“It appears her ladyship fell from the upper balcony of the theater, my lord.”
The Duke’s eyes widened. “Good God, during a performance?”
“Ah . . . no.” The man’s gaze dropped to the hat that he was rotating in his hands. He was silent for a long moment. Again, Kendra had the impression that he was searching for the right words. At last, his hands stilled, and he lifted his gaze to the Duke’s. “It’s believed she fell on Sunday, when the theater was closed.”
“I don’t understand. Why was she at the theater when it was closed?”
“One of many questions, Your Grace.”
“I have a question,” Alec drawled, eyeing the courier. “Why is the Queen requiring my wife’s involvement? Surely, the matter is being looked into by the proper authorities?”
“Bow Street’s Chief Magistrate, Sir Nathaniel Conant, assigned an investigator—Mr. Parker—to look into the matter. London’s chief coroner is currently in France, but Dr. Lucien Thornton, a respected physician, conducted the postmortem. He concluded that her ladyship accidently fell from the balcony to her death.”
Kendra contemplated the man. “So her death has already been officially declared an accident?”
“Yes.”
She frowned. “Then what’s the problem?”
“There is speculation that she did not fall, that she . . . ah, that she jumped.”
“My God.” The Duke let out a shocked breath. “Suicide? I do not believe it!”
“Nor does Her Majesty,” the courier said quietly. “Self-murder is such a vile, sinful act, and would cause great disgrace to the family, not to mention cast a shadow on Lady Westford’s soul. Her Majesty is requesting that Lady Sutcliffe investigate the matter quietly, to remove all doubt.”
“What is your name, sir?” Alec demanded, his green eyes narrowing on the courier. “You present yourself as a royal courier, but you clearly did not ride here on horseback, which is the fastest method used by messengers—even royal messengers. And you appear to be intimately familiar with the details of her ladyship’s death.”
A gleam of what might have been rueful admiration entered the other man’s eyes. “Very astute of you, my lord. I am Mr. Boothe. I clerk forMr. Disbrowe,” he admitted. “I am acting on behalf of Her Majesty.”
Kendra’s uneasiness intensified. She didn’t need the Duke or Alec to tell her that they were dealing with the inner circle of the Palace. The British royal family had become a constitutional monarchy centuries before, during Charles II’s reign, but the Palace had more power today than in her own time. Maybe they couldn’t toss her in the Tower of London—could they?—but they could probably make her life damned unpleasant if she fell afoul of them.
“Edward Disbrowe is Her Majesty’s vice chamberlain,” the Duke told Kendra.
“Why does the Queen want an investigation?” Alec asked. “Tongues will wag that Lady Westford committed self-murder regardless. No one can stop that from happening. I dare say not even Queen Charlotte.”
Mr. Boothe nodded. “Unfortunately, rumors will always abound, given the suspicious nature of her death.”
“You’re not asking me to investigate an accident,” Kendra said slowly, meeting the man’s eyes. “You’re here because of the third possibility. You think she was pushed.”
A shadow crossed Mr. Boothe’s face. “Her Majesty is concerned that foul means were employed. She wishes to know the truth.”
Unless the truth is uncomfortable, like a suicide. Kendra pushed that thought aside, because it wouldn’t deter her. She’d follow the investigation wherever it might lead and not let politics—or even a queen’s discomfort—dissuade or distract her.
She kept her gaze on Mr. Boothe. “Why is the Queen taking such an interest in Lady Westford’s death? Were they friends?”
The Duke cleared his throat. “I can answer that, my dear. Lady Westford is . . .wasone of Her Majesty’s ladies-in-waiting.”
“She served Queen Charlotte for the last six years,” Mr. Boothe added. “Her Majesty was quite rightly distraught when she received word of the tragedy yesterday afternoon.”
“Where is the body now?” Kendra asked. “I’ll need to see it, and the theater where she died.”
“I’m not certain, but Dr. Thornton ought to be able to tell you. She was found at the Bowden Theater on Monday morning. Its doors are open.”
Open and doing business, Kendra thought with a flash of irritation.God. It was incredibly frustrating that her nineteenth century counterparts didn’t have any procedures in place to seal off crime scenes. Hell, they didn’t even have an official police force, just a cobbled-together group of constables, watchmen, magistrates, and Bow Street Runners.
Mr. Boothe smoothed the brim of his hat before placing it firmly on his head. “Naturally, Her Majesty wishes to be kept informed of your investigation. You shall report your findings to me, and I will convey them to the Queen.”
“And if I need to speak to the Queen?”
