“I do.” She began to unbutton the jet-black fasteners, peeling open the gown.
“God’s teeth,” Sam breathed as they crowded around the coffin.
“What . . .what is this?” Parker spluttered.
“Mostly livor mortis.” Kendra let her gaze travel over the black-and-blue bruising that covered the dead woman’s shoulders, spine, and buttocks. The other injuries, however, were not. Using her fingertips, she explored the nape of Lady Westford’s neck, traveling down her spine and ribcage. The woman’s bones were broken and shattered. She brought her fingers back to probe her skull. The trauma was concealed mostly by Lady Westford’s hair, but it was impossible to ignore the misshapen shape of the occipital bone.
“What does that mean?” demanded Parker.
Kendra looked up at the Bow Street Runner. “It means, Mr. Parker, that Lady Westford didn’t kill herself. She was murdered.”
Chapter 7
Mr. Parker stared at her in speechless consternation. He began to shake his head, but before he could refute her proclamation, an angry shout drew everyone’s attention to the door, where a man stormed into the drawing room.
“What in God’s name are you doing to my wife?!”
Lord Westford was a large man, both in height and in width, with a sizeable paunch that strained the gold buttons of his green-and-brown-striped waistcoat. His fleshy features, framed by a lion’s mane of white hair, were ruddy and quivering with his outrage.
Alec stepped in the path of the irate nobleman, forcing him to stop. “I’d advise you to calm down, my lord.”
“Calm down?Calm down?” The earl pointed a thick finger at Kendra. “This female is mauling my wife!” He glanced into the coffin, and his eyes bulged. “My God,” he sputtered. “You’veundressedher? Howdareyou!”
Kendra met the man’s incensed gaze. In truth, she couldn’t blame him. If opening the drapes was considered disrespectful in this timeline, she only could imagine what it must look like for her to poke and prod at his deceased wife.
“I apologize, my lord,” she said, taking her hands off the victim. “But this was necessary—”
“You are an abomination to your sex, madam!”
“Careful,” Alec warned, his accent cold and clipped.
Lord Westford turned his blistering gaze on Alec. “I am aware that you married this . . . this American upstart.” His lip curled. “Your wits must have fled. She is—”
“My ward,” the Duke interjected. “And she is now my niece. You are understandably distressed, Westford.” He softened his voice. “However, I must advise you not to say anything you may regret.”
Lord Westford’s chest swelled and his face turned an alarming puce. Most people were intimidated by the Duke of Aldridge, whose lineage could be traced back to William the Conqueror. Add to that, the Duke’s incredible wealth. Those two factors normally earned deference. Kendra deduced that Lord Westford had an equally powerful pedigree and fortune—despite an earl being ranked below a duke—or he was simply too enraged to hold his tongue.
“I demand that you leave! I did not invite you here, Your Grace—”
“No, Her Majesty did,” the Duke returned, never taking his eyes off Westford.
“W-what?” His jaw sagged.
“Queen Charlotte feared that the investigation into your wife’s death was too hasty, and asked Lady Sutcliffe to review the matter.”
Kendra had never seen a man’s face change color so fast, going from deep crimson to ash gray.The power of royalty.
Westford shook his head. “My wife fell—”
“Your wife didn’t kill herself,” Kendra cut in, hoping that would alleviate Lord Westford’s greatest fear, and he wouldn’t cause difficulties in the investigation.Unless he was the one who caused his wife to fall.
“Lady Westford’s neck is broken, the back of her skull crushed.” She paused, searching his face to see if he understood the implication—or showed a flicker of guilt. But Westford’s face remained carefully guarded, no longer even revealing his earlier anger. “Most of the discoloration that you see was caused by lividity—livor mortis. That means when the heart stops pumping, blood pools at the lowest points of the body.”
He scowled. “I don’t know what that has to do with my wife’s mental state.”
Kendra eyed him curiously. “You bring up a good point, my lord. Whatwasher mental state? Was she depressed, or upset about anything in particular?”
“This line of inquiry is ridiculous!” In an instant, Westford reverted to his outrage. “Dr. Thornton declared Grace’s death an accident, and I see no reason to contradict him.”
