The reporter sighed. “To think I could’ve been living grand like Mr. Dawes if me mother had met Mr. Stevens before the Widow Dawes. Only one thing that prevented that from happening.”
“And what was that, Mr. Muldoon?” Rebecca inquired.
“Me father would have objected.”
Rebecca laughed.
Sam snorted. “Like Sir Preston, privacy would be a problem. He’d hardly be able to conduct experiments under his mother and stepfather’s noses.”
Kendra surveyed the names of the slate board. “What about Burnell and Dandridge?”
“Mr. Dandridge is one of the men who rents rooms. However, Mr. Burnell owns a small cottage in Highgate. He doesn’t have a basement or ice house on the property, but he does have privacy. His neighbors said that he doesn’t have any servants and he keeps to himself. They don’t like him.”
“You spoke to the neighbors?”
Muldoon lifted his chin a notch as he met Kendra’s gaze. “I spoke toallthe neighbors of the names on your list, my lady. It’s what I do.”
“I’m aware. It’s why I wanted you on my team.” And that was the only compliment she was going to give the man. “Go on.”
His mouth twitched as if he were suppressing a smile. “I chatted with the Widow Shaw, who was tending to her garden next to Mr. Burnell’s cottage. She told me that he moved in two years ago. When she heard he was a widower, she thought that gave them something in common.” Now the twitch became a grin. “Personally, I think she had high hopes of springing the parson’s mousetrap on him—”
“We don’t need to know about Mrs. Shaw’s marital ambitions,” Kendra cut in dryly.
The reporter laughed. “Yes, well, she doesn’t have any marital ambitions anymore, leastwise with Mr. Burnell. She described him as a cold fish. Stiff-rumped. Mean-spirited—”
“We get the picture.”
“Widow Shaw said that the neighborhood was friendly, but Mr. Burnell was disliked by all, and they were grateful that he was never at home.”
Now that was new information. “Never?”
Muldoon shrugged. “She could’ve been exaggerating a bit.”
Kendra glanced at Sam. “Burnell said he was home alone during both murders.”
“I reckon we need ter quiz him about that.”
“Yes, we should.” She smiled briefly, then shifted her attention back to the slate board. “They’re not conducting their experiments out of their homes, so they must have another place. Same criteria—private, with some kind of subterranean chamber, north of the Thames . . .”
She took a breath when it came to her. “Blackfriars.”
Muldoon eyed her. “As much as it would help me to narrow down my research, I have to ask, why there, specifically?”
“Because that’s where Lady Westford first saw Clarice with Goldsten.” God, it was so obvious, she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before. “She jumped to the conclusion that they had a personal relationship, but what if Clarice was getting treatment nearby?”
“A chance encounter was what started this entire thing?” Rebecca shook her head in amazement.
“This thing—the experiments—was going on before,” Kendra said. “But, yes, it was the start of Lady Westford’s involvement.Wrong place, wrong time.”
Rebecca let out a sigh, then pushed herself to her feet. “I must go. It’s one thing to be fashionably late for Lady Chevallier’s performance, but to miss most of it would be unforgivably rude.”
Muldoon stood as well. “I shall walk you to your carriage, my lady.”
The color rose in Rebecca’s cheeks. “Thank you, sir,” she murmured.
Kendra watched them leave. Apparently, whatever issues there had been between them had been resolved. Or maybe dealing with death made one realize how short life can be.
“I’d best go, as well.” Sam drained his whisky, looked regretfully at the empty glass, then put it on the table. “Low tide’ll be around four in the morning. I’m gonna get a few winks in before roundin’ up the lads. I’ll have them positioned around the aqueduct. We can nab the little scamps when they come out of their hole.”
