“These men think they’ve come up with a way to purify blood. That’s thrilling stuff. It’s hard to keep thrilling stuff to yourself.”
“Not so thrilling when their procedure resulted in the death of a woman,” the Duke said softly. “Which brings up another point. If they’ve come up with a process to purify the blood, why is Isabella alive and Clarice dead?”
“I don’t know,” Kendra admitted. “Isabella was treated before Clarice. Obviously, she wasn’t cured. Maybe they became more aggressive with Clarice.”
The Duke’s mouth formed a grim line. “And murdered the poor creature.”
“I doubt that they’d view it like that. She was an experiment that failed.”
“She was a human being. How could they look at her as…as something to be discarded?”
Kendra understood the Duke’s horror, but shrugged. “A certain cold-bloodedness—or, at least, detachment—is necessary when you’re conducting medical research. People die in drug or medical device trials. It’s part of the learning process. All advancements come with a cost.”
Alec’s eyes narrowed. “They murdered Lady Westford, Dr. Thornton, and his maid to keep their experiments a secret.”
“One could argue that Mr. Goldsten was also their victim,” the Duke added. “He may have committed self-murder, but only because he felt he had no alternative. You’re right, Kendra, about these men—Vivaldi and the saints. They’re powerful enough that Mr. Goldsten believed they could destroy everything he’s worked for—his reputation, his practice.”
They fell into a thoughtful silence. Alec and the Duke finished their meal, while Kendra pushed away her plate. She was no longer hungry.
“Did the seamstress at Bowden Theater tell you anything?” Alec asked.
The change of subject snapped Kendra out of her brood. “Yes. Edwina’s alive. Or, at least, she was a day ago. Just a minute.” She jumped up from the table and ran out of the room. A maid and footman gaped at her as she bolted up the stairs. Their mouths dropped open again when she raced back to the dining room.
“Here,” she said, opening her hand to show them the thimble that Edwina had left for Old Beatrice.
“It’s a thimble,” the Duke observed, taking the sewing tool from Kendra.
“I have to admit that I had no idea what it was when Betrice showed it to me.”
“Why is a thimble so important?” Alec wondered. “The woman is a seamstress, isn’t she?”
“It’s a very old thimble,” the Duke said. “Maybe Greek or Roman?”
“Edwina left it for Beatrice when she retrieved her possessions. I’m hoping it will help us find her. Maybe Edwina bought it, although it seems a strange thing to spend money on, especially if she has limited funds.”
“She didn’t buy it.”
At the certainty in the Duke’s voice, she turned to him. “How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen similar items. She found it—one of the Thames’s treasures.”
“Ah, of course,” Alec said.
Kendra glanced between the men. “What do you two know that I don’t?”
The Duke said, “Mudlarks pick up things like this all the time.”
“Mudlarks?”
“Scavengers,” Alec answered. “They wait for the Thames’s tide to go out, then they mine the mudflats for coal, coins, anything that they can use or sell to survive.”
“Edwina was seen around the docks,” Kendra said.
“It would be clever of her to join the mudlarks.” The Duke picked up his ale and took a swallow. “They’re around, but no one pays them any attention. Unless they misjudge the tide and drown, which is an all-too-common occurrence, I’m afraid.”
“So, they go out every time the tide is low?”
Alec said, “If they want to eat, they do.”
