“Mr. Muldoon, I’ll hire a marching band and give you a parade later for all the work you’ve done. Right now, I’d like you to tell me what it said.”
He laughed. “I have something even better, my lady.”
He reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a battered and stained copy ofThe Morning Post, which smelled a little like fish. Handing it to her, he said, “The article you seek is at the bottom of the page.”
“’Beauteous Mermaid Found In River’?” Kendra read aloud, then raised her eyebrows at Muldoon.
He chuckled. “The Morning Postscribblers are a creative lot.”
Kendra could only shake her head. Then again, she could hardly pass judgement. She’d scanned enough tabloid headlines announcing secret alien autopsies or Bigfoot sightings, let alone the outlandish clickbait that ran rampant on the Internet.
Lowering her eyes, she quickly read the article. The more scandalous broadsheets were just beginning to incorporate illustrations—the more outrageous the better—butThe Morning Postwas still dense in print.
In the wee hours of the morning, the Thames Police discovered the body of a beautiful young woman, clad only in seaweed, floating on the waves. Mr. Tibbs, a local fisherman, described the creature as having an uncommon loveliness, with pitch-black hair and a heart-shaped mole on the left side of her face. Tales of enchanting sirens and mermaids have long been part of sea lore, and Mr. Tibbs admitted that if the lady in question had sported a fishtail as opposed to being whole of limb, he would have given credence to her being a magical creature. Mr. Cranston of the Thames Police said that, as there were no obvious wounds, they believe the beauty was bathing when she fell into the Thames and drowned. The cadaver was transported to the morgue of Dr. Ethan Munroe, who runs a notorious anatomy school in Covent Garden, where he instructs his pupils in the ghoulish art of dissection.
Kendra handed the newspaper to Munroe to read for himself. “We need to find out if Clarice had a beauty mark. It could be the thing that caught Lady Westford’s attention, if she was already familiar with Clarice. Mr. Muldoon, take this article to Bowden Theater and ask for Prudence. See if she can confirm that this description matches Clarice. And find out anything else you can about the actress. When we were at the theater yesterday, we were more focused on Lady Westford’s murder than Clarice’s disappearance.”
Muldoon gave Kendra a jaunty salute. “Aye, aye, captain.”
“This is . . . rubbish!” Munroe exclaimed, rattling the newspaper irritably. “‘Notorious anatomy school,’ indeed! And ‘instructs his pupils in the ghoulish art of dissection’—ghoulish?”
He crumpled the paper in disgust before Muldoon snatched it back from him and smoothed it out on his knee.
“There is nothing notorious nor ghoulish about my school!” Munroe went on. “It is this kind of fearmongering that keeps England’s medical community behind the rest of Europe. How can they expect surgeons to successfully operate on the wounded if we don’t know basic anatomy? My God, even France realized that! Their governmentsuppliestheir surgeons with unlimited cadavers to dissect, even if those are only sent to one teaching school. I—” He caught Kendra’s eye and broke off, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Forgive me for my diatribe, my lady. This has been a sore point for me and my colleagues for years.”
“The rules are archaic,” she agreed sympathetically. She turned to her other companion. “Mr. Muldoon, when you’re at the theater, also ask if anyone knows whether Clarice suffered from severe anemia.”
“Now that’s a peculiar request. May I ask why?”
Kendra glanced at Munroe. “Do you want to explain, doctor?”
“I didn’t have a chance to conduct an autopsy, Mr. Muldoon, but my visual examination noted that the body showed no signs of lividity. She was either severely anemic or she had no blood coursing through her veins at the time of her death.”
Muldoon’s eyes widened. “Maybe shewasa mermaid. Or, in Ireland, there are tales of aDearg-due. A beautiful woman who transfixes her victims, then drinks their blood.”
“Maybe you should consider writing forThe Morning Postyourself, Muldoon,” Kendra said.
The reporter laughed. “I didn’t say aDearg-duekilled the poor creature. I was simply reminded of the old folktales.” He then turned his attention to Munroe. “What stopped you from conducting the postmortem? Did someone claim the body?”
“What exactly did Mr. Kelly tell you?” Kendra asked.
“We spoke of Lord and Lady Westford’s marriage—which I already knew about frommyinquiries. He said that Lady Westford had been interested in a body pulled from the Thames and transported to Dr. Munroe’s morgue. Again, I was aware of this because of your note inquiring after the article. He did mention that the drowned woman in the article might be an actress named Clarice, who worked at the Bowden Theater, the very same theater where Lady Westford died. Interesting coincidence. He didnotmention a mermaid drained of her blood.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Or whatever else you two are hiding. Must I remind you of our deal to share information?”
“Fair enough. You know everything—except that the body was stolen from the morgue.”
Muldoon stared at her. “The body wasstolen?” He cut his gaze to Munroe, then began to laugh. “God knows there’s plenty of body snatching going on. ’Tis why families hire watchmen to patrol graveyards at night. But anatomists like you, Dr. Munroe, tend to be the recipient of those bodies. I’ve never heard of a resurrectionist stealing a corpse from an anatomist before.”
“It’s not amusing, Mr. Muldoon.” Munroe scowled at him. “We do not know who stole the body or why. Unfortunately, I was also only able to do a visual examination when I had it on my table, which is why I cannot say with one hundred percent certainty that the creature had no blood circulating in her veins, even though the lack of lividity suggests it. She did have bruising around the wrists and ankles, and puncture wounds on the inside of her arms.”
“Puncturewounds?” Muldoon’s eyebrows flew up. “Like she’d been bitten?”
Munroe’s look was derisive. “Surely you don’t believe in your Irish folktales of vampires orDearg-duessucking the blood out of their human victims?”
Kendra expected Muldoon to laugh off such a suggestion. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Mayhap I’m just Irish enough not to dismiss the mystical world, Dr. Munroe. As your own Shakespeare wrote, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”
Kendra couldn’t argue with that. Hell, she was a time traveler. But she drew the line at vampires. “I think we can scratch Count Dracula off our list of suspects, Mr. Muldoon,” she remarked dryly.
