Kendra sipped her weak lemonade. She’d shared what Lady Harrington had said with Alec, Rebecca, and the Duke when they’d come into the refreshment room. Candlelight cast a mellow glow over the people gathered around linen-clothed tables that practically groaned beneath the weight of cakes and custards, fruits and ices. The French doors had been thrown open to the veranda, the fresh night air leaving the room much cooler than the ballroom.
“The timing is interesting,” Kendra said. “We know that Friday morning, Lady Westford viewed the body in the morgue. When she arrived at Buckingham P—House, she was out of sorts, and then, later, afraid.”
“That seems the obvious connection, but you said that Jane thought Grace has been disturbed for a while,” Alec said. “A month, at least. If that’s true, it wasn’t because of the woman in the morgue.”
“Disturbed because she’d seen Mr. Goldsten with a woman. When she confronted him, he lied and became defensive. Prior to that, Lady Westford confided that Mr. Goldsten was growing distant. She worried that she was losing him to another woman.”
Kendra didn’t believe Lady Westford’s murder had anything to do with a soured love affair. The earlier inkling that she’d had was growing stronger, but she needed to follow the threads.
“Nothing can be solved this evening.” Alec drew Kendra’s hand through the crook of his elbow. “I shall bid everyone adieu, and take my bride home.”
“Good heavens, Sutcliffe, it’s not even midnight,” Rebecca teased. “You never used to be a humdrum fellow.”
“My nephew has never been a married man,” the Duke said, smiling. “Good night, nephew.”
“Good night, uncle, Becca.”
“I’m having a briefing tomorrow morning at nine,” Kendra said to Rebecca. “You’re invited, if you’re interested.”
The other woman’s face lit up. “I shall be there.”
The street was relatively quiet except for the snort and shuffle of horses and the rattle of wheels as carriages arrived and departed. Coachman John had the steps down and the door open for them. After climbing inside, Kendra gave a surprised gasp when Alec scooped her up and set her on his lap.
She laughed as Coachman John hastily slammed the door shut. “I think you just shocked your coachman,” she said.
“He’ll get over it,” Alec murmured, kissing her. “We never danced. I suggest we remedy that when we get home. A waltz with my wife in the moonlight.”
“There’s very little moonlight.” Awareness danced across her skin when Alec found a particularly sensitive spot below her ear with his lips.
“Don’t be quarrelsome, wife.”
Kendra framed Alec’s face with her palms, looking into his eyes. “A waltz sounds like an excellent plan.”
***
“This is a blasted plan! Who’s the beetle-headed fool that came up with it?” Elias Palmer demanded as he scrambled off the muddy ground. His ankle felt like someone was jabbing it with a pickax. “Bugger it!” he cursed, limping forward to wrestle the shovel that had fallen out of the muck.
“Ye might want ter keep yer voice down, Elias,” warned his partner, Daniel Johnson. Even as he spoke, he shot a nervous glance around the graveyard. The moon was worrisome. When they’d started earlier, the clouds had been ideal for their purpose. The light rain hadn’t been quite so ideal, of course, especially when it came to digging the newly covered grave.
“The Charlies ain’t gonna be making their rounds ternight,” Elias snapped, although Daniel noticed that he did lower his voice. “Colder than a witch’s tit, it is.”
He was right about that. Daniel could see icy plumes with every puff of his breath. If the watchmen patrolled the graveyards at all, they’d make quick work of it so they could hurry back to their pubs, all toasty warm, and plant their fat arses in the chairs, enjoying their pints.
Still, the moon—now unfettered by clouds—was worrisome. In its silvery rays, Daniel could see every pit and pore on Elias’s ugly face, as well as the glimmer of fear in the eyes of the two street brats they’d hired to help this evening.
“C’mon, Danny,” Elias growled. “Get a move on! We gotta dig another couple of feet ter get ter our prize.”
For the next ten minutes, the only noise in the graveyard was the wind as it shimmied through the trees and tombstones, the whisper of spades sinking into the ground, the spray of mud, and the muted grunts and huffs as they put their backs into their work. Despite the cold evening, Daniel could feel sweat bathing his face, sliding down his spine.
“Oi’m getting’ ter old fer this,” Elias muttered. “Me bones are—” He broke off his complaint when their spades simultaneously hit wood, the dullthunkloud enough for Daniel to flinch and cast a wary glance around.
No Charlies came running out of the darkness.
He swung his eyes to his partner, saw the mutual elation lighting Elias’ face. Invigorated, they dug faster, clearing the dirt away. Within minutes they were able to toss their spades aside. Jumping into the pit, they braced their feet on each side of the coffin.
“Oye, ye two!” Elias thrust a finger at the boys. “Get me the rope and those fokking crowbars. Move!”
The boys scrambled to retrieve the tools of the trade, lowering them to Elias and Daniel.
