Kendra blinked, and had to think about it for a bit. “Oh. It’s just how Americans refer to individual intelligence.”
Of course, “IQ” was actually coined by a German psychologist working at Poland’s University of Breslau. Ironic, really, given all the Polish jokes about intelligence.
“Lady Holbrooke lied about her and her son’s whereabouts on Wednesday evening,” Rebecca told the group as she got up to retrieve the teapot.
Alec frowned. “You can’t be suggesting Lady Holbrooke may have had something to do with her husband’s death?”
“No,” Kendra said. “I’m still not ruling out a woman as the killer, but Lady Holbrooke is petite. Physically, she couldn’t have caused the type of laceration on Sir Giles’s throat unless she was standing on a stepladder.”
“She lied ter protect her son,” Sam said flatly.
“I’d say so, yes. But she was too hasty. Ruth told us that her mother went to a ball that night. Why did Lady Holbrooke think her son needed an alibi?”
The Duke eyed her closely. “Because she believes her son could have killed Sir Giles.”
It wasn’t a question, but Kendra nodded. “She certainly has imagined the possibility. Otherwise she wouldn’t have been so quick to give him an alibi.”
“What do you think?” Alec asked Kendra.
“As I said, I’d like to keep an open mind. Holbrooke is everything Rebecca says—spoiled, arrogant. But I think he’s smart. I’d like to interview him again without his mother around. Sometimes young men like him are a bit too smart for their own good.”
Aldridge said, “Garroting is one thing, but painting the symbols on the body? And what was done with the tongue? I know we discussed this, but it is still difficult to imagine a child doing such a thing to their parent.”
Kendra bit her lip, her mind conjuring up a picture of the savage serial killer Ed Kemper, who’d bludgeoned his mother to death before ripping out her voice box, which he then stuffed into the garbage disposal. Maybe Sir Giles’s tongue carried the same sort of symbolism for Holbrooke.
Looking at her audience now, she decided to spare them the horror of Kemper’s atrocities. She asked, “Did you learn anything from Silas Fitzpatrick?”
“He hated Sir Giles as well. For good reason,” Alec said, and told them the story that Muldoon had uncovered about the murder of his little sister.
Rebecca let out a breath. “Oh, that poor girl. Sir Giles may not have been responsible for her death directly, but his actions were deplorable.”
Kendra looked at Alec and Sam. “Did he have an alibi for the night of the murder?”
Sam opened his mouth, then looked at Rebecca. “Ah, well . . . he said he was occupied.”
Rebecca’s eyes sparked. “I assume you mean he was with a Bird of Paradise. I am not a child, Mr. Kelly. I insist that you stop treating me like one!”
“Pardon me, milady,” he mumbled.
Good for you, Kendra wanted to tell Rebecca. But she needed to focus. “You don’t believe Fitzpatrick?”
“I can’t say, but Mr. Fitzpatrick seems like a slippery fellow. I’ve got me men talkin’ ter the businesses around the Liber. Maybe someone saw somethin’.”
“Good idea. Can you spare a few men to talk to the businesses around Larson & Son Apothecary, and the Holbrooke residence? See if the neighbors noticed anything unusual in the last month.”
“Like what?” asked Sam.
“I have no idea,” she admitted.
The Duke pushed himself to his feet, looking troubled. “I have the same problems with Mr. Fitzpatrick as I do with Mr. Holbrooke. The garroting is the only part of the murder that makes sense, as ghastly as that sounds. Why would he cut out the tongue, paint the symbols on the body?”
“Both acts are about symbolism,” said Kendra. “He could have cut out the tongue of the man who ordered his sister’s murderer be set free. The crosses are maybe a Catholic thing. It’s a theory.
“The same theory goes for the Larsons,” she added. “We visited Larson & Son’s to speak with Bertel Larson. He wasn’t there, but his son was. David.”
The Duke settled behind his desk. “And?”
“My impression is that David holds a lot of bitterness for Sir Giles for his role in persuading Evert to become an intelligence agent.” Kendra thought of the anger and despair that she’d glimpsed on David’s face. “We did learn something odd,” she said. “Bertel Larson stopped coming into the shop about a month ago.”
“He is ill,” Rebecca clarified.
Kendra looked at her. “Maybe.”
“A month . . .” Sam’s eyes went to the timeline on the slate board. “Around the same time Sir Giles began acting in a peculiar manner. That’s mighty suspicious.”
“I agree. Mr. Larson—the Elder—needs to be interviewed. David didn’t have an alibi for the night of the murder. It will be interesting to see if his father has one.”
The Duke said, “You and I shall call upon Mr. Larson tomorrow.”
“It’s not a social call,” Kendra warned.
“Meaning you wish to call in the morning?” guessed Aldridge.
“I’d rather not waste time.” She hesitated. “Speaking of which . . . we ran into Lady St. James at Larson & Son. She said the Smyth-Hopes are having a ball tonight.”
Alec raised his eyebrows. “You aren’t angling for an invitation, are you?”
“Lady St. James believes Lord Cross will be there.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Now your sudden desire to socialize becomes clear.”
Kendra smiled. Social events were not the best places to conduct interviews, but she had learned to make do.
Sam was still staring at the slate board. “Do you think there’s any significance between Lord Cross’s name and the symbols drawn on Sir Giles?”
The Duke drew in a sharp breath. “My God, I hadn’t even considered that.” He met Kendra’s gaze. “But you have.”
“I have,” Kendra admitted. “It would be a pretty bold statement to actually sign your name to a murder victim. I’m reserving judgment until I meet him.”
“It was written in invisible ink,” Rebecca spoke up. “Mayhap he never meant it to be discovered.”
“Possibly,” Kendra said.
The Duke stood. “I shall speak to Caro. She is the one who has been sorting through the invitations. I imagine the Smyth-Hope fete is in there, but, if it is not, I don’t think it will be too difficult to procure an invitation.”
Kendra had to smile. Being associated with someone as powerful as the Duke of Aldridge had its perks. As unlucky as her involuntary time travel experience had been, she’d been fortunate to end up here. God only knew what would have happened to her otherwise.
“I must go home.” Rebecca jumped to her feet. “I’m certain I can persuade Mama to attend the Smyth-Hope ball as well, but if they have other plans, would it be ill-mannered of me to foist my presence on your party tonight, Your Grace?”
“I would be cast down if you did not, my dear,” he said, smiling at his goddaughter with his pale eyes twinkling. “I shall escort you to the door, and have Harding order the carriage brought around.”
“I must be off as well,” Sam said, rising.
Kendra and Alec watched them leave, and whether it was by design or not, the Duke closed the door, allowing them the privacy that most unmarried ladies did not receive in the presence of an eligible bachelor. A protection that Kendra knew cut both ways—saving the maid from being ravaged and saving the man from being forced into an unwanted marriage.
She and Alec weren’t in need of such protections, since she didn’t mind being ravaged by Alec, and he would love it if she forced him into marriage.
“What’s so amusing?” he asked as he advanced to where she stood before the slate board.
“I was just thinking of the rules,” she said with a smile, and then caught her breath when he ran a caressing hand down her arm. Beneath her sleeve, her skin tingled with the warmth of
his palm. God, would she ever get used to it?
Her smile widened, and she slid her hands up his chest to loop around his neck. “Let’s break some rules.”
Alec gave a husky laugh as his arms encircled her, drawing her into a tight embrace. Her blood surged in a way that never failed to amaze her. She tipped her head back so she could gaze into the green eyes, the gold flecks flaring.
“Last time we were alone, we managed to do quite a bit in five minutes, if I recall,” he murmured softly.
“Yeah, I seem to recall that as well. Let’s try to break that record.”
22
Aldridge had seen Rebecca off in his carriage and was about to seek out his sister regarding the Smyth-Hope affair. He couldn’t imagine that she’d voice any objection. Caro enjoyed scolding him about doing his duty as the Duke of Aldridge, which meant putting in the occasional appearance at society’s many soirees.
“Your Grace.”
The Duke paused, one foot on the bottom step, and turned at Harding’s quiet approach. He lifted an eyebrow in inquiry as he searched his butler’s carefully composed face. “Yes?”
“There is a young . . . person at the back entrance. He is requesting to speak to Miss Donovan. I believe he is the same child who was here during last year’s distressing upheaval.”
“Ah, yes. Snake.”
“Unfortunately, that is his name.”
Aldridge’s lips twitched, but he quickly suppressed his amusement. “Show him up to the study.”
Like most majordomos, Harding took great pride in maintaining an impassive expression in all circumstances. But the idea of bringing a street urchin through the Duke’s mansion to the study made the butler’s nostrils flare in horror. “But, sir. Are you absolutely certain? Perhaps Miss Donovan would meet him in the kitchens? Or better yet, the stables?”
“I’m afraid I must insist on the study. Why don’t you bring him here, and I shall escort the boy the rest of the way.”
Harding’s lips parted in shock, but he immediately firmed them as he grappled with his dignity. “As you wish, sir,” he finally said, with utmost formality, and retreated.
It took a few minutes, but Harding returned, marching the boy ahead of him. Somehow, he managed to do it without actually touching Snake. Aldridge couldn’t blame him. The child was utterly filthy, from the top of the shapeless brown wool cap he had squashed on his head to the knit scarf he’d wound around his neck, his brown coat—so threadbare that Aldridge could see his jacket and smock beneath—his patched pantaloons, and boots. Snake’s eyes darted around the entrance hall, and Aldridge caught the crafty gleam in his gaze.
“Good evening, Snake,” he greeted the boy, and frowned as he examined the small face. The child seemed much thinner than their last encounter.
“Gov’ner.” Snake shot him a cheeky grin.
At least his bold attitude was the same, the Duke thought, suppressing a smile. He glanced at his butler, who stood nearby like a disapproving sentry. “Have Cook put together another tray of roast beef, ham, cheese, and bread to send up.” He noticed Snake’s eyes light up. “And a glass of milk.”
The boy grimaced, appalled. “Oi don’t want no cow’s juice!”
Harding scowled at him. “You’d best mind your tongue around your betters, boy.”
Unfazed by the reprimand, Snake shot the butler an impudent smirk.
“Come along.” Aldridge turned to the stairs. He glanced at the urchin as they began to climb the steps. “By the by, what is your name?”
“Snake.”
“I am referring to your Christian name.” He already knew that Snake was a derivative of “little snakesman,” an appellation given to criminals—mostly children—who were small enough to crawl through tight spaces into houses, where they would then unlock doors to allow entry for the adult housebreaker.
“Oh.” Snake frowned. “Oi don’t rightly remember. Me ma was shipped off ter Botany Bay after she was caught filching a loaf of bread. Oi was jest in little breeches.” The boy’s gaze ogled the paintings and vases as they rounded the top of the stairs. “Me sister ’ired me off ter Bear, and that’s where Oi learnt ter be a little snakesman.”
“Your sister?”
“Aye. Didn’t want me under ’er feet when she was doin’ ’er business.”
The Duke’s lips tightened. He had a pretty good idea what kind of business Snake’s sister had been involved in. “What about your father?”
“Ack!” Snake snort was dismissive. “Jack Ketch got ’im even before me ma was transported.”
Aldridge said nothing, but he knew that Snake’s story was typical. England’s harsh legal system had made orphans out of thousands of children just like Snake. Even though he preferred the country to town life and had no interest in politics, he had signed countless petitions to change the laws. Nothing, however, ever seemed to get done.
Snake looked up at him. “Bear says the gentry mort—Miss Donovan—is wantin’ ter see me on account of that cove cocking up ’is toes.”
“That’s correct.” The Duke put his hand on the boy’s bony shoulder to steer him to the door of the study. He made a show of rattling the knob longer than usual before he pushed open the door, and pretended not to see the way Kendra and Alec broke away from each other. “We have a visitor,” he announced.
Kendra’s rosier than normal lips broke into a genuine smile as she hurried forward. “Snake!” Her gaze assessed the boy carefully. The Duke thought Kendra’s brown eyes, already as dark as onyx, darkened even more with concern. “You’ve grown,” she finally said.
“Aye.” He grinned back at her. He’d been involved in kidnapping her, but the Duke suspected Kendra had earned the scamp’s respect when she’d bloodied another lady’s nose.
He said, “I’ve ordered a tray prepared. Snake could probably grow a little more.”
Snake’s features twisted in obvious horror. “Oi’m almost ter big now ter do me job.”
Kendra frowned. “Why don’t you sit down. Do you know why I wanted to talk to you?”
They moved to the table, and were settling into the chairs when the door opened again, and a maid arrived with the lunch tray. Snake’s eyes went round as he stared at the plate filled with food. As soon as the maid set the tray down, he reached for the thickly sliced bread, but then he snatched his hand back at the last minute, looking at the Duke.
“Go on,” the Duke urged. “You must be hungry.”
“Gor! Oi’m gutfoundered.” Having been given permission, Snake didn’t waste time, tearing apart the bread, buttering it, and stuffing it into his mouth, before he eagerly moved on to the meat and cheese. His gaze fixed on Kendra. “Ye want ter ask about that buff mort in the church,” he said with his mouth full.
“Yes,” Kendra said. “I know that the watchman was chasing you. He said that when he got to the church, he didn’t see anything. But you were ahead of him. Did you see anything?”
A sly look came into the child’s face. “Well, Oi’m gonna ’ave ter think on it.”
“Will a shilling jog your memory?” Kendra asked drily.
Snake’s cheeks looked like a greedy chipmunk, but he managed to grin anyway. “Aye, that might ’elp.”
“I don’t have my purse on me—”
“Here.” Alec dug inside his jacket, producing a coin. As soon as he put it on the table, Snake snatched it up with his grimy hand and shoved it into his coat pocket.
“Um, well . . .” He chewed. Before he even swallowed, he was shoveling more food into his mouth, as though he feared it would be taken away. “Let me think . . .”
“If you didn’t see anything, I don’t want you to make up something,” Kendra warned. “Lying would be more detrimental to the investigation than saying nothing. You can keep the coin regardless.”
Something that might have been relief flickered across the boy’s face. “Aye, then. Oi didn’t see nobody. Jest the nib.”
Alec regarded the boy curiously. “Did you recogni
ze Sir Giles?”
“Nay,” Snake mumbled around the food in his mouth. “Never laid me peepers on ’im before.”
Alec asked, “How did you know he was a gentleman?”
“’Cause ’e was clean, weren’t ’e? ’E ’ad a soft look about ’im, even with ’is tongue bein’ cut outta ’is ’ead.”
Aldridge was surprised. “That’s very observant of you, Snake.”
The boy shrugged. “Oi got me peepers; Oi use them.”
And he’s probably counted every valuable in the hallway and this room with those peepers, Aldridge thought wryly.
“Besides,” the boy went on, “Ye ain’t gonna find common folk in Trevelyan Square these days, it being ’aunted and all.”
Kendra raised her eyebrows. “Haunted?”
“Why’d ye think Oi ran in there? Thought the bloody Charley wouldn’t be followin’ me.”
Aldridge searched Kendra’s face. “What, my dear?”
“Nothing really. Ruth Holbrooke asked me if I believed in ghosts.”
“Why would she ask such a question?”
“I don’t know.” Kendra looked at Snake. “You weren’t afraid when you ran into Trevelyan Square?”
An uneasy expression crossed Snake’s face. “Well, it was still mornin’. And Oi didn’t plan on stayin’, jest reckoned Oi’d slide on through.”
Kendra frowned. “Why do people think Trevelyan Square is haunted?”
Snake finished polishing off the plate. “Oi ain’t exactly sure w’ot ’appened. Couple of years ago, folks began leavin’. There were still some poor folk around, but ’eard tell they fled cause they’d seen a demon. No one goes there now.”
“Some people still go there,” said Kendra. “We ran into an old woman.”
“Bah! That’s old Annie, Oi reckon.” He tapped his temple. “She be dicked in the knob. Normal folk don’t go there.”
“Unless they’re running from the law,” murmured Kendra.
Snake grinned at her and pulled out a small silver flask from his inside coat pocket.
Kendra snatched the flask away. “Uh-uh.”
“Oy!”
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