions in this world, my dear.” He hesitated. “And I must admit that there are certain aspects to your world that I have difficulty with as well.”
Kendra had a feeling he was talking about her relationship with Alec. In the Duke’s eyes, she’d been compromised and, if this were the normal course of events, he’d demand Alec marry her. Instead, he looked the other way. She’d never realized that he might be bothered about their relationship, though.
“Do not fret, my dear.”
She looked up at him to find the twinkle had returned to his eyes, and that there was a small smile on his face. That was one of the things she liked about him; he wasn’t the kind of guy to stay irritated for very long.
He patted her hand. “We shall figure out a way to rub along with both our sensibilities intact.”
Kendra didn’t know how that was possible, but she nodded.
He withdrew his hand and lifted his teacup again, a wry glint in his eyes. “And for both of our sakes, let us pray that my sister never finds out about your early morning adventure or we shall never hear the end of it.”
16
Kendra and the Duke had moved to the study by the time Alec and Sam arrived within minutes of each other. The Duke ordered breakfast trays sent up for the men, with new pots of coffee and tea. After replenishing her cup, Kendra took up a position before the slate board, while the Duke settled behind his desk, picking up his pipe. He went through the ritual of packing the bowl with fresh tobacco, but Kendra had noticed that he rarely smoked it anymore in her presence. Alec and Sam sat down at the table, tackling their hearty breakfast.
Kendra looked at the Bow Street Runner. “Did you manage to get a hold of the night porter, Mr. Kelly?”
“Aye,” he confirmed, spreading marmalade on a buttered bun. “Mr. Durst said that Sir Giles arrived at White’s at half past six on Wednesday evening. It was his custom to dine at the club on Tuesday and Wednesday evening.”
“It was a routine then,” Kendra said thoughtfully, sipping her coffee. Not hard for the killer to find his victim.
“It would appear so.” He bit into the bun, chewed, and swallowed. “Mr. Durst said that Sir Giles appeared solemn, but that wasn’t unusual for a man like him. He was joined by a gentleman. A viscount by the name of Lord Cross. Accor—”
“Lord Cross?” Alec interrupted sharply.
“Aye.” Sam peered across the table at Alec. “Do you know him, milord?”
“Not personally, no. But I heard the name mentioned just this morning. Forgive me, Mr. Kelly. Please continue.” Alec stood and walked over to the sideboard to refill his coffee cup.
Sam eyed the marquis closely, but continued, “According ter Mr. Durst, Lord Cross appeared agitated and sought Sir Giles out. The porter said they had an intense conversation, and then Lord Cross left.”
Kendra raised her eyebrows. “They argued?”
“Nay. At least, Mr. Durst wouldn’t say that it was an argument—and I pressed him on the matter. Unfortunately, he didn’t overhear what was being said.”
Kendra set down her coffee and picked up a piece of slate. “What time did Lord Cross leave?”
“Eight o’clock. After he left, Mr. Durst said that Sir Giles finished his meal. Then he received a note, and left.”
Kendra gave Sam a sharp look. “A note? From who?”
“Mr. Durst didn’t know who it was from, only that a street urchin delivered it and said it was to be delivered ter Sir Giles. Mr. Durst said that Sir Giles appeared disturbed after he read the note and left the club immediately.”
“What time?” she asked as she added Lord Cross’s name to the board.
“Nine, or close ter nine. Mr. Durst offered ter hail a hackney, but luckily one had already arrived. That was the last time Sir Giles was seen. Alive, that is.”
The Duke frowned. “You suspect the hackney driver of being the killer, Mr. Kelly?”
“More like the killer being the hackney driver,” Kendra commented. And hackney drivers, like maids, often became invisible.
Sam grinned at her. “Aye, lass. That’s my way of thinkin’.”
“Hackneys are common near clubs such as White’s,” Alec pointed out. “Having one pull up in such a timely matter is not all that odd.”
The Bow Street Runner shrugged. “I’ve got me men askin’ around, just ter see if any hackney drivers can recall pickin’ up Sir Giles. And if someone did, where he might’ve let him off.”
“I cannot imagine Sir Giles voluntarily stepping off at Trevelyan Square at such an hour,” the Duke murmured. “From what you’ve said, Mr. Kelly, it is in an unsavory section in London.”
“It is, that.”
“I’d say it depends on what was in the note,” Kendra said.
“Sir Giles wasn’t a feeble old man,” added Alec. “If someone asked him for a meeting in an unsavory area, he would have thought he could handle himself.”
For a moment, they fell silent, no one wanting to voice the obvious: if Sir Giles thought he could protect himself, he’d been wrong.
Kendra broke the silence. “He was found naked, so we don’t know if he carried a weapon of any kind on him. If he did, it would add weight to the hackney driver being our killer.”
Sam frowned. “How so, miss?”
“I’m speculating here, but think about it. Sir Giles gets into a hackney for an unknown destination because of a note he received—a note that disturbed him enough to lure him out immediately. I’d think that when he arrived at the destination, he’d be prepared, his hand on his weapon . . .” She thought of how she’d approached Bear that morning. Her finger had been on the trigger of the muff pistol the moment she’d entered the taproom. “He paid off the hackney driver, dismissed him. He would be looking ahead of him, thinking of who he was supposed to meet. The evidence shows that he wasn’t facing his killer. He was attacked from behind.”
The Duke said, “And the hackney driver would have been behind him.”
“Assuming the hackney driver didn’t leave,” Alec argued. “If he did, someone else could have easily snuck out of the shadows and attacked him.”
“I don’t think so,” Kendra said slowly, shaking her head. “A trained military man? A spymaster? Sir Giles would have been attuned to his surroundings. He would have turned if he heard approaching footsteps. Of cour
se, the attacker could have snuck out of the shadows, if he was also trained in the art of subterfuge. But Sir Giles was caught by surprise.”
“Hmm.” Sam scratched his nose as he considered. “In this cold weather, they’re all bundled up somethin’ fierce, with scarves, hats, gloves, and greatcoats. Makes a clever disguise. Sir Giles would never have recognized him . . . even if it was his own son.”
The Duke drew in a breath. “Terrible to think of a son doing something so sinister, but you make an excellent point, Mr. Kelly.”
Kendra thought of what she’d learned from Bear about Gerard Holbrooke, but decided to wait before imparting that information. I’m procrastinating. Because she knew Alec wouldn’t be happy about her visit with Bear any more than the Duke.
She looked at the marquis as he polished off the rest of his breakfast, and asked instead, “Did you manage to get a hold of your contact in government?”
“This morning.” He set his fork and knife on his plate and pushed it away. “Lieutenant-Colonel d’Ambray mentioned Lord Cross’s name.”
“He thinks Lord Cross might be the killer?”
“He actually had another suspect in mind. An Irishman by the name of Silas Fitzpatrick. He owns a coffeehouse called the Liber in Mayfair. Sir Giles believed he was using his establishment as a meeting place for likeminded individuals to sow radical thoughts on Irish emancipation and covertly pass information on.”
“The free one,” Kendra translated. “Mr. Fitzpatrick isn’t exactly subtle for a spy, is he?”
Alec shrugged. “I got the impression that he’s not trying to hide his position on Ireland. I thought to introduce myself to Mr. Fitzpatrick today.” He looked at Sam. “Do you fancy a cup of coffee, Mr. Kelly?”
The Bow Street Runner grinned. “As a matter of fact.”
“Why does your contact think Mr. Fitzpatrick could have murdered Sir Giles? Aside from the possibility that he’s a spy. I’m not familiar with the political climate here”—in this era, she added silently—“but I think there’re probably more spies in London besides Fitzpatrick.”
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