Kendra had almost forgotten about the boy until Andrew piped up. “Aye,” he said, “’is Lordship’ll be terrible upset that ’is fancy new frames ’ave been smashed.”
She raised her eyebrows as she considered the boy. “More upset than to learn that his employee was murdered?”
“The frames are valuable,” the boy pointed out, his thin shoulder jerking in a shrug.
Life was cheap in 1815, she knew. Then again, she couldn’t exactly feel superior to her nineteenth-century counterparts. She’d investigated too many senseless killings, read too many accounts where a company’s quest for profit had knowingly cost lives. Looking at history, backward and forward, the sad truth of it was that life had never been too valuable.
The sound of footsteps coming down the hall drew everybody’s attention. A second later, an older man carrying a leather bag, cracked and faded with age, swept into the room. Beneath his tricorn hat, his face was long and sagged heavily, giving him a perpetually grumpy expression. His eyebrows shadowed his eyes like fuzzy awnings, but Kendra caught the gleam of blue from his irises. He wore a multi-caped greatcoat over a brown wool jacket. His breeches were baggy, his boots scuffed, and his cravat carelessly tied. Another young man in wool coat, hat, and scarf followed him, carrying a lantern.
“Dr. Poole—thank you for coming,” Matthews greeted him.
“Ain’t a social gathering, Oliver,” snapped the doctor. He made a tsking sound in the back of his throat, and continued to walk forward until his boots hit the desk. “I saw what the damned vandals did downstairs.” He stopped and peered down at the dead man. “Looks like they did a fair amount of damage up here too.”
Dr. Poole pivoted suddenly to stare at Kendra. “Who are you, madam?”
“This is Miss Donovan,” introduced Matthews. He dabbed the beads of sweat on his upper lip with his balled hankie. “And this gentleman is the Duke of Aldridge—Miss Donovan’s guardian.”
Poole’s fuzzy brows lifted fractionally. “Maybe this is a social gathering after all,” he muttered, and gave a short bow in the Duke’s direction. “Apparently my wits have fled, but what’s a duke and a lady doing in a place such as this?”
“Aye, that’s wot I’ve been wantin’ ter know,” muttered the constable.
“We were in the inn, and heard about Mr. Stone. I wanted to assess the situation for myself,” the Duke said carefully, earning a surprised look from the doctor.
“Curiosity?”
“Justice,” Aldridge said.
The doctor was silent for a moment as he absorbed that. “Tom here said that Mr. Stone was killed by the Luddites,” he said finally.
“The evidence suggests otherwise,” Kendra said, shaking her head. “I think Mr. Stone was already dead by the time the Luddites arrived at the mill. Can you determine whether the statue is the murder weapon, Dr. Poole?”
Poole regarded her quizzically. Then he set his bag on the ground and walked over to the desk. He picked up the bronze, studying the blood crusting its base before glancing at the dead man. He set the statue down.
“Aye. It’s the murder weapon, I’d say.”
“Well, as long as you conducted a detailed analysis,” Kendra said drily.
But then, what had she expected? She suddenly wished that she could call in Dr. Munroe, the London anatomist that she’d had dealings with twice before. The first time she met him, she hadn’t expected much from a nineteenth-century doctor. But she’d quickly learned that he was very clever, and meticulous in his job. Despite the bronze obviously being the murder weapon, Munroe would never have assumed it without comparing the base of the statue to the wound. Apparently, she wasn’t going to get Dr. Munroe’s professionalism in East Dingleford.
Poole turned to inspect the body again. “A detailed analysis, you say? Looks like Stone was hit with something hard and heavy.” He swiveled back to pick up the bronze. “This statue is hard and heavy. And do you see that there? That’s blood. What else do you require as proof, Miss Donovan?”
Kendra huffed out a breath, made to feel foolish for her desire to implement twenty-first century procedures. She needed to let it go. It wasn’t like she was building a case for the courts, and needed to keep the chain of evidence sacrosanct. For that matter, all she knew of law and order here was that there were two court systems, one for the commoners and one for the aristocracy.
“What about Mr. Stone?” she asked Poole. “Can you give an estimate of time of death?”
“You fancy yourself a doctor, do you, Miss Donovan?”
“She fancies herself a Bow Street Runner,” the constable said.
Kendra shifted impatiently. “Narrowing down the time of death might be helpful in actually catching Mr. Stone’s killer.”
Poole squatted, examining the body in much the same way Kendra had. “Given the way he’s stiffenin’, I’d say he’s been dead less than four hours. Probably was killed around four or half-past this afternoon.”
He shook his head, and shoved himself to his feet. “I’ll examine the body tomorrow. Constable, I’ll need a man to help haul him away.” He paused, his gaze on the rotund figure on the floor. “Make that several men.”
Bernard gave a snorting laugh. “Aye, Mr. Stone was all guts and garbage, for sure.”
“W’ot about the inquest?” the constable asked. “Shouldn’t we leave him here for the jurors to see?”
“His lordship won’t want him fouling up the air here. I’ll write my statement for the inquest, and they can come to look at him in my room, if they feel the need. Seems pretty straightforward. Mr. Stone certainly did not have a visitation by God.”
Kendra eyed the doctor. “A what?”
“’Tis a natural death, Miss Donovan,” the Duke explained. “When someone dies naturally, the inquest finds that the deceased had a visitation by God.”
“Oh.” She looked at Poole. “When do you plan to do the autopsy, doctor?”
“Not sure if that’s necessary. We already know how he died. Someone hit him over the head with that bronze on the desk. What more do you want?”
What more indeed? Kendra said nothing as the doctor picked up his bag. She wondered why he’d even brought the thing; it was obviously an unnecessary accessory for this particular house call.
“Good evening, your Grace . . . Miss Donovan.” He gave Kendra a longer perusal, shook his head, then moved toward the door.
“One second, Doctor,” she said, and waited until Dr. Poole glanced around at her again. “Did you know Mr. Stone?”
The fuzzy brows twitched, though with surprise or irritation, Kendra couldn’t be sure.
“There ain’t nobody in East Dingleford that I don’t know, miss,” he said.
“Any idea who would want to kill him?”
Dr. Poole eyed her. Kendra wasn’t sure if he was trying to figure out the answer to her question, or if he was just trying to figure her out. “You might want to ask Lavinia that question.”
“Lavinia?”
“Mrs. Stone—the victim’s wife. She might have an idea. Or maybe not. Most everybody around these parts who knew Mr. Stone despised the bugger. But you’re asking the wrong question, Miss Donovan.”
“What’s the right question?”
“Mr. Stone’s been living in East Dingleford for nigh on twenty years, without anyone feelin’ the need to brain the man.” Poole’s eyes gleamed from beneath the shadow of his eyebrows. He held her gaze for another beat without speaking. “Maybe the question you should be askin’ isn’t who wanted him dead, but why it took so long to do the deed.”
5
Matthews accompanied Kendra and the Duke back to the posting inn, following them into the private parlor that Mr. Bolton had kept open for the Duke’s use. New logs crackled in the hearth, placed there and tended by Mr. Bolton himself, before the innkeeper had left them to their privacy.
“This isn’t London, or even Manchester,” Matthews said, his gaze troubled as they entered the parlor. “To the best of my
recollection, we’ve never had a murder in East Dingleford. People cock up their toes, to be sure. But we never had anyone being helped into their grave.”
“Murder is innately disturbing,” agreed Aldridge. He removed his greatcoat, hat, and gloves, and approached the sideboard. He removed a decanter’s stopper and selected a goblet. “Would you care for a glass of Mrs. Bolton’s very excellent apricot brandy, Mr. Matthews? I confess I could use a libation after seeing Mr. Stone.”
Matthews swallowed hard. “Yes, it was quite horrifying. Thank you, a brandy would be lovely.”
Aldridge splashed a generous amount into a glass and handed it to Matthews. He glanced at Kendra. “Brandy, Miss Donovan?”
“Sure.” She dumped her outerwear on a chair and moved to the fire, holding her hands out to warm them.
Behind her, Matthews cleared his throat. “And you, sir . . . you say you have investigated similar vile acts?”
“We have done so on occasion, yes,” he said carefully.
Turning, Kendra accepted the goblet the Duke brought her, her gaze searching his. Something was going on here. He was being cagey with Matthews, his expression inscrutable.
The Duke gestured to the chairs positioned in front of the fire. “Shall we be seated?”
“Thank you, sir.” Matthews dispensed with his greatcoat, gloves, and hat. He picked up his brandy glass again and eased himself into a seat. He frowned as he gazed at the fire, his glass dangling from his fingertips.
The Duke said, “You seem to have something on your mind, Mr. Matthews. Why don’t you tell us what it is?”
Matthews lifted his glass and took a dainty sip of brandy. Then he sighed. “It would have been so much easier if the Luddites had committed the murder,” he admitted. “Now an investigation is required, and my father is laid up with gout, and I—I confess I am uncertain how to go about this entire process.”
He pulled his gaze away from the flames to look at Aldridge. “I am aware that you are only here in East Dingleford by the most unfortunate of circumstances, your Grace. If this were the normal course of events, you would be on your way tomorrow morning . . .”
“But we are not dealing with the normal course of events,” Aldridge supplied slowly.
“No, we are not.” Matthews took another swallow of the homemade brandy. His cheeks went pink, from the fire or the brandy, or perhaps the conversation. “I am asking . . . no, I am begging you to postpone your journey tomorrow, sir, and investigate Mr. Stone’s murder.”
It didn’t escape Kendra’s attention that Matthews was not really including her in the conversation. His gaze was locked on the Duke.
The Duke inclined his head graciously. “We accept your invitation, Mr. Matthews. My ward and I shall stay on in East Dingleford to conduct the inquiry into Mr. Stone’s death. I’ll make the necessary arrangements with Mr. Bolton for our extended stay.”
Relief washed over Matthews’s face. “Thank you, sir.”
The Duke held up a finger. “A word of warning—I shall be sending for assistance. My nephew, the Marquis of Sutcliffe. And Sam Kelly, a Bow Street Runner.”
“A thief-taker?” Matthews frowned uneasily. “Do you think that is really necessary, your Grace?”
“I do. Mr. Kelly’s help has always been invaluable in these matters.”
Matthews said nothing for a moment. Then he nodded. “I shall not offer an argument. What is the next course of action, sir?”
Kendra leaned forward. She was done with being ignored. “It would be helpful if you told us everything you know about Mr. Stone.”
He glanced at her nervously. “I—I actually know very little about the man,” he said slowly. “East Dingleford may appear a small village by London standards, but we do have a social structure here, and Mr. Stone and I did not belong in the same circles. The few times we socialized were at local assemblies, the occasional ball at Falcon Court, and gatherings like the village’s Guy Fawkes Night. That is held in my family’s paddock on the outskirts of East Dingleford. I barely knew the man.”
Kendra regarded Matthews. “I’m not asking if you were friends with him. Dr. Poole said he lived here for twenty years, and he was disliked by the community. Tell me what you know of him.”
Matthews hesitated, as though weighing his words. “Mr. Stone was low born,” he finally said. “He was gauche and often brutish. I do not have dealings with the mill myself, but through my father, I have heard of dissension among the workers.”
“How many workers are in the mill?” asked Kendra.
He frowned. “I’m not certain. Possibly three hundred. Maybe less, now that Mr. Stone has been bringing in the new looms.”
“People have been losing their jobs?”
Matthews nodded. “That is why the Luddites attacked the mill.”
“A lot of disgruntled workers then.” And a lot of potential suspects.
“I would think so, yes.” Matthews paused, and gave the Duke a significant look. “There were rumors as well.”
Aldridge lifted his eyebrows. “Of what sort?”
Matthews looked uncomfortable. “Of Mr. Stone’s debauchery throughout the years, even after his marriage. I dare not repeat some of the gossip, for fear of offending Miss Donovan.”
Kendra managed not to roll her eyes. This coming from the man who’d thrown up at the crime scene. “I’m not given to swooning, Mr. Matthews. If you want Mr. Stone’s murder solved, you need to tell us everything, sensibilities be damned.”
He frowned and looked at the Duke.
“Do not concern yourself with my ward,” Aldridge said. “She is not an uppish female. Please, continue.”
After a moment, Matthews nodded. “Very well. There was an incident last spring at the assembly. I was on the dance floor, so I did not witness it myself, but my father was forced to step in. A farmer accused Mr. Stone of being a cardsharp.”
Aldridge looked surprised. “That is a very serious accusation. Was it true?”
“It could not be proven,” Matthews said carefully.
The Duke glanced at Kendra. “Society has little tolerance for cardsharps. It is one of the primary reasons men end up in the dueling fields at dawn in London.”
Dueling was a strange concept to her. There were codes of conduct involved, which basically made it a civilized way to murder each other. Then again, maybe it was a little like chamber pots; it would just take a little while to get used to.
“I’ll bet alcohol has a lot to do with that, as well,” Kendra muttered, and shook her head.
The Duke smiled at her. “I think you may be right, my dear.”
She moved her attention back to Matthews. “What happened when the farmer accused Mr. Stone?”
“Since no one could prove that Mr. Stone had been cheating, I assume the farmer had to pay his debt to Mr. Stone.” Matthews shrugged. “The incident set tongues wagging for a short time, because it took place at the assembly, but it was resolved peacefully and forgotten. I only mention it now because of your inquiry into Mr. Stone’s background.”
“The farmer will need to be interviewed,” she said. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t recall. But my father or Constable Jameson ought to be able to tell you. The incident happened last spring, Miss Donovan. ’Tis a long time to wait to seek revenge.”
Her lips twisted. “I don’t think there’s a statute of limitations over how long someone holds a grudge. And from my experience, the more money involved, the bigger the grudge. Have there been any more recent accusations of cheating leveled at Mr. Stone?”
“Not that I’m aware. But I can ask my father.”
Kendra said, “Mr. Stone’s wife may know. We’ll need to speak with her tomorrow. And we’ll need to interview Lord Bancroft.”
Matthews raised his eyebrows. “You can’t think Lord Bancroft murdered Mr. Stone?”
“I don’t think anything at this point. That’s why we need to conduct interviews.”
He gave a reluctant nod. �
��I must inform his lordship first about Mr. Stone’s death, then I can bring you to Mrs. Stone.” He flicked a look at the porcelain clock on the table. He drained the thimble-full of brandy left in his glass, and pushed himself to his feet. “’Tis late. I must bid you goodnight, sir, Miss Donovan.”
“Until tomorrow morning,” the Duke said, rising. “Shall we say nine o’clock?”
“Yes, sir.” Matthews shrugged into his greatcoat and picked up his gloves and hat. “Thank you for your assistance, your Grace.”
“After we speak to Mrs. Stone, we’ll need to go to the mill again,” Kendra said. “We’ll need to interview the workers. At this point, it looks like Stone was killed during work hours. That means we’ve got three hundred suspects . . . or three hundred witnesses.”
Matthews gave a heavy sigh. “I assume Constable Jameson will be questioning the workers, but the whole thing seems rather overwhelming. I do not know how we will find the fiend who did this.”
“That is why you asked for our help, Mr. Matthews,” the Duke reminded him, tapping him lightly on his narrow shoulder as he walked him to the door.
Kendra lifted her eyebrows when the Duke turned to her after closing the door on the departing Matthews.
“You never had any intention of leaving East Dingleford,” she said, “yet you let Matthews practically beg you to help with the investigation. What game are you playing, sir?”
“No game.” But he began to smile. “You have impressed upon me that investigations involving murder tend to make people anxious. I thought it would be best if we were invited to pursue this matter, rather than pushing our way in. Now we can act with the authority from the local magistrate.”
Kendra nodded. “A clever strategy, your Grace. Especially since I don’t think we’ll be getting any help from the constable.”
“You were quite brilliant in eliminating the Luddites as the murderer,” he said, retracing his footsteps to the side table to pick up his brandy. He eyed her over the rim of the glass. “Do you think this might actually turn out to be a simple robbery? Mr. Stone was killed for what was on the desk?”
Caught in Time Page 5