An emotion she couldn’t decipher flared behind his eyes, and then he pushed himself to his feet in a jerky movement. “I’ve told you everything that I know. I’m afraid I must return to my patients.”
“One more question.” She kept her gaze on his as she stood. Goldsten’s reluctance to continue the inquiry was palpable. “Where were you on Sunday morning?”
He inhaled sharply; he knew exactly what she was asking. If he was insulted or outraged by the question, he didn’t show it. His voice was oddly flat when he said, “I was at St. George’s in the morning. By afternoon, I was here. Sunday is not a day of rest for the sick, diseased, and dying, Lady Sutcliffe. Now, I really must beg your leave.”
Kendra and Munroe followed the surgeon back to the patients’ ward. Mr. Dawes paused his administrations and began, “Mr. Goldsten—” but Goldsten shook his head.
“Hold your inquiry, Mr. Dawes, until I return from escorting our guests out.” He strode across the room, opening the door to the waiting room.
Munroe stepped across the threshold, then stopped, turning to face the surgeon. “We both joined the Metamorphosis Club because we share the belief that scientific knowledge can only be advanced through research. Our quest for truth makes society uncomfortable, just as Lady Sutcliffe’s makes people uncomfortable.”
Goldsten nodded. “I understand, but I have no more answers for you. Good day, Dr. Munroe, Lady Sutcliffe.”
Kendra crossed the lobby, aware of dozens of eyes on her. But only one pair of eyes made the space between her shoulder blades itch. As Munroe pulled open the front door for her, she glanced back to see that for all his talk about getting back to his patients, Goldsten hadn’t moved from his spot. And even from this considerable distance, Kendra recognized the naked fear in his eyes.
Chapter 15
“When you care about a person who is murdered, you don’t forget the last time you spoke to them,” Kendra said quietly as they walked down the pavement to the carriage. The phenomena, she knew, was called trauma anniversaries. “He’s either lying outright or not telling us everything.”
Munroe let out a pensive sigh. “I don’t know what to say other than that Mr. Goldsten’s evasiveness is troubling.”
“Miss Don—Lady Sutcliffe!”
The shout had Kendra pivoting around. Phineas Muldoon was jogging toward them.
“Dr. Munroe,” the Irishman added, doffing his hat as he came to a stop in front of them.
Kendra surveyed his face, flushed from the cold wind. “How’d you know I was here?”
He gave her an impudent look, tapping the side of his nose. “I have my ways.” When she merely lifted her eyebrows, he grinned. “And I happened to encounter Mr. Kelly at Whitehall. He was searching for Mr. O’Leary at the time, and mentioned that you were making inquiries of Mr. Goldsten. He was involved with Lady Westford, was he?”
“That’s what we’ve been told. He confirmed they were friends.”
“Probably that’s all he’ll confirm. He’d never admit to having an intimate relationship with a lady, married or not. He’d want to protect her reputation.” A shadow crossed the Irishman’s face, leaving it brooding. “Common folk know their place, Lady Sutcliffe, and it isn’t to marry above their station.”
Kendra had a feeling he wasn’t referring to Goldsten and Lady Westford’s relationship anymore. Maybe that’s what compelled her to say, “I’m a commoner. You could say I married above my station.”And out of my own time.
Muldoon’s morose expression lifted and his blue eyes twinkled. “If I may be so bold, there is nothing common about you, my lady.” He glanced at the carriage. “Are you returning to the morgue, or home?”
“Neither. St. George’s hospital. Mr. Goldsten said he was working there on Sunday.”
“Ah. And you’ll be wanting to confirm his alibi. May I join you? I have something of interest to share with you.”
“Of course.” She waited until they’d joined her in the carriage and it was underway before she asked, “Did you get my earlier message, Mr. Muldoon?”
His wide mouth curved into one of his sly smiles. “Mr. Kelly told me that Lord Westford spends most of his time with his mistress—Mr. O’Leary being a product of that union. Are you thinking that the earl murdered his wife to be free to marry his lady love?”
“A husband always needs to be looked at when his wife is killed, but I’m also looking elsewhere.”
“Mr. Goldsten.”
Kendra lifted her eyebrows. “Mr. Muldoon, I’m starting to think you wanted a ride to fish for information rather than share anything you found out.”
He grinned, unabashed. “Can’t fault me for being curious. Personally, I think it’s more likely that the English nobility will kill for money and power rather than for love, but what do I know? I’m just a poor Irish scribbler.”
“Mr. Muldoon—”
“Yes, I got your earlier note, my lady. I spent my entire morning hunting for the article, and even had to venture into my competitor’s territory, call in a few favors—”
