Kendra glanced at Dandridge. “Did you see her? Speak to her?”
“No. I mean, yes, I saw her, as well, but I didn’t speak to her. She was with Mr. Goldsten.”
So, not two weeks ago. Kendra wasn’t surprised that Goldsten had lied. She was surprised that he’d lied about something so easily checked.
“What was she doing with Mr. Goldsten?” she asked innocently.
Dandridge started to speak, but Sir Preston cut in: “Lady Westford visits periodically. She invested time and money in the hospital, and she felt it was her duty to keep an eye on things. She had expressed concern over the mortality rate of mothers and their babes.”
“Lady Westford and Mr. Goldsten were having an intense conversation when I saw them,” Burnell said.
“Intense?”
“A bit of a row, if you must know. It’s why I didn’t approach. One doesn’t want to become embroiled in someone else’s quarrel.”
“Did you hear what the quarrel was about?”
Burnell shook his head.
“Were you working at St. George’s on Sunday morning?” Kendra asked the group.
Dandridge frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Dandridge?” Burnell said, his eyes on Kendra. “That’s when Lady Westford died—or was killed, supposedly.”
“Good heavens!” Sir Preston exclaimed. “Young lady, surely you cannot believe we—anyone here—would have harmed Lady Westford?”
Kendra glanced at the old man and thought,Not you. Physically, Sir Preston would never have been able to throw Lady Westford off the balcony, much less chase her up the stairs or Edwina down the street.
“It’s a simple question.” Kendra turned back to Burnell. “Why not answer?”
He smiled. “I have a suspicion that there are no simple questions with you, my lady. However, I shall answer. I didn’t work on Sunday. And since the direction of your inquiry is rather obvious, I shall state now that I did not murder Lady Westford. She was a patroness here, and I was quite optimistic that she would be spearheading the campaign to fund a new hospital.”
She’d come here just to verify Goldsten’s alibi, but something—just a whisper—made her Spidey sense tingle.
“Iwashere on Sunday,” Dandridge said. “And I shall repeat what Mr. Burnell said: I did not kill Lady Westford. The very idea is ridiculous.”
Sir Preston exhaled, clearly irritated. “On Sunday morning, I was at church. You can verify that with my wife.”
Kendra nodded. “Since you were here on Sunday, did you see Mr. Goldsten?” she asked Dandridge.
He frowned. “Yes, briefly. He was working the women’s ward.”
“He worked the entire morning?” she pressed.
“Well, I don’t know. We did not work together.”
Kendra figured she’d better keep asking questions while she had a captive audience. “Did Lady Westford ever mention a woman named Clarice?”
They looked confused. Burnell spoke first. “Not to my recollection. Who is she?”
“Another woman who might have been murdered.”
Burnell lifted a brow. “Might have been? You don’t know?”
Munroe said, “The Thames River Police brought a woman’s body to my school. I didn’t have a chance to conduct a postmortem, but I believe she was exsanguinated or lost a considerable amount of blood before her death.”
Burnell was clearly intrigued. “Self-inflicted?”
