“My lady.” Dandridge smiled in greeting, but it vanished when he said, “Ethan told us that you found Thornton’s body. That must have been a shock.”
“It’s not something you want to find,” she acknowledged.
Burnell scowled. “I’m beginning to agree with those who want to set up a police force like Glasgow’s. God-fearing citizens in their own homes shouldn’t fear common filth from the stews.”
Kendra eyed him. “You think Dr. Thornton and Jenny’s murders were random crimes?”
“What else could it have been? Clearly, housebreakers didn’t realize Lucien was at home.”
She could give him a long list of reasons why that theory didn’t hold water, but she kept it simple: “Nothing was stolen.”
Burnell pursed his lips. “Alarmed, no doubt, by their own act of violence. Criminals are, at heart, cowardly creatures.”
“Not so cowardly that they wouldn’t have grabbed a few valuables on their way out the door. And,”—Kendra paused, watching Burnell closely—“they wouldn’t have chosen a scalpel as their murder weapon.”
Dandridge looked shocked. “How do you know that a scalpel was used?”
“Mr. Barts did the postmortem,” Munroe said as he and Alec joined the group. “I supervised. Lady Sutcliffe is correct—a scalpel was the murder weapon.”
Burnell’s lip curled. “I suppose you’ll now be quizzing us on where we were last night?”
Dandridge’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t possibly think one of us would harm him?”
“It’s a routine question.”
“Well, it’s insulting.” But then Dandridge seemed to take a beat and reconsider. “What time did it . . . did it happen?”
“Let’s say sometime between six and twelve that night.”
“I was at St. George’s until half-past seven. Then Andrew—Mr. Dawes—and I had dinner together. We were together until nearly ten. Isn’t that right, Mr. Dawes?”
Dawes looked a little startled to have been spoken to, but quickly nodded. “Yes, sir. We dined at the Gray Goose Inn, near St. George’s.”
“And after ten?” Kendra asked.
“I went home. Had a nightcap and went to bed. It’d been a long day.” Dandridge looked at Dawes. “Andrew?”
“I met Mr. Beane and Mr. Sumner at the Swan—it’s a pub on Piccadilly. We had a few rounds there, then went to one of the gaming clubs.” Dawes threaded his fingers through his ginger hair, a nervous gesture. “I lost,” he admitted. “My stepfather shall ring a peel over my head when he finds out.”
Mr. Beane nodded. “I was with Mr. Dawes. We didn’t leave the gaming tables until well after one in the morning.”
Burnell blew out a breath. “To be young again, when one could burn the candle at both ends. I left St. George’s shortly before five and was at home for the rest of the evening. Unfortunately, I was alone.”
Kendra regarded him steadily. “You seem to spend most of your free time alone, Mr. Burnell.”
“I’m of an age at which I prefer my own company to being forced to make tedious conversation with others,” he said, with a smile that reminded Kendra instantly of her father.Arrogant asshole.
“The conversations that you’ve had with your fellow members in the Metamorphosis Club aren’t tedious, Mr. Burnell,” she shot back. “There’s been talk of curing diseases through the blood, by introducing a vaccine or purifying the blood itself in some way. Interesting stuff.”
Burnell’s gaze sharpened. “We’ve discussed many theories on how to use the circulatory system to treat illnesses.”
“We have so much to learn,” Mr. Beane spoke up. “We haven’t had any advancement in that area since William Harvey’s theories on blood flow.”
“And Harvey was roundly trounced by the medical establishment in his time,” said Sir Preston, walking over with the Duke. The circle opened to include them.
“Forgive me, I couldn’t help but overhear your fascinating discussion,” Sir Preston said, offering Kendra a benevolent smile. “The reason the Metamorphosis Club was formed was to introduce any and all ideas without fear of being disparaged.”
Kendra took a sip of her wine as she surveyed the men around her. “Do you think a person’s blood can be removed and purified in some way?”
