Alec was waiting for her by the door. Like her, he’d dressed for the cold. She was sure he also had a gun on him, but he had plenty of pockets to keep it in. While Kendra didn’t anticipate any problems with the mudlarks, the docks were a high-crime area. One of the reasons, she remembered, why Goldsten had set up his practice nearby.
Briefly, she wondered what would happen to the clinic now.
When they climbed down from their carriage, Sam was waiting for them on the embankment with six other Bow Street Runners. Kendra recognized a tall, lanky figure staring out the receding waters of the Thames as Muldoon.
“I spoke ter Mr. Goldsten’s ma and sister an hour ago,” Sam told Kendra. His golden eyes were shadowed and a muscle twitched in his stubbled jaw.
“I’m sorry.” She understood what it meant to be the messenger that brought grief to a family.
The Bow Street Runner moved his shoulders as if he was trying to dislodge a weight. “Aye, well. They were shocked. Refused ter believe he killed himself. I reckon that’s natural. No one wants ter believe something like that.”
Kendra acknowledged that with a nod. “When was the last time they saw him?”
“A week ago. Last Friday, for something called Shabbat.”
Kendra hunched her shoulders against a gust of wind and rain. “They didn’t think it was strange that they hadn’t seen him for over a week?”
“Wasn’t peculiar for him. Mrs. Goldsten said he spent most of his time at his clinic and St. George’s.”
“Did he seem troubled or worried about anything the last time they saw him?”
“According ter Miss Goldsten, her brother was always serious-minded. Fretting that he’d lose status or have his clinic shutdown if he stepped out of line.”
Muldoon joined them. “I quizzed the sisters at St. George’s and learned that Sir Preston and Dr. Carter have treated the most syphilis patients over the years, but that could be because they’re the oldest physicians in residence. Everyone has treated the pox at one time or another.”
“Anyone with a personal connection to the disease?” Kendra asked.
“There are some whispers that Mr. Beane’s brother died of the disease, but I haven’t been able to confirm that. I thought that if I don’t drown tonight, I’ll ask him directly tomorrow morning.” Muldoon grinned at her.
“They’re coming now,” Alec said.
Kendra’s gaze traveled to the shoreline below. Black patches of mud, rocks, and rubble were slowly exposed as the tide receded, and dozens of shadowy figures crept out onto the sludge. The old and disabled used long sticks to poke through the mud and navigate the shifting sands. The children used their hands to dig through the debris. They all wore long coats, bulky, with multiple pockets that they stuffed with the objects they found. A few carried burlap sacks as well.
Kendra turned her attention back to Sam, Muldoon, and the other Runners. “We want Edwina, but if she’s not down there, maybe someone knows where she is. If you don’t see her, interview as many mudlarks as possible.”
She saw Muldoon’s quick grin, and half-expected him to give her his mocking salute like he had before.
“Do I sound imperious?” she asked Alec as they made their way down the embankment.
“Darling, you sound like a leader. Mind your step.”
Her boots skidded across the slick, seaweed-covered rocks, and Alec’s hand shot out to steady her. She gave a relieved sigh when she finally landed on the shore, even if her half-boots sank into the mud.
Kendra surveyed the newly exposed beach, with its long patches of mud, clumps of seaweed, rocks, and swirling tidepools. The world was different down here, almost apocalyptic. A one-armed man struggled to yank a tin box out of a tangled pile of kelp and muck. Nearby, an old woman, spine curved into a large dowager’s hump, combed the sand with her fingers. Children as young as four were rooting around for any meager scraps.Society’s abandoned, she reflected sadly.
“We’re being watched,” Alec murmured beside her.
“I know.” Kendra nodded, her gaze drifting over several young mudlarks.
“Not by them. Him.” Alec inclined his head in the direction of the embankment.
Kendra turned slowly, careful not to draw attention, and glanced up the rocky incline. The man had chosen his position well, standing between two warehouses, leaving him in shadow. That, along with the gray drizzle, made it impossible to discern anything about him, except that he was wearing tricorn hat and a caped greatcoat.
“He could be a dockworker—”
“They don’t wear greatcoats. I noticed him when we were on the embankment. He pretended that he was part of the group of men working near one of the warehouses, but he was watching us. He wasn’t subtle, but I put it down to curiosity.”
Kendra studied Alec. He’d been a spy on the continent during the Napoleonic Wars. If anyone would recognize surveillance, he would.
