The only other woman in the room was a frail old woman wearing a gown the color of a ripe eggplant, sitting in one of the chairs. No one was talking to her, leaving her to quietly observe the circulating men as she sipped her sherry.
Sir Preston, his age-speckled hand curving over the silver handle of his walking stick, ambled over to greet them. “Lord and Lady Sutcliffe. And Your Grace!” His wrinkles deepened with his smile. “Delighted to see you again, sir. When was the last time? The lecture on astronomy that Mr. Herschel gave at the Royal Society, I believe?”
The Duke inclined his head. “Yes, and I would wish for a happier reason to meet again, Sir Preston. My condolences on the loss of your colleague.”
“Thank you. Lucien was a friend as well as one of the finest physicians in London.” He glanced away and sighed. “I confess, I’m still in shock about this whole business. Who would do such a thing? What possible motive could they have? ’Tis madness.”
Kendra studied their host. “How long did you know Dr. Thornton?”
He blinked at the question. “Oh, goodness. Forty years, at least. He was actually my apprentice when he was only a young pup starting out. Brilliant mind. I recognized it the instant I met him.”
“You must have known his wife.”
“Yes, indeed.” His lips compressed into a tight seam of sorrow. “Another tragedy. Lucien was a young physician at that point. Not afraid to get his hands dirty, as it were, unlike those who aspire only to coddle the wealthy by handing them tonic water and tinctures. When Elizabeth was diagnosed, Lucien knew . . . well, we both knew. Still, he tried everything. Those are the times that remind us how limited our medical knowledge is.”
“Ah, beating a familiar drum, Sir Preston,” said Burnell, as he and Dandridge strolled over to join them.
“It’s a drum you beat loudly yourself, sir.”
“Yes, indeed. And I will continue to beat it until real reform is done. Lord and Lady Sutcliffe.” Burnell acknowledged them with a slight bow, then turned to the Duke. “Your Grace. You probably don’t remember, but we were introduced at the London Institution a few years ago.”
“’Tis good to see you again, Mr. Burnell,” the Duke said politely.
“Do you specialize in any particular disease, Mr. Burnell?” Kendra asked.
He gave her a strange look. “Specialize? No. I can’t imagine anyone limiting their skills or interest to only one illness.”
“Sir Preston.”
At the high-pitched, croaky voice, the group of men parted to allow the old woman Kendra had noticed earlier to join them. She followed protocol, waiting for her husband to introduce her as Lady Maude, then said, “This is an informal gathering to pay respects to Dr. Thornton, but please avail yourself of refreshments and food.”
Lady Maude skillfully ushered them to the buffet table. Kendra got the impression that the woman had been playing hostess to her husband’s colleagues for decades. Maybe half a century, based on her wrinkles and the hairs sprouting from her chin.
After accepting a glass of wine, Kendra somehow found herself culled from the men, sitting in a chair opposite Lady Maude.
“I confess, it’s rather nice to have another lady present at these soirees,” Lady Maude said, taking a sip of her sherry before pinning Kendra with an intelligent gaze. “However, you’re not here to simply pay your respects, are you? Sir Preston tells me that you are investigating Lady Westford’s death.”
“I am. Did you know her?”
“Oh, yes. We worked together on several committees at St. George’s. I wouldn’t say we were friends, but we had our mutual passions. I quite liked her. And I never believed the fustian that she threw herself off that theater balcony. Nor could I imagine her being so butter-fingered to accidentally fall off, no matter what Lucien said.”
Kendra regarded the old woman. “Why do you think he made that determination, then?”
“Lord Westford, no doubt. Trying to stop the investigation.”
“You think Lord Westford killed his wife?”
“Oh, good heavens, no! He’s a lord of the realm. No, no. I expect he simply didn’t want the gossip associated with an investigation.”
Kendra didn’t understand why a lord of the realm would get a pass on murder any more than why gossip was more important than getting justice. But since she was no longer focused on Lord Westford as a suspect, she let it go.
“When was the last time you saw Lady Westford?”
Lady Maude took another swallow of her sherry. “Our last meeting at St. George’s. Monday afternoon—a week before her death.”
“What was the meeting about?”
Lady Maude raised her eyebrows a fraction, as though surprised to be asked such a question. “Whether we ought to use the funds we’d raised for repairs, or wait until a decision was made to tear down the hospital. Grace—that is, Lady Westford—and I were in accord in not wanting to throw good money after bad.”
