“No. But I told him that there was a witness, and he asked if she—or he—could identify the killer. In that order.”
“You think it odd that he guessed the witness was a female?”
“You don’t?”
“Not necessarily. On Sunday morning, there’d be plenty of women on the streets. Milkmaids and laundresses. Female costermongers like Bridget. Maids hired to scrub floors. It might be natural to assume the witness would be a woman.”
“Plenty of young boys sweeping the streets too.” Kendra turned back to survey the slate board. “Lady Westford wasn’t the only one murdered. Clarice—assuming itisClarice—was the first victim. She was restrained and possibly exsanguinated.”
“Bizarre.”
“It could be ritualistic. Muldoon told me about an Irish vampire demon calledDearg-due, who drains people of their blood.”
“He can’t believe—?”
She laughed. “Hardly. He’s just a writer with an active imagination. Still, there are such things as death cults,” she said, her humor fading. “Satanic or vampiric—or whatever demon or monster is currently in vogue. I’ve dealt with them in my time. I doubt if it’s any different now.”
“One hears rumors about people practicing paganism, of course. And no one knows more than you and I that there are still those who partake in hedonistic gatherings, like the Hellfire Club.”
Kendra saw shadows enter Alec’s eyes, and knew he was thinking of his late brother, Gabriel, who’d been involved with such a club. Gabriel hadn’t realized the danger until it was too late.
She walked over to him to lay a comforting hand on his wrist. Beneath her fingertips, she felt the warm flow of his blood, the steady pulse of his heart. The earlier whisper she’d had at the hospital stirred again.Blood.
“Maybe . . . we’re dealing with something less exotic,” she said slowly. “Bloodletting is a common treatment for disease and illnesses.”
Alec eyed her. “What kind of surgeon or barber would be so green as to takeallher blood?”
Frowning, Kendra returned to the slate board. “I saw a lot of young men—apprentices—at Mr. Goldsten’s clinic and St. George’s Hospital. What if Clarice was ill and an apprentice tried to help? They didn’t realize that they’d taken too much, accidentally killed her, panicked, and dumped the body in the Thames?”
“I still can’t imagine even an apprentice being that inexperienced—or foolish—to remove all her blood.”
“Maybe it wasn’t all her blood. Maybe it was just enough to make her severely anemic. We don’t know how she died.”
Alec didn’t look convinced. “Putting that aside, what is her connection to Lady Westford?”
“We know that Lady Westford was interested in medicine. She attended scientific lectures and was a patroness at St. George’s. She was involved with a surgeon.” Kendra began to pace as she considered the possibilities. “St. George’s caters to both men and women. If Clarice was ever a patient, they could have met there.”
She paused, then turned slowly to look at Alec. “Our suspect list is going to get longer.”
“If you’re talking about every physician, surgeon and apprentice at St. George’s, I’m going to have to buy you another slate board.”
Kendra laughed. “Hopefully, Lady Westford confided in Lady Harrington, and we can narrow that list down.”
Chapter 19
As far as Kendra was concerned, balls were like walking through a minefield. One misstep and you could commit a social gaffe that would be gossiped about for weeks. Or, for Kendra, say something that would only be understood by the attendees’ descendants. It was stressful enough to be ogled by a hundred catty society matrons without having to worry that you could screw up the space-time continuum.
Still, as bad as it was to attend a ball, it was worse preparing for one. Kendra didn’t have a fairy godmother waving a magic wand and zapping her into party-readiness. She had Molly.
The former tweeny took on the task with gusto, marching around with a militant gleam in her eye as she ordered footmen and maids to haul up buckets of hot water and honeysuckle salts for Kendra’s bath, and insisted on washing Kendra’s hair herself.
“Mrs. Danbury said ye’ll ’ave ter mind yer manners with Lady ’Arrington,” Molly said, scrubbing Kendra’s head with a concoction that had all the ingredients of a salad dressing. “She’s a lady-in-waitin’ ter the Queen.”
“I know.”
“Mrs. Danbury says she’s a lady of great virtue, like the Queen ’erself. Close yer eyes.” Molly poured a pitcher of lukewarm water over Kendra’s head. “A right miracle that is, Mrs. Danbury says, given ’oo Lady ’Arrington’s sister is.” The maid brought a towel over to rub the excess water out of Kendra’s hair.
“Who’s her sister?” Kendra asked from beneath the towel.
