Kendra shot him a look. “Basically you’re telling us that only Mrs. Harris would know if her husband left in the middle of the night. And I doubt if she’d say anything.”
“Aye, miss.” Sam eyed the American. “Mrs. Harris ain’t one ter preach . . . er, ter share personal information about her husband.”
“What of the other households, Mr. Kelly?” Aldridge asked.
“As they are much larger than the vicarage, me and me men didn’t speak with everyone.” He hesitated. “Mr. Morland’s mum, Lady Anne, had an episode earlier this morning. He went ter London ter fetch a mad-doctor. The servants are a closed-mouth bunch, but I was told she wandered into the stable yard, demanding a horse and calling herself a lass named Myrna or Mina.”
Rebecca put a hand to her throat. “Good heavens. Is there nothing that can be done for the poor woman?”
Munroe shook his head. “I’ve heard of this kind of madness before. There is no cure, my Lady.”
“Most likely Lady Anne was calling herself Myrrha. The other day, she called Mr. Morland Adonis. Myrrha is the mother of Adonis.” Aldridge sighed heavily. “It makes a dreadful sort of sense, doesn’t it? Lady Anne spent her life with her father’s passion for ancient Greek mythology. Now she can no longer distinguish reality from the myths she studied as a child.”
“I cannot imagine a worse fate,” Rebecca said softly.
Kendra remembered how she thought she’d had a psychotic break on her first day in this time period, and had to suppress a shiver. “Neither can I.”
Another heavy silence descended. Sam cleared his throat. “Aye, well. We checked the list of tenants that you gave us. No one remembers seeing Mr. Morland riding the other day.”
“He also said that he did not see any of his tenants,” Aldridge reminded him. “What of Mr. Dalton?”
“Mr. Dalton has gone ter Barking for a cattle auction, so it was easy enough ter conduct the interviews. Much of the staff at Halstead Hall served his aunt. The general opinion is that he is a likeable enough fellow, but they’re suspicious that he was a sawbones, especially when his pa was a doctor, and he has ties ter the gentry. Why lower himself in such a way?”
Kendra assumed the question was rhetorical, so she asked instead, “Did they say anything about Dalton’s late wife?”
“They never made her acquaintance. But Lady Halstead referred ter her as a flighty piece of baggage.”
Alec said with a slight smile, “Lady Halstead was never one to mince words.”
Kendra stared at the map of London spread before her, and shook her head. “He has to have a hidey-hole.”
“A hidey-hole?”
“A place that he’s taking the girls. Somewhere private. Somewhere away from the servants’ watching eyes.”
“There are a few abandoned cottages in the area,” Aldridge said. “Derelict buildings and barns. We even have old monastery ruins in these parts.”
“And caves,” Rebecca added. “This entire vicinity is riddled with caverns. When I was a little girl, I often went about exploring them, searching for fossils. It was quite a passion of mine. Remember, Duke? There were rumors that some caves were even used as priest holes for local Catholic landowners when Queen Elizabeth attempted to obliterate all ties to the papacy.”
Alec scowled. “Bloody hell. If the fiend is hiding in one of the caves, finding him will be like searching for a needle in a bottle of hay. Duke’s property alone is more than fifteen thousand acres. A search would take weeks, perhaps months.”
“Well, there’s a happy thought,” Kendra muttered.
There was a small knock at the door, and Harding came into the room. Aldridge lifted his brows slightly, having expected the footmen to light the wall sconces.
The butler hesitated, a dark uneasiness shifting beneath the man’s normally impassive face. “I apologize for disturbing you, sir. Mrs. Danbury asked me to speak to you . . . ah, there’s been a bit of a worry below stairs, you see.”
“If this is about Monsieur Anton—”
“No, sir. It is about . . . well, a maid seems to have gone missing, sir.”
Kendra swung around to look at the butler. “What? What do you mean? Gone missing?”
Harding glanced at her, and then back at the Duke. “A tweeny. Rose. Cook said . . .” He gave a helpless shrug. “We can’t find her, sir.”
Cold dread gripped Kendra. “Rose?” she echoed.
“Yes, miss.”
She barely heard him. Her heart began to pound as she spun to face the slate board. Her gaze became transfixed on the victimology column. The words seemed to dance in front of her eyes, taunting her. Pretty. Petite. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Young . . .
Oh, dear God . . . Rose.
48
Kendra felt sick—ice cold and sick.
“No,” she whispered, and her knees began to buckle. Her vision wavered. There was a flurry of movement, then arms went around her. The next thing she knew, she was sitting on the sofa and Alec was pressing a glass of brandy into her hand.
“Drink it,” he ordered tersely.
“No . . .” She tried to shove it away, but couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The air had evaporated from her lungs. She was getting dizzy. Leaning forward, she put her head between her knees and concentrated on breathing. In. Out.
Rose.
“Doctor, can you do something?” Rebecca cried, and rushed to sit next to Kendra, putting her arms around her. She frowned when she felt the American trembling. “She’s going to be ill! Does anyone have any smelling salts?”
Kendra straightened, pushed aside the helpless terror gripping her. “No, I’m fine.”
“You are not fine—”
“I’m fine,” she snapped at Rebecca. “It’s Rose who needs help now. When was she last seen?”
The butler spread his hands, looking as helpless as she felt. “Sometime this morning, I believe. We were busy preparing for the nuncheon in the garden.”
Rebecca shook her head. “But she could not have been taken by the madman. She is not a prostitute. She is a tweeny. She does not fit your pattern, Miss Donovan.”
“She fits in every way except one.” A knot was forming in the pit of Kendra’s stomach. “We know that he’s escalating. We know that he wants to engage us. The only reason the unsub chose prostitutes was because they were expendable to society.”
“A servant in my household is not expendable.” There was a note of raw fury that Kendra had never heard before in Aldridge’s voice. His eyes were no longer gentle, but a burning blue. “This madman, whoever he is, must realize that I shall use all my resources to hunt him down.”
Kendra crossed her arms in front of her, trying not to shiver. But she was cold. So cold. “He is aware of your power and influence, Your Grace. He already believes that you’re using all your resources to find him—and yet, haven’t found him. Don’t you see? He believes he’s smarter than you. He believes he’s smarter than all of us!”
And maybe he is . . .
She rubbed her palms against her face. She needed to think. But the horror was welling up inside her, choking her.
“We don’t know if the madman has the girl,” Alec said.
Yes, I do, Kendra thought. I know. “It makes sense,” she whispered. “He’s taunting us. He’s showing us that he can come here and snatch one of our own.”
“We must organize a search,” Alec said.
“But where?” asked Rebecca.
“Everywhere!” Kendra said. “Goddamn it! He’s taking them somewhere!”
“I’ll gather me men to help,” Sam volunteered.
With an effort, Kendra pushed herself to her feet. It took even more of an effort to keep her voice steady. “I need to interview the staff, get a time line together. And then we need to go see Morland, Dalton, and Harris. Immediately.”
Sam stared at her. “Harris was in the village when we questioned his household, but he was the only one who was nearby. I told you that Mr. Morland and Mr. Dalto
n were both gone.”
“Or so they’d have everyone believe.”
The Duke was already moving toward the bellpull. “I’ll have the carriage brought around.”
Alec touched Kendra’s shoulder. “We shall find the maid.”
His gentleness was almost her undoing. Her throat tightened, and she could feel the surge of hot tears pressing behind her eyes.
“I would also like to lend my assistance,” Munroe said.
The lines in Aldridge’s face deepened. “Thank you, Doctor. Your assistance would be appreciated.”
Kendra bit her lip until she tasted blood. But dear God, she needed to keep her emotions in check, because she knew that the Duke wasn’t only thanking him for searching for Rose. He was talking about the possibility of needing Munroe’s assistance if they should find her.
The kitchen was its normal iron-melting temperature, but Kendra felt ice-cold as she and Alec stood in front of more than a dozen servants. Her head was throbbing. The general cacophony of the kitchens didn’t help, as the remaining staff scurried back and forth in a mad dash to prepare the evening’s dinner.
Cook was among the servants, her arms around Molly, who was pressing her face into her apron to stifle her gut-wrenching sobs. “Hush now,” she whispered, but her anxious gaze was fixed on Kendra. “Mayhap the lass ran off, like Jenny.”
“Has Rose ever run off before? Disappeared for a while before?”
“Nay. Nay!” Molly lifted swollen eyes to Kendra. “The monster’s got ’er!”
“W’ot we goin’ ter do?” Another maid began to weep.
Kendra’s head throbbed harder. Everyone was staring at her like she had the power to save Rose. And all she could do was offer them basic police procedure.
She drew in a breath, tried to steady her heartbeat and stave off the horror. “Okay, we need to establish a time line.” She lifted the pad of paper and pencil she’d procured from the Duke’s study. “When was the last time you saw Rose?”
That unleashed a flood of comments. “One at a time,” she ordered, and pointed the pencil at a maid named Tess. “You. When did you see Rose last?”
“Oi saw ’er this morning, ’elpin’ with the polishing upstairs.”
“What time?”
“After nine. Mebbe ’alf past.”
A freckle-faced maid added, “Oi saw ’er around ten. She was fetchin’ vegetables from the garden.”
“She was back in the kitchens after that. Oi know, cause Oi saw ’er with the ’ermit.”
“The hermit? Thomas was here?”
“Aye. ’E came fer some bread an’ cheese.”
“What time was that?”
The girl—Mildred, Kendra remembered—frowned. “’Twas before ’er Ladyship’s nuncheon. Eleven, Oi think. Mebbe ’alf past.”
“S-she was s-supposed ter ’elp me with the l-linens upstairs.” Molly wiped at the tears running down her face. “But she never came up. Oi was angry at ’er. Oi thought mebbe she’d snuck off.”
Kendra heard the guilt in the tweeny’s voice, but there was nothing she could do about it now. “What time was this, Molly?”
“Oi dunno. One. Mebbe a little later. Oi don’t remember!”
“It’s all right. You’re doing fine.”
“’Ow is this gonna ’elp us find the lass?” demanded one of the footmen. “We don’t need to know where she was this mornin’—we need to know where she is now!”
Alec stepped forward. “We are organizing a search party of the grounds, outbuildings, woods.” His voice was firm as he looked at the servants. “Let’s not jump to false conclusions. The girl may have fallen and hurt herself. There may be a rational explanation as to why she is now missing that has nothing to do with the other unpleasantness.”
“’Oi’d like ter volunteer, sir,” a chubby-faced footman offered.
“Aye. Me, too—”
Several other footmen crowded around, offering their help.
“Que faites-vous? Au boulot!” Monsieur Anton’s voice rose above the chorus of volunteers. The little man pushed his way through the knot of footmen. He held a bunch of carrots that he’d brought in from the garden himself. Now he shook them beneath several footmen’s noses, spraying dirt. “Vite! Vite!”
Cook surged forward until she was toe-to-toe with the Frenchman. “Go tend ter ye ducks yerself, ye blasted Frenchie! Can’t ye see we’re busy here?!”
“Comment osez-vous?! J’essaie de créer mon chef-d’oeuvre—”
“Why don’t ye go back ter yer froggy—”
“Je ne peux travailler avec si peu d’égard! Je suis un artiste! Je—”
Kendra’s head was ready to explode. “Ça suffit ! Taisez-vous!” she shouted. “Cher Dieu, une femme est disparue! Elle peut être morte! Ayez un peu de compassion!”
Monsieur Anton swung around, gaping at her. “Vous parlez très bien français!”
She was aware everyone was staring at her with the same shocked expression. She massaged her aching temples. “Goddamnit. I don’t have time for this.”
Alec put his hand on her shoulder. Kendra wasn’t sure if it was meant to comfort or restrain.
It was obvious that Monsieur Anton hadn’t recognized Alec until that moment. His dark eyes rounded and he blanched. “Pardonnez-moi, Monseigneur! Je ne vous ai pas vu!”
“Je comprends, Monsieur Anton. Ne vous inquiétez pas.” In fluent French, Alec dismissed the apology and turned back to the footmen, ordering them to gather the volunteers and meet him in the stable yard.
Alec glanced at Kendra. “You continue to surprise, Miss Donovan.”
Kendra said nothing. Alec shook his head, then followed the departing footmen out the back door. Several maids surged forward.
“W’ot can we do ter ’elp, miss?” one of them asked Kendra.
“Miss Donovan!” Mrs. Danbury’s voice sliced across the noise of the kitchen. “Please come here.”
Kendra hesitated, glancing at the anxious faces around her. “Keep thinking about the last time you saw Rose—if you saw her with anyone, or if you noticed any strangers around the castle,” she told them, and then broke away to join the housekeeper at the door.
“The carriage is ready,” Mrs. Danbury said quietly.
Kendra nodded, but when she tried to move past her, the housekeeper caught her arm.
“You will find the girl, won’t you?” For once there was no suspicion or contempt or dislike in the other woman’s gaze. There was only fear, and a terrible need. Like the others, Mrs. Danbury seemed to think she could actually do something.
“I’m . . . I’m going to try.”
Mrs. Danbury nodded. “Then, go. Please, go find her before it’s too late.”
Kendra managed a nod, but there was an icy lump in her throat. The last time anyone had seen Rose was eleven that morning.
It might already be too late.
49
Time was the enemy in every missing person case, every kidnapping, every homicide. There was always a phantom clock ticking in the background, counting every second.
Darkness had fallen, and Kendra was reminded again of how much she took for granted in her era. Something as simple as street lighting would be a blessing. Here, they relied on the moon—and thank God there was a moon that night—and the carriage’s brass lanterns, which were, she supposed, a precursor to headlights.
As the carriage made its now familiar lurch forward, she clenched her hands on her lap in an attempt to alleviate the unbearable tension twisting in her gut.
“’Tis hazardous to travel at night,” Aldridge said mildly, recognizing her anxiety. “London recently acquired gas lighting on its streets, but the countryside is a far different matter. We must proceed more cautiously.”
She’d already figured that out, but she nodded anyway. They lapsed into a grim silence that was only broken by the clatter of horses’ hooves, the rhythmic turn of the carriage’s wheels and the crunch of gravel, the occasional squeak of leather. Kendra t
ried to clear her mind, to compartmentalize her thoughts, but horrifying images of Rose kept intruding, expanding the icy ball of terror that had become permanently lodged in the pit of her stomach.
Is Rose alive? Or were they racing around like rats in a maze for a hopeless cause?
The ride felt like hours, but it was actually only fifteen minutes before the vehicle swayed to a stop outside the vicarage. The Duke dispensed with the calling card ritual, opening the carriage door himself and jumping down. He waited only to assist Kendra, then hurried up the flagstone path to bang on the door.
“We need to speak with your master, my good man!” he said when the butler opened it.
The servant gaped at him, completely taken aback by someone as important as the Duke of Aldridge appearing on the doorstep with no announcement. “S-sir? Your Grace. Mr. Harris and Mrs. Harris only sat down to dine. I shall inform them of your presence at once!”
“No need.” Aldridge shouldered his way past the man, moving down the long, skinny hall to the stairs. “I know where the dining room is.”
Kendra followed.
“Sir!” The butler finally had enough presence of mind to race after them, but by the time he caught up, Aldridge was already opening the door to the dining room at the top of the stairs. Kendra caught the gleam of dark mahogany paneling, and the warm, buttery glow cast from wall sconces, the fireplace, and a scattering of candles on the table. Harris was sitting at one end of a long table, his hand poised to spear a boiled potato from the serving dish that a maid was holding in front of him; Mrs. Harris sat primly at the other end.
The vicar glanced in their direction, frowning at the unexpected intrusion.
“What the devil—?” Seeing the Duke, Harris’s eyebrows hiked and he dropped the fork, rising to his feet.
“The Duke of Aldridge,” the butler announced belatedly behind them.
The Duke strode forward. “I beg your pardon for interrupting your meal, Mr. Harris, ma’am.” He gave a nod at Mrs. Harris. “We’ve come on a matter of great urgency. One of my maids has gone missing.”
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