“Did you find any?”
“A few. Unfortunately, I was also left with new questions.” He reached for the sheet, then hesitated, his gaze cutting to Rebecca. “My lady, are you quite certain you wish to remain for this? It’s not a pretty sight.”
Rebecca lowered her handkerchief, her jaw tightening. “I understand, doctor. However, I like to think that I am not one of those faint-hearted, spoiled ladies of the Beau Monde.” She shot a quick, almost challenging glance in Muldoon’s direction. “Please continue, sir.”
“Very well.”
Carefully, Munroe peeled down the sheet to expose the head, neck, and shoulders. Kendra could see the Y-shaped incision peeking out like black spider legs along the collarbone. She shifted her gaze to the cadaver’s face. Munroe was right; it was not a pretty sight.
More than a week had passed since the body had been pulled from the Thames, and natural gases had built up like helium in a balloon, splitting the mottled flesh and breaking down organs. Except for her hair, which was dark and surprisingly lush, she barely looked human. Certainly, she no longer looked like the theater poster’s illustration.
Her eyes were partially shut, but something was wrong. It took Kendra a moment to figure it out.
“Her eyes . . .” She swung her startled gaze to Munroe.
He nodded grimly. “Gone. Not done by animals—someone removed them.” He leaned forward, lifting an eyelid to reveal the gouged-out pit.
Behind her, Kendra heard a choking sound, then a flurry of skirts heading for the door. Male footsteps followed. Briefly, Kendra glanced up to see Rebecca and Muldoon disappearing out into the hallway. She brought her gaze back to Munroe as he lowered the eyelid.
“Her eyes were intact when she was in my morgue before,” he said.
“God’s teeth,” Sam muttered, appalled. “This was done after the lass was stolen?”
“Yes.”
“Butwhy?”
“Maybe the same reason her uterus was removed.”
The Duke drew in deep, shaky breath. “My God. Whatisthis?”
Kendra fixed her eyes on Munroe. “Can you tell me if the removal was done crudely or if it was more . . . . professional?”
She could see by the way his eyes darkened that he knew what she was really asking.
“The organs were excised neatly,” he said slowly.
Kendra had to fight the chill caused by his answer. The suspicion that she’d had earlier was becoming stronger.
Stepping back from the corpse, Kendra pulled the poster out of her reticule and showed it to Munroe. “Not much of a likeness anymore, is there? But it’s her.”
As everyone studied the illustration, Rebecca and Muldoon returned, both flushed and tense. Kendra briefly met Rebecca’s eyes before her friend averted her gaze.Curious . . .
And none of my business, she decided.
“What else can you tell me about her?” she asked Munroe.
“She didn’t drown. There was no water in her lungs. And no blood in her veins. She died of exsanguination.” Tight-lipped, the anatomist carefully rearranged the sheet to expose Clarice’s arms. “It’s difficult to see because of the advanced stage of decomposition, but there are puncture wounds here”—he pointed to a barely discernable mark first on the inside of her right arm, and then on her left—“and here.”
“Can you tell if she was sick recently?” Kendra asked. “Or suffering from any disease?”
Munroe gave her a sharp look. “How did you know?”
Kendra’s pulse quickened. “What did you find?”
“She was in the early stages of the French disease.”
“The French Pox,” Alec noted. “Also known as syphilis. It’s not an uncommon illness for those who make their living on stage.”
