“’Tis also a well-known method of torture,” said Sam, lifting his tankard and taking a swallow of ale.
“I don’t know how long he tortured her, but when he finally realized it was pointless, he killed her in the same way he killed Mrs. Trout.” Kendra looked at them. “What does that tell us about the unsub?”
“He’s a devil,” Sam muttered.
“Yes and no,” Kendra replied.
The Duke raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean, no? He clearly is a monster, Miss Donovan.”
“He’s a monster, yes, for taking lives. For torture. But he didn’t do it because he enjoyed it. He had a reason. It was a means to an end. We’re not dealing with a sadist.”
Kendra paused, letting that sink in, then continued, “Stone’s murder was impulsive. Anger and panic made it sloppy, disorganized.” She suspected that in the twenty-first century, that crime scene would have yielded a ton of trace evidence that would’ve been used to quickly apprehend the killer. Disorganized crimes were typically easier to solve. “But the murders of Stone’s wife and housekeeper were highly organized. And that forces me to revise my profile. We’re not dealing with a person who killed once, in a hot moment of temper and fear.”
She allowed her gaze to roam across their faces, seeing their fierce concentration on what she was saying. “We’re dealing with someone who will use any means to get what he wants,” she said. “Someone who is very determined, very cold. And very dangerous.”
25
East Dingleford’s Assembly Room was a large brick building located on High Street. It reminded Kendra of the town halls she’d seen in Middle America, which were also used for community dances and socializing. It was eight P.M., and the street and sidewalk were already crowded with arrivals. Kendra heard the buzz of excited conversation as soon as Alec helped her down from the carriage. The citizens of East Dingleford had gotten lucky with the weather. Most of the clouds had blown away by late afternoon. Kendra tilted her head to look up at the moon, a waning gibbous, but still strong enough to allow night travel. Against the inky darkness, a scattering of stars winked down at them.
The Duke’s gaze washed over the throng of people. “The event appears to be a crush. I suggest we leave our outerwear in the carriage.”
Kendra shivered the second she discarded her cloak. The threat of rain may have dissipated, but it was still damn cold. Especially for women, she thought resentfully. After peeling off their greatcoats, men still had on their coats, layered over a waistcoat, shirt, and cravat. Women wore wispy, empire-waisted evening gowns that displayed a bit of décolletage. The evening gown Molly had selected for Kendra was a golden organza floating over a white satin slip. The tiny bodice was embroidered with sequins that twinkled in the moonlight. A gold satin sash was tied into a ribbon beneath her breasts. Embroidered white slippers peeked out from the skirt. Probably the warmest thing she was wearing was the long white kid gloves that ended above her elbows.
It was a wonder more women didn’t end up with pneumonia in this era. Maybe that’s why in another couple of decades women would embrace the fashion that Kendra had always thought looked uncomfortable: starched high-neck collars, long sleeves, extra padding in the form of bustles, and several petticoats.
“Let’s get inside before Molly and I freeze to death,” she muttered.
The narrow sidewalk forced them to walk two at a time. The Duke offered Kendra his elbow. Alec followed behind them, but Molly kept three steps behind him. A country assembly was different than London, Kendra had been informed, less formal, allowing the different classes to mingle. But that didn’t mean a lady’s maid could act as though she were equal to a nobleman.
They were caught in the stream of people who were making their way to the Assembly Room’s doorway. Inside, Kendra observed, “It looks like the entire village showed up.” She appreciated the body heat that warmed up the foyer. There was a good bit of jostling as people removed their coats, hats, and cloaks. Young boys raced around to collect them.
Kendra caught the looks flicked in their direction. They were strangers to East Dingleford, which prompted many stares. But she also had a feeling the small-town gossip machine had kicked in. The villagers knew about the double homicide at the Stone residence, and that they were involved in the investigation.
“Your Grace, Miss Donovan!” It took Matthews a minute to push his way through the press of people. He gave Alec a once-over before recognition lit his eyes. “Lord Sutcliffe. I must say you’ve cleaned up nicely since we met earlier.”
Alec smiled crookedly. “A hot bath and a twenty-minute nap does wonders. And, of course, borrowing the Duke’s valet.” He scraped his palm against his now clean-shaven face. “If he can get the mud out of my riding jacket, you ought to increase Wilson’s wages, uncle.”
Aldridge gave his nephew a look. “I may have to do that to keep him. This entire adventure has taken the wind out of his sails. You look quite stylish as well, Mr. Matthews.”
Kendra’s gaze traveled over Matthews’s navy velvet cutaway coat, which revealed a blue-and-silver striped waistcoat, and white satin knee breeches and white stockings. The points of his collar were high enough to dig into his chin, and his cravat was tied in another elaborate style. A sapphire as large as a robin’s egg was pinned in its snowy folds.
The Duke’s words made Matthews’s slight chest swell. “Thank you, sir.” He attempted to execute a formal bow that drew annoyed cries when his rump bumped into the people behind him as he bent over.
“Oh, dear. I beg your pardon!” Coloring, Matthews straightened hurriedly, casting an apologetic look over his shoulder. He turned back to the Duke. “’Tis an honor to have you at our fete, sir. We have never had a duke in attendance before. I dare say when word gets out to nearby villages, they shall be positively green with envy.”
“You are too gracious,” murmured Aldridge.
Matthews said, “I am the Master of Ceremonies this evening.”
The Duke raised an eyebrow. “You wear many hats, Mr. Matthews.”
“We do not put on airs in East Dingleford or pretend to be so grand as London Town, but we do have our codes. And those codes must be enforced here at our assembly.” Matthews gave Kendra an approving nod. “I am relieved to see that your gloves are white, Miss Donovan, as they should be. You would be utterly scandalized to hear how many young ladies have been brazen enough to wear colored gloves these days.”
Kendra had been in this time period long enough to know that society revolved around countless rules, but she hadn’t heard this one yet. “Young ladies aren’t supposed to wear colored gloves?”
“Good heavens, no. Not if they desire to dance.” He paused, eyeing her with confusion. “’Tis the same in London, is it not? Or has there been a relaxing of standards?”
Alec said, “You have the right of it, Mr. Matthews. The restriction remains.”
Matthews looked relieved. “Thank you. I . . . oh.” He cocked his head to listen as the plucking notes of a violin drifting through the doorway. “Forgive me, but I must have a word with the musicians before they begin.”
They watched him dive back into the crowd, fighting his way into the ballroom. Alec turned to gaze at Kendra. “You are considering ordering a dozen colored gloves, aren’t you, Miss Donovan?”
She laughed. “Maybe more.”
“And if they play the waltz?” Alec asked.
Kendra’s breath caught as she recognized the heat in Alec’s green eyes, and remembered that they’d danced the waltz last month in the Duke’s study. The memory of it—and what had come after—burned through her, so hot that she wondered if she’d become the first documented case of spontaneous self-combustion in history.
“It’s doubtful they will play the waltz,” Aldridge said, unwittingly breaking the spell between her and Alec. “The dance has only begun to be accepted in London. It will undoubtedly be months before it arrives here.”
“Yes, well.” Kendra cleared her throat, an
d tore her gaze from Alec’s wicked grin. “I didn’t come here to dance. I came here to interview people.”
Aldridge smiled, “Then let us begin.”
The citizens of East Dingleford had splurged on the décor of the ballroom, Kendra thought as she stood in the corner. Enormous gilded mirrors hung against the patterned ivory silk wallpaper, doubling the people mingling inside the ballroom. Three chandeliers dropped from the high ceiling, their light reflecting against the tall windows and French doors that led out to the verandah. She could smell the more expensive beeswax melting from dozens of lit tapers.
The Assembly Room had indeed brought the different classes together, but Matthews was careful to introduce dance partners who shared the same rung of society. Kendra could now tell from the cut of a man’s coat or the fabric of a woman’s gown where they belonged in the social hierarchy. The Duke had been persuaded into honoring them with his presence on the dance floor, and was standing opposite a handsome older woman, who was wearing a four-tiered diamond necklace that spoke of, if not nobility, then wealth.
Kendra’s gaze scanned the chairs that ringed the dance floor. Lady Winifred sat in one of them. There were other women around her, but the countess had a distant expression on her beautiful face that somehow set her apart.
“Miss Donovan.” Bancroft moved into her line of vision. His dark eyes flicked to Alec, who was standing beside her. “Lord Sutcliffe.”
“My lord,” Alec greeted coolly.
“I was hoping to persuade Miss Donovan to take a turn on the dance floor.”
“You’ll thank me when I turn you down.” Kendra summoned a polite smile. “I have two left feet.”
The earl regarded her steadily. “I see. Well, then perhaps I can persuade you to take a stroll?”
Kendra sensed Alec stiffening beside her, but stepped forward immediately, putting her hand on Bancroft’s arm. “I’d like that, my lord.”
They said nothing as they joined the other couples circling the outer perimeter of the room. The string quartet had begun playing, the music swelling into a wonderfully upbeat tempo that encouraged the dancers. Kendra thought it was Haydn.
“Does your interest lie with Lord Sutcliffe?” Bancroft asked abruptly.
“What?” Whatever topic she thought the earl would introduce, this was not it. She turned her head to look at him.
“Do you and Lord Sutcliffe have an understanding?” His dark eyes locked on hers. She couldn’t read his expression, but the intensity in his gaze once again made her uneasy. “He appears possessive of you, Miss Donovan. I wondered if a betrothal between you is imminent.”
“No.”
“It would be logical, of course. I am aware that Lord Sutcliffe is the Duke’s nephew and heir. And you are his Grace’s ward. I assume the Duke has made provisions for you. However, if you marry his nephew, the wealth remains in his family.”
“That’s very cold-blooded don’t you think?”
He smiled. “Somehow, I don’t think you are a romantic young maid, Miss Donovan. The business of marriage is just that—business.”
Kendra narrowed her eyes at the earl. “Then how is it any of your business?”
“My wife is dead, Miss Donovan. I have been a widower for nearly three years. But I am not averse to the state of matrimony.”
She stumbled, and for a moment her mind went blank. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?
“I find you a fascinating woman, Miss Donovan.” He ushered her toward a shadowy corner near the French doors. He stopped, and fixed her with an unfathomable gaze. “I believe we have much in common.”
Kendra stared back at him, and hoped that she didn’t look as appalled as she was feeling. Christ, was he hitting on her? Such May-December marriages were done all the time, throughout history—and Hollywood. Still, she sensed something else was behind Lord Bancroft’s sudden interest in her. A diversionary tactic? To throw her off her game?
She tried to pull her hand from his grasp, and was reminded that he had strength that belied his age. She glared at him until he let go, then took a step back, angered at his attempt at intimidation.
“I’m not entirely sure what you are saying, my lord,” she finally said, and was pleased that her voice was cold rather than heated with temper. “We barely know each other.”
“I disagree. I know who you are, Miss Donovan.”
“Papa.”
Kendra would never admit to the surge of relief at Lady Winifred’s timing. She turned to meet Lady Winifred’s dark eyes—the same dark eyes as her father—as she approached. Walking next to her was an old woman wearing a starched black bombazine dress that rustled as she walked, and an ivory ruffled lace cap pinned to her thinning white hair.
“Miss Donovan,” Lady Winifred said, “I am surprised to see you here tonight.”
“Really? Why?”
Lady Winifred arched a brow, pretending amazement. “Because this very afternoon you discovered Mrs. Stone’s body, did you not?”
Kendra said, “And Mrs. Trout.”
“Pardon?”
“I discovered Mrs. Trout’s body, as well,” Kendra said firmly, annoyed that the poor housekeeper had become a side note.
Lady Winifred’s expression cleared. “Oh. Yes, certainly.” She gave her small, cool smile. “I only know that if I had the misfortune to discover what you did, I would be prostrate in bed—not attending a local assembly some scant hours later. You are a wonder, Miss Donovan, to not be affected by the more feminine sensibilities.”
Kendra felt that was a slight, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “Oh, I have a feeling you’d be able to hold your own, too, my lady,” she said, and smiled.
“Good evening, Lord Bancroft,” greeted the old woman who’d accompanied Lady Winifred. Her faded blue eyes were pinned on the earl.
“Forgive me . . . Mrs. Hearnshaw, this is Miss Donovan,” Lady Winifred introduced. “She is an American.”
She made it sound like a disease, Kendra thought. She looked at the old woman, who was returning her regard with bright curiosity.
“Miss Donovan.”
“Mrs. Hearnshaw.” Mrs. Hearnshaw . . . It took Kendra a moment, then she remembered: Falcon Court’s former housekeeper.
“Mrs. Hearnshaw.” Bancroft inclined his head, his expression unreadable.
“Your daughter kindly offered to take a turn around the ballroom, as my daughter-in-law has abandoned me.” The old woman gave a sniff, apparently not happy. “I suspect Jenny snuck into the card room again. She’ll be losing her pin money, mark my words.”
Bancroft looked at Kendra. “Would you like a refreshment, Miss Donovan? I’ll escort you to the supper room.”
Kendra wondered if it was her imagination, or if the earl was trying to avoid his former housekeeper. “Actually, I was going to ask Mrs. Hearnshaw if she’d like to walk with me,” she said smoothly. It killed two birds with one stone, she decided. She had wanted to talk to Falcon Court’s housekeeper, but even more importantly, she really didn’t want to continue the strange conversation she’d been having with Bancroft, at least not until she figured out what he was playing at. Not for a second did she think he’d formed some sort of attraction to her. What was his game?
“I would like a refreshment, Papa.” Lady Winifred spoke up, and looped her arm through her father’s, looking at him expectantly.
Bancroft hesitated, then he inclined his head. “As you wish.” He leveled a look at Kendra. “Please consider what I said, Miss Donovan.”
Kendra said nothing, but saw Lady Winifred shot her father a questioning glance. Then Bancroft put his hand on his daughter’s and they joined the strollers. Kendra watched them disappear through a nearby door that she could only assume was the supper room.
“Seeing how you desire to walk, Miss Donovan, perhaps we can walk to the card room to make sure my foolish daughter-in-law has come to no harm,” said Mrs. Hearnshaw, her gaze appraising Kendra. “She has a fondness for games.”
<
br /> Kendra thought of Lord Bancroft. “I don’t think your daughter-in-law is alone in that,” she murmured. “I get the impression that there are a lot of people in East Dingleford who have a fondness for games.”
26
Tell me, how long have you lived in East Dingleford, Mrs. Hearnshaw?” Kendra asked the old woman as they joined the other strollers circling the ballroom. Already the room was beginning to feel overheated with the number of bodies swirling around the dance floor. Kendra wished someone would crack open a window or one of the French doors to lessen the stuffiness, and bring in fresh air to diffuse the mingled odors of wax, perfume, and sweat.
“All my life,” said Mrs. Hearnshaw, watching Kendra out of the corner of her eye. The blue eyes might have faded with age, but they were still sharp with intelligence. “I will be four score and two next month, Miss Donovan.”
Mrs. Hearnshaw sounded triumphant. Kendra couldn’t blame her. Eighty-two might be normal for women in the western world in the twenty-first century, but was unusual enough here in Georgian England to deserve applause. Hell, she deserved a parade.
“When did you become the housekeeper at Falcon Court?” she asked.
The old woman looked surprised. “How did you know I was the housekeeper?”
“Someone mentioned it.”
“I began as a scullery maid,” she said. “My father owned the local haberdashery. It did well enough, but with fourteen children . . . well, we could hardly all work behind the counter, could we? And East Dingleford was much smaller back then. My sister and I were fortunate to find work on the estate.”
Kendra knew that a scullery maid was one of the lowest positions in a household, responsible for scrubbing the kettles, cutlery, and dishes, and blackening the stove early each morning. “How old were you?” she asked.
“My sister was ten and three; I was nine.”
Kendra was no longer surprised at how young children were when they began working. Child labor was part of this world, and Kendra suspected it had been even worse when Mrs. Hearnshaw had been a little girl. “You worked your way up to become housekeeper. That’s admirable.”
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