The Duke lifted his eyebrows. “How can you be certain of that?”
“Lady Westford had no damage to her person, except for the injuries I just mentioned. No torn fingernails to indicate that she tried to claw her attacker, or self-defense wounds on her hands. I had her abigail bring me the clothes that she’d been wearing when she died, as well as everything that was found on her person. There was very little ruin, except for a tearing along the ruffle at the hem of her skirt. The cloak she’d been wearing was velvet, so made of sturdier material, and not as easily damaged, but it was scuffed along the hem as well. Hardly surprising for an outdoor garment, I suppose. The gown was made of a lighter muslin. If there’d been a prolonged struggle, the seams would have split open. Her shoes, stockings, and reticule had no dirt, smudges, or tears.”
Again, Kendra was impressed with Dr. Munroe’s thoroughness. It was why she wanted him on her team.
“The hem of her skirt could have been torn if she ran up the stairs to the balcony,” she said. Regency gowns were not meant to be worn in marathons. She’d ruined a few dresses by doing just that—either trying to escape a killer or catch a killer.
“Or it was torn before she arrived at the theater,” Alec countered.
“Not if she came directly from her home. Her maid would have noticed and wouldn’t have let her leave the house with a torn skirt.” Kendra could say that with considerable confidence, given that her own maid, Molly, was a stickler about such things.
Sam scratched the side of his nose as he regarded her. “Don’t make much sense why she’d run up the stairs, lass. If a monster was after her, she’d do better ter flee outside the theater where she could get help.”
“Unless she had no choice but to go up the stairs.” Kendra took a long sip of her sherry as she imagined the scenario. “Her killer could have threatened her with a knife or gun to get her to go up to the balcony. Or he simply intimidated her with his size. Lady Westford was very petite. I don’t think it would have taken much for her to feel threatened.”
The Duke pressed his lips together. “What you’re saying is the fiend deliberately stalked her like he would an animal, chasing her to the balcony because he intended to throw her to her death.”
“And she reacted like an animal would, her only thought to get away from the danger,” Kendra said quietly. “Fear has a way of making a person irrational. Once he got her to the stairs, she had no choice but to go up.”
Alec frowned. “Yes, but she would have fought—like any trapped animal. There would’ve been defensive wounds.”
Kendra shook her head. “Not necessarily. Some animals—and people—freeze in fear. Her assailant could have rushed her, grabbed her, and tossed her over the balcony before she had time to react. Lady Westford had to have been facing her killer. He saw her face—her terror—when he picked her up, when he threw her over . . . when she plunged to her death.”
“God’s teeth,” Sam breathed. “The man is a monster.”
Kendra could tell by the otherwise stunned silence that her words had painted the horror of Lady Westford’s final moments. It took a moment, then Sam cleared his throat, the sound piercing the tension that wound around them.
“Why?” he asked. “If he was planning ter stop her claret, why chase her up the stairs? Seems like a lot of bother ter kill someone.”
“I don’t know,” Kendra admitted.
The Bow Street Runner continued, “And why was she even at the theater? It was closed on Sunday.”
“That I can tell you. We found out that Lady Westford was at the theater on Saturday, asking about one of their actresses, Clarice. Apparently, she’s disappeared. I think Lady Westford arranged to meet with a girl named Edwina who works and lives at the theater. Unfortunately, Edwina is now missing.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “You think she witnessed the murder and the fiend killed her too?”
“It’s possible. Though I’m hoping she got away, since the only body we’ve seen so far is Lady Westford’s.”
“He could have caught her outside the theater,” Alec pointed out.
Kendra glanced at her husband. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“I’ll make inquiries,” Sam said. He tapped his finger against his whisky glass, his expression thoughtful. “How did the villain know that Lady Westford was meeting this lass, Edwina, on Sunday mornin’?”
“It wouldn’t be that difficult,” Kendra replied. “Her husband would know her schedule. Even if she didn’t tell him directly, he only had to ask the servants. I doubt they’d keep it a secret.”
“You’re thinking his lordship killed her?” Sam’s voice was flat. There was no surprise in his gold eyes—they were all cop. Wary. Cynical. Seen-it-all.
“He has to be considered.” As far as Kendra was concerned, the husbandalwayshad to be considered when a wife was murdered. “But the staff could have shared the information with a third party. Or been bribed to share it. Or the killer was watching her—or had someone watching her.” She finished her sherry and set the glass down. “There are several scenarios.”
No one said anything as they considered.
This time, Munroe broke the silence. “There’s something I must tell you, my lady.”
Kendra looked at him and the back of her neck prickled at the expression on his face. She couldn’t quite decipher it. Caution? Fear?
He didn’t go on right away. Kendra waited.
