A Murder in Time

by Julie McElwain

  “Mama—”

  “No! NO! You are not my Adonis!” Terror rippled across Lady Anne’s face, and she shrank away from Morland. “No! No! Do not touch me!” She began to sob.

  Mrs. Marks hauled the old woman to her side. “There now, ma’am. Would you like a nice cuppa chocolate?” She herded her down the hall, casting one anxious glance back at Morland. “We’ll sit by the fire, you and me, and drink our chocolate.”

  “He’s not my Adonis! Where is Adonis?” the old woman whimpered against the servant. They turned a corner and eventually Lady Anne’s sobs faded, leaving a stark silence in its wake.

  They stood frozen, locked into place by a myriad of emotions. Kendra exchanged a glance with the Duke, and saw horror and pity in his gaze.

  “I apologize, Your Grace, for that scene,” Morland said stiffly. He looked so dazed that Kendra actually felt sorry for him. “My mother, as I said, is ill.”

  “I had no idea,” the Duke murmured. “I haven’t seen Lady Anne since . . . well, since your grandfather died.”

  “Yes. It happened shortly after. She began to forget things. There were days she had to be told to eat or dress. Sometimes . . .” He swallowed hard, and stared unseeingly down the corridor where his mother had disappeared. “Sometimes she mistakes me for my father. Or her reality becomes blended with mythology. Mrs. Marks takes care of her, watches her.” His lips twisted. “Or tries to. Despite my mother’s failing mental capacity, she’s canny enough to escape the woman.”

  “My deepest sympathies, my boy. I remember Lady Anne . . .” Aldridge paused and then sighed. “That is neither here nor there. We shall leave you in peace, Mr. Morland. Forgive our intrusion.”

  Morland nodded with an air of distraction, accompanying them down the stairs to the foyer. “I would prefer it if you would be . . . discreet about my mother, sir. I would not wish her name bandied about.”

  “Quite understandable.” Aldridge hesitated. “If you should require any assistance . . .”

  “Thank you, sir. I have brought in mad-doctors from London, but they say there is nothing to be done. I won’t put her in a lunatic asylum.”

  “No, certainly not.”

  They stood in an awkward silence until the carriage arrived. Aldridge waited until the coachman flicked his whip, and the horses began trotting down the drive. The afternoon was sliding fast into evening and there was a chill in the air, but Kendra thought they were dealing with another chill that came from horror.

  “My God,” the Duke breathed. “I had no idea. Lady Anne is quite mad.”

  35

  The sun was sinking rapidly to the horizon when they gathered again in the study. As Alec poured drinks, two footmen arrived to silently bring in wood and light a fire in the hearth, as well as lighting the candles and wall sconces.

  Rebecca waited until the servants had departed before she revealed, “Harris was not at home.”

  Kendra accepted a glass of claret from Alec. “Not at home, literally? Or not at home to you?”

  Rebecca gave her an astonished look. “My dear Miss Donovan, Sutcliffe is a marquis. I am the daughter of an earl. Mr. Harris is the youngest son of an earl. A vicar. He would hardly have not been at home to us if he were at home!”

  Aldridge chuckled as he took a sip of his brandy. “I believe Miss Donovan is jesting, my dear. I explained to her the calling card etiquette during our visit to Tinley Park.”

  The aristocrat raised her brows. “You do not have calling cards in America?”

  Again Kendra thought of her FBI badge. “My calling card was a little different. Where was Mr. Harris?”

  “Out in the woods riding. Mr. Kelly, would you like a glass of claret, brandy, or whiskey?” Alec glanced at the Runner.

  “Oh. Whiskey, thank you, sir.”

  “We shall have to interview him another time,” Alec continued, passing a stout glass with a generous four fingers to Sam. “However, I am happy to report that we can eliminate Squire Wilding from our hunt.”

  “Yes.” Rebecca sipped her claret. “The poor man is suffering most dreadfully from the unwalkable disease. Podagra,” she added when she saw Kendra frown.

  “Podagra? Foot pain?” Kendra translated the Greek phrase.

  “Gout, Miss Donovan,” the Duke added. “The disease of kings. The good Squire has a prodigious fondness for food—red meat in particular, if I recall. Which, I have been told, exasperates the illness.”

  “His big toe has swelled up almost to the size of a cricket ball,” Rebecca informed everyone. “It’s quite remarkable. He was in a chair with his foot raised on a stool with pillows. He can scarcely stand upright without two servants to carry him about.”

  “The Squire’s misfortune is fortunate for us, then,” Aldridge glanced at Sam. “What of you, Mr. Kelly? Do you have similarly good news to report?”

  “Regrettably, no. Mr. Hawkings saw Lord Gabriel and Captain Harcourt at the beginning of the first cockfight, but couldn’t swear they were around after. It was a crush, with more than two hundred men. They could’ve left.”

  Alec’s mouth tightened. “I shall speak to my brother again.”

  Kendra shook her head. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  “He is my brother, Miss Donovan.”

  “Which is precisely why you shouldn’t speak to him. You’re too emotionally invested. You don’t want him to be guilty. You may hear only what you want to hear.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I am not deaf, woman.”

  “No, you’re human,” she snapped.

  Aldridge raised his hand to curtail any argument. “Miss Donovan and I will speak with Gabriel tomorrow, Alec.”

  Kendra could see that Alec didn’t like that idea, but he said nothing. After a moment, Sam cleared his throat. “I also learned that Lord Gabriel’s companion, Captain Harcourt, has a hunting lodge in the area, and he’s in dun territory.”

  That surprised the Duke. “I knew he had a hunting lodge hereabouts, but I had no idea about his financial situation. My sister must be unaware of it, as well. She is not in the habit of inviting fortune hunters to her soirees.”

  Rebecca looked thoughtful. “Mary told me that he was on the pursuit for a wife. Now I realize he must be looking for an heiress.”

  “Mayhap you should ask your maid who killed the girl,” Alec muttered. “’Twould save us all time.”

  Rebecca ignored him, looking at Kendra and the Duke. “And what of your inquiry? Were you able to eliminate Morland from the list of suspects?”

  Aldridge frowned down into his brandy glass. “Alas, no. Morland was very reasonably in bed during the night of the murder. However, we did discover something distressing. Lady Anne is quite ill. Her mind has shattered.”

  Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Good heavens.”

  “We shall not speak of it beyond this room,” Aldridge instructed. “We may be forced to inquire into these gentlemen’s lives, but we must be circumspect in the information that we uncover. They deserve that much consideration.”

  “Though dementia has taken its toll on her, Lady Anne bore an uncanny resemblance to our victims when she was younger,” Kendra pointed out.

  “Yes, she does, but such coloring is hardly rare,” the Duke said slowly. His eyes lifted to the portrait above the fireplace. “My wife and daughter had similar coloring—as you do yourself, Miss Donovan. Lady Anne’s physical attributes may simply be a coincidence.”

  “Maybe. Either way, it’s something to take into account. We also learned something else. You were surprised to see Lady Anne’s mental deterioration.”

  Aldridge frowned. “Yes. She has become a recluse, but I had no idea that she was ill. Still, it is not something one would want known.”

  “Probably not, but people tend to talk. It’s how Lady Rebecca’s maid knew that Captain Harcourt was looking for a wife. Mr. Morland and his household are remarkably tight-lipped. They know how to keep a secret. I have to wonder what other secrets they might be keeping.” />
  Everyone was silent as they considered that. Then Sam finished off his whiskey, eyeing the empty glass somewhat mournfully before he pushed himself to his feet. “A couple of me men arrived earlier ter help with inquiries. Unless you have other instructions, Your Grace, I’ll be joining them. Tomorrow night, Hawkings’ll have another cockfight. As it’ll most likely draw the same crowd, I’ll go and see if any of the blokes remember seeing Lord Gabriel or Captain Harcourt last Sunday.”

  “Very good, Mr. Kelly.”

  After the Bow Street Runner left, Aldridge stood up. “Tomorrow we’ll continue this business. But tonight let us put aside these grim musings. Caro has arranged a dance to follow dinner. Mayhap we can enjoy the rest of the evening, eh?”

  Kendra doubted whether she’d enjoy the evening. But if she had any inkling of what was about to happen, she would’ve come up with any excuse to stay behind.

  36

  A chill of déjà vu raced up Kendra’s arms as she hovered on the sidelines of the grand ballroom. Six days ago, she’d stood in this very spot, watching Sir Jeremy Greene drink champagne beneath a blazing chandelier.

  Now Sir Jeremy was dead, and the candles weren’t cleverly designed bulbs, but real candles. The people around her were not playing roles in history—they were history, living, breathing history.

  “I see Duke persuaded Rebecca to take a turn on the dance floor.” Alec smiled as he came up beside her, looking outrageously handsome in his bottle-green cutaway coat, creamy cravat, and pantaloons.

  She followed his line of sight to where Aldridge and Rebecca were doing some sort of robust dance that involved trotting high steps and multiple partners, their movements timed to the rich flute, piano, and violin notes played by the local musicians Lady Atwood had hired. Among the dancers, Kendra caught sight of Mr. Morland paired with Lady Dover, and Mr. Dalton with Sarah Rawlins. Harris and his wife were not in attendance.

  “Would you care to dance, Miss Donovan?”

  “God, no.”

  He laughed. “You crush me.”

  She gave him a look. “I doubt it. I don’t know how to dance.” Like that, she silently amended. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone dancing—probably when she was fifteen and in college, and she’d felt awkward and out of place then. Younger than her college peers. A freak. Another moment of déjà vu.

  Alec snagged two champagne flutes from a passing footman, offering her one. Silently, they viewed the dancers spinning by.

  “What do you think of my aunt’s little soiree?”

  “Colorful.” Kendra smiled slightly. She sipped the champagne as she watched the Duke and Rebecca clasp their hands high in the air, their bodies twisting in an intricate maneuver. “It reminds me of Jane Austen.”

  “Jane Austen?”

  “Yes. You know . . . Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Persuasion.”

  There was something in his silence that made her glance at him. His eyes were fixed on her. Kendra’s smile faded and her mouth grew dry. What if she hadn’t slipped back in time after all, but sideways, into a different dimension? String theory proposed the universe was made up with different membranes or planes of existence, alternate worlds. Maybe Jane Austen had never existed, or she’d existed but had never become a writer. That was the problem with time travel—there was more than one theory, more than one possibility.

  She licked her lips. “Maybe . . . maybe I’m wrong about that . . .”

  “Pride and Prejudice was quite well received, as I recall,” Alec said slowly. “Rebecca is an admirer of that novel, as well as Sense and Sensibility. You have read them?”

  Something was wrong, Kendra knew. But what? If Jane Austen existed in this time line, why was he behaving so oddly?

  She swallowed some champagne, trying to think. “Yes.” That seemed a safe enough answer. Except Alec’s green eyes had taken on an intensity that made her palms sweat.

  “Do you know the authoress?”

  Alarm bells were now ringing. “Why do you ask?”

  “’Tis a simple query, Miss Donovan. Do you know the authoress of the novels?”

  “No.”

  He said nothing. Instead, he turned his head to watch the dancers as they whirled by. He didn’t look like he was seeing the dancing; he looked like he was thinking hard about something.

  “What’s wrong?” she felt compelled to ask.

  He glanced at her with a frown. Then he appeared to come to a decision, reaching out to grasp her elbow. “I would like you to come with me, Miss Donovan.”

  “Come with you? Where? Why?”

  “’To end this farce.” His hand tightened briefly when she resisted him trying to maneuver her toward the door. After a moment, he dropped his hand and presented her with his arm. To all outward appearances, it would seem like a courtly gesture. But she knew it was a challenge.

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded. Her heart was thrumming uncomfortably.

  “Come with me and you shall find out.”

  Still, she hesitated.

  “Don’t be a coward, Miss Donovan.”

  Kendra shot him an angry glance. Although she suspected he was trying to goad her, she laid her hand on his arm, aware of the contrast of his coat’s soft velvet and the hard muscles beneath her fingertips. As they walked to the open doors, Kendra realized they probably looked like any other couple strolling around the ballroom, the tension between them hidden beneath the ballroom’s gaiety. Only the footmen seemed to be aware of it when they left the ballroom. Kendra could feel their curious eyes on them as they walked out in the hall.

  Alec didn’t speak, and Kendra found that she couldn’t, her throat closing almost painfully. The music and murmur of conversation, punctuated with laughter, faded as they continued down the hall. Soon, the only sound was the whisper of silk from the evening gown she wore, their footsteps muffled on the carpeting and their own light breathing.

  “Where are we going?” She forced herself to ask the question, needing to break the oppressive silence between them.

  Alec didn’t answer, ushering her around another corner. Kendra began to withdraw her hand from his arm, ready to have it out right here in the hall, but their journey came to an end in front of a pair of wide double doors. Alec opened them, and stepped into the shadowy room.

  Like any animal scenting danger, Kendra kept to the threshold. Alec found some flint and lit nearby candles. Kendra didn’t need the minuscule light to reveal the bookshelves and enormous paintings above. She hadn’t spent any time here, but she knew this was the library.

  “Please come in, Miss Donovan.” Alec wasn’t looking at her. He’d taken a candle and was now perusing the bookshelves on the right.

  Shivering—the room was drafty, although Kendra wasn’t entirely sure that was the cause of her goose bumps—she took three steps into the room. The nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified. She was still holding her champagne glass, and now downed the remaining contents with one swallow. “Why’d you bring me here?”

  He ignored her, continuing his search.

  Her mind raced, and she tried to think what she’d said to provoke this reaction. Something about Jane Austen obviously. Jane Austen existed in this time line, and she’d written the books that remained popular in Kendra’s own era. What could be wrong?

  “Ah.” Alec let out a sigh of satisfaction as he pulled a book out of the shelf. “I was certain it was here.” He turned and came toward Kendra. “Now I have a question,” he said softly. “Who the devil are you, Kendra Donovan?”

  37

  “I don’t understand.” Mouth dry, Kendra stared at the book in his hand like it was a ticking time bomb.

  “’Tis a simple question.” He kept his gaze fixed on hers, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. “Shall we begin with this: Where were you employed before you arrived at the castle last week?”

  She stared at him.

  His mouth tightened. “Shall we take this from
another angle, then? You told the Duke that you arrived in London in the month of May 1812. Yet your name does not appear on any ship manifest during that month.”

  “How do you—?” She remembered the suspicious look Sam had given her earlier. “Mr. Kelly. You had him investigate me when he was in London.”

  “Actually, it was the Duke who had the Runner send his men around to check on your tale.”

  “He never said anything.” She turned away to set the empty champagne flute down on a nearby table. Her hand, she noticed, wasn’t quite steady.

  “My uncle is a most unusual man. He admires your intelligence, Miss Donovan. He has affection for you. He was hoping you’d come to him, trust him enough to tell him the truth.”

  She felt sick. “This has nothing to do with trust.”

  Alec lifted a brow. “Then what does it have to do with, pray tell?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Not unless you confide in me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why the devil not?”

  “Because you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Who are you to decide what I would or would not believe?”

  She pressed a hand to her churning stomach and simply shook her head.

  “Are you an American spy?”

  That made her blink. “What? No. That’s ridiculous.”

  “A spy for the Irish rebels?”

  “No!”

  “Working for the French?”

  “Oh, for God’s sakes, no. No, I’m not working for any government.” Not any longer. She’d left the FBI. Gone rogue—more than two hundred years in the future.

  “Then I do not comprehend the secrecy.”

  She doubted he’d comprehend time travel any more.

  “What are you hiding?” he asked softly.

  Kendra had nothing to say to that. What the hell could she say? The truth? He would think she was crazy. She shuddered to think where she’d end up—a nineteenth-century mental hospital, probably. She had visions of screaming patients chained to beds, locked in deplorable conditions. She couldn’t risk it.