“I had a visitor on Friday morning,” he finally said. “I believe that visitor was Lady Westford.”
Whatever she’d imagined he’d say, this wasn’t it. “I’m not sure I understand. How can younotknow if your visitor was Lady Westford? Either she was or she wasn’t.”
“My visitor wore widow’s weeds and was heavily veiled. Of course, I recognized that she was a gentlewoman from her speech and manners, but I’ve never been introduced to Lady Westford. I am aware we have attended many of the same events, but I don’t know her voice. I certainly had no reason to suspect that she was my visitor.” His black brows furrowed. “The only thing that stood out about my visitor was that she was extremely petite. The instant I laid eyes on Lady Westford earlier, I thought of the veiled lady.”
Now Munroe’s strange expression as he’d surveyed Lady Westford’s body made sense. He hadn’t been disturbed that Dr. Thornton had rushed to declare her death an accident—or, rather, that wasn’t the only thing that had disturbed him. He’d recognized the victim.
Alec contemplated the anatomist. “Lady Westford isn’t the only diminutive lady in society.”
Munroe nodded. “Yes, I am aware of that, my lord, which is why I didn’t mention it earlier. However, when I requested her maid bring me everything Lady Westford had worn on the day of her death, I also asked the girl if her ladyship had recently dressed in mourning. Understandably, she was reluctant to gossip about her mistress. Mr. Kelly convinced her to tell the truth.” He glanced at the Bow Street Runner.
“She confessed that Lady Westford had dressed in a veil and widow’s weeds on Friday,” Sam told them. “She didn’t know why.”
The maid would never have asked, Kendra knew. No servant would question their betters.
“What did she want of you?” asked the Duke before he took a swallow of whisky.
“She wished to see a corpse that had been fished out of the Thames on Wednesday.”
The Duke choked. Lowering his glass, he gaped at the anatomist. “I beg your pardon. Why the devil would she want to see a dead body?”
Kendra knew. Or had an idea. She asked, “Was the dead body a woman?”
Munroe’s shadowed eyes met hers. “Yes.”
“You think that corpse and Clarice the missing actress are one and the same,” Alec guessed.
“It’s a remarkable coincidence—and I don’t like coincidences.”
They went quiet for a moment, then Alec shook his head. “The timing isn’t right. Lady Westford went to the theater to ask about Clariceaftershe viewed the body.”
Frowning, Kendra shifted her gaze back to Munroe. “Did you show her the body?”
“When she arrived, she told me that she had read about it in one of the scandal sheets. I am aware there is a fascination for the grotesque, and tried to protect her from her own curiosity.” His mouth curved in a faint smile. “Not everyone has your fortitude, my lady, when it comes to viewing the grislier aspects of our mortality.”
Alec said, “Apparently, that didn’t work.”
“No. She was quite adamant, and . . .” His smile widened. “Well, your wife has disabused me of the notion that females are frail creatures. Of course, I was careful when I lifted the sheet, so only the woman’s face was revealed.”
Kendra eyed him curiously. “How did she react?”
“Because of the veil, I couldn’t really see her face, but I thought she recoiled. In that moment, I feared that I’d made a grave error of judgement. But she rallied, and even stepped closer, leaning down to study the corpse. Naturally, I asked her if she knew the woman, hoping she’d be able to identify her. She said no. I then inquired whether she was looking for something in particular. She didn’t respond. At the time, I thought she was too shocked to speak. Now . . . now I don’t know what to think.”
“And she didn’t say anything else?” Kendra pressed.
Munroe shook his head. “She thanked me for my assistance and left. I escorted her to the front door and watched her get into a hired hackney. It was an odd encounter.”
“Is the woman from the Thames still in the morgue?” Kendra asked.
“Yes. Normally, I would have already conducted the postmortem—one does not want to let these things go on for too long—and released the body to the authorities. However, she came to me late Wednesday and I already had several other cadavers on my schedule. I also was planning to travel to Aldridge Village for your nuptials, my lady.” Munroe shot Kendra a fleeting smile, then set down his drink and stood. “I’d expected to see to her upon my return.”
He snatched up a candelabra from his desk and walked to the door, where he paused and waited for the group to join him. Together, they walked down the long hall to the other end of the building.
Kendra had been to Munroe’s morgue several times, but she still found it creepy when the anatomist opened the door and cold air wafted up from what seemed like a black abyss. The candle’s flames flickered in a mad dance as the party descended the stone steps.
It was smart to use the basement for a morgue, as the naturally lowered temperature kept the rancid odor of death in check and slowed the decaying process of the cadavers. However, there were no chemicals invented yet to eliminate the stench entirely or to sterilize the subterranean chambers. Death had become embedded in the stone walls and floor and Kendra doubted that this building would ever be free of the odor. Would its future occupants ever wonder about the strange smell emanating from the basement?
She pushed the fanciful thought away as they moved into one of the chambers. The light from Munroe’s candelabra illuminated shelves and counters that held the tools of the anatomist’s trade—amputation saws, scalpels, dissecting forceps, scissors, knives and wooden buckets filled with pink-tinted water. A half-full whisky bottle was on the counter. Kendra almost smiled. This was her contribution, having convinced the anatomist to douse his hands with the spirits after he conducted his autopsies. Not exactly modern-day standards, but it worked as a rudimentary disinfectant.
