“I’m not overwrought.” She gritted her teeth.Next, he’ll be bringing out the smelling salts.“I have a few follow up questions for him.”
“I see.”
He drew out the words in such a way to imply the opposite. He didn’t see, and she could hardly enlighten him that a young girl’s life was on the line.
Sir Preston opened the door to the lounge. Dr. Carter was the sole occupant, sitting at the same table as during Kendra’s first visit. A cup of tea was cooling next to his elbow as he read a newspaper. At their entrance, he lowered the paper and made a grunting sound that Kendra assumed was a greeting.
“Dr. Carter, do you remember Lady Sutcliffe?” Sir Preston tapped his cane over to the table.
The old man scowled. “I haven’t lost my memory. Lady Sutcliffe,” he acknowledged with the briefest of nods.
Kendra couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the clock on the sideboard. How long did it take to do an amputation? Edwina had been kidnapped, and Burnell was the key to finding her.
She forced herself to look at the cantankerous old man. “Dr. Carter.”
“Would you like a cup of tea, my lady?” Sir Preston asked, moving to the sideboard.
“No, thank you.”
Sir Preston smiled. “Something stronger? To soothe one’s nerves?”
“My nerves are fine, thanks.” Still, she took a breath and then let it out slowly. It helped clear her mind a little, and she remembered something. “Actually, I have a few questions for you and Dr. Carter.”
Kendra thought it was interesting that each man’s eyebrows went in opposite directions—Sir Preston’s up in surprise while Dr. Carter’s went down in a wary scowl.
“I was told that you both have treated many patients with syphilis,” she continued. “Have either of you ever had patients by the names of Isabella Russo or Clarice Chapman?”
“I can hardly be expected to remember every prostitute with the pox,” Dr. Carter groused.
Sir Preston shook his head. “I don’t recall them either.”
“Clarice was an actress at the Bowden Theater. Isabella Russo worked there, as well, but she dreamed of being a singer. She had a fondness for Vivaldi and had the voice of an angel.”
Kendra hoped repeating Mrs. Chirone’s words about her sister would help humanize Isabella, get more information about her from the old men.
Dr. Carter’s eyes lit up. “Vivaldi!”
“You remember her? Isabella?” Kendra asked.
“Good God, no.” His lip curled as he dismissed Isabella with a flick of his wrist. “I remember Vivaldi. I was blessed to attend one of his final performances in Vienna. The man was a genius.”
Kendra stared at him and had to wonder exactly how old he was.
He must have read her thoughts, because he glared at her. “I was a child of ten, but I never forgot the magic ofIl Prete Rosso.”
For a moment Kendra’s vision wavered, then snapped back into sharp focus.Oh, my God. . .
“What did you say?” she managed through numb lips.
“I said that I was blessed to attend one of Vivaldi’s final concertos.”
Sir Preston eyed her with concern. “Do you feel faint, my lady?”
She barely heard him, keeping her gaze on Dr. Carter. “But what did you call him?”
The old man frowned, clearly bewildered. “Il Prete Rosso. It’s the nickname given to him after he was ordained as a priest. It means—”
“The Red Priest,” Kendra translated. Her pulsed jumped with the surge of adrenalin.Stupid, she thought.I’ve been so stupid.“Vivaldi had red hair.”
