They reached the entrance hall, which was empty. “Goodbye, Miss Donovan,” Astrid said. Kendra didn’t think she imagined the note of finality in the other woman’s voice. With a swish of skirts, Astrid turned and retraced her steps back down the hall.
Kendra didn’t have to wait long before the butler and Molly materialized. He opened the door, his eyes guarded as he watched them leave.
Kendra waited until she and Molly were seated in the carriage before she asked, “Did you learn anything?”
“Aye. The Larsons ’ave a staff of five. Mr. Wyman—the butler—is married ter the cook. Then there’s two maids, and a footman. Oh, and their coachman and stable boy. Oi suppose they’d be considered staff.”
Kendra thought about that. “It’s a big house for only five servants.”
“Oi reckon.”
“Easy enough to avoid five or seven servants. Ten o’clock, they could’ve been in bed or in the kitchens. Did they mention where the Larsons were at that time?”
“Oi asked if they were around, and they said the young master was at ’is laboratory in the shop, and the old master were workin’ in the conservatory. Mrs. Larson was abed.” Molly hesitated. “They weren’t the most friendly of staff. Oi don’t think they liked that ye’re pokin’ around the family’s business.”
“Nobody does,” said Kendra, and smiled a little as she settled back against the seat. “But that doesn’t mean you stop poking.”
38
The caffeine high from earlier that morning had tapered off by the time Kendra climbed the steps to the study, so she was grateful to see a new tray carrying a tall silver pot of coffee on the table. The Duke was behind his desk, pipe in hand, a thin tendril of smoke curling through the air, as he studied the estate’s financial ledgers. Kendra knew he’d made the decision to install gas lighting in Aldridge Castle, but the project was massive and expensive, and required a great deal of his time. A duke running a dukedom, she’d come to realize, wasn’t all servants and parties. It was a Fortune 500 CEO running a multinational corporation.
Alec was lounging on the sofa, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, reading the newspaper. He glanced at her, then was on his feet, moving to the coffee pot.
“Was Lady Holbrooke more forthcoming this time?” he asked as he poured a steaming cup, added a lump of sugar, stirred, and then brought it to her. “You look like you are in need of a refreshment.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, briefly distracted when their fingers brushed, and she caught the warm light in Alec’s green eyes. “Yes.”
Alec gave her a crooked smile. “Yes that Lady Holbrooke was more forthcoming, or yes you are in need of refreshment?”
“Both, actually,” Kendra said, returning his smile as she lifted the cup and sipped. “Lady Holbrooke admitted that her husband had been more disturbed lately.”
“The man had a son who was deeply in debt and had impregnated the maid,” Alec pointed out drily. “That would trouble anyone.”
Kendra lowered her coffee cup and grinned at him. “You may have a point. But Sir Giles already had solutions to those problems.” She took another swallow. “Lady Holbrooke said her husband was quoting Proverbs. She said Sir Giles mentioned something about hiding sins and finding mercy. She doesn’t remember the exact quote, but thought it was odd enough at the time. Apparently, Sir Giles was not the kind of man to go around quoting from the Bible.”
Alec frowned. “She never mentioned this before.”
“Yeah, well, the first time I spoke to her, I put her on the defensive because I thought her son might have murdered his father.”
The Duke stood and moved across the room to the bookcases.
She continued, “Without that being an issue, she was more talkative. And she’d had time to think about how her husband was behaving recently.”
Puffing gently on the pipe, the Duke ran a finger across the book spines on the shelf. “Proverbs, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.” Leather slid against leather as he pulled out an ancient-looking Bible. Not the family Bible, though. That was kept at Aldridge Castle, and was as thick as a cinderblock, filled with family marriages, births, and deaths that dated all the way back to William the Conqueror. When she’d first seen it, it had brought home to her the Duke’s long and noble lineage more than Lady Atwood’s lectures ever could.
The Duke returned to his desk with the book and began flipping through pages.
Kendra said, “I asked if she heard of the name Magdalena, but she hadn’t.”
Alec crossed his arms, leaning against the fireplace mantel. “Mayhap Sir Giles burned the letter to prevent his wife from reading it. For all we know, she could be Sir Giles’s mistress.”
“I don’t think so. There was no indication that he had a mistress, and I really think any rumor in that regard would have come up. Mr. Muldoon would have mentioned it when he spoke of Sir Giles’s character. Speaking of—”
“Here’s one,” the Duke interrupted, glancing up. “Pardon me, my dear.”
“No, go on.”
“Proverbs 10:12. ‘Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all sins.’”
Kendra considered it, but shook her head. “It doesn’t say anything about mercy. And I think Lady Holbrooke would have mentioned love if it had been part of the quote.”
The Duke went back to flipping pages, scanning the passages.
Alec looked at her. “What were you going to say about Muldoon?”
“I haven’t heard anything from him, and I want to find out if he has made any progress on getting ahold of the official report of what happened in Spain.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “You doubt Lord Cross and Captain Mobray’s account?”
She shrugged. “Theirs is the only account that we have. Evert Larson was captured, then killed in some kind of explosion and fire. How did the other British soldiers die? How did Cross and Mobray escape? I assume no one bothered following up on their account after the war. No one is going to track down the French who were at the camp to interview them about it, are they? Even if they could find them.”
Alec shook his head. “No.”
“So, what if there was another account? Something that didn’t quite match up with what Lord Cross and Captain Mobray said?”
Alec frowned. “You are speaking of Magdalena.”
“It fits.”
“To a point. Let’s say this woman did contact Sir Giles about a month ago, and told him a different account about what happened in Spain, which contradicted Lord Cross and Captain Mobray’s official report. Why didn’t Sir Giles begin an investigation?”
“How do you know he didn’t? Maybe that’s what he and Cross were arguing about at White’s.”
The Duke lifted a finger to gain their attention. “Here’s another quote—‘Whoever tries to hide his sins will not succeed, but the one who confesses his sins and leaves them behind will find mercy.’”
Kendra walked over to the desk, reading the passage herself over the Duke’s shoulder. “Maybe.” She went over to the sideboard and replenished her coffee. “I spoke with Ruth, as well, and she said that she’d come upon her father sitting in his study in the dark. He told her that ghosts were best dealt with in the dark.”
She glanced up to catch the Duke’s frown. “It does appear as though Sir Giles had something weighing heavily on his conscience,” he conceded.
Alec shook his head. “If there was an official investigation, I think we would have heard about it. Muldoon would have heard about it.”
“Maybe it was an unofficial investigation,” Kendra said. “Regardless, maybe it’s not that simple. The truth never is, especially if it’s an inconvenient truth. Muldoon said that Sir Giles was the kind of man who would do anything for king and country. Let’s say someone came forward with information that turned Mobray and Cross’s account of what happened to Evert on its head.”
“Magdalena,” said the Duke.
Kendra nodded.
“And maybe the truth would cast England in a poor light.”
The Duke frowned. “How so?”
“I’m not sure. How embarrassing would it be if it came out that two British soldiers, one of whom currently works in government and is looked at as a war hero with a bright future, acted less than honorably in the war?”
Alec said slowly, “It would depend on what you mean by less than honorably.”
She took a slow sip of coffee. “I don’t know, but Sir Giles was a strategist. The end always justifies the means. For him, England is the greater good, and everything else can be sacrificed.”
The Duke closed the bible, his uneasy gaze meeting hers. “But we are talking about the son of a good friend, a boy he once loved like his own.”
“Maybe that’s why he was troubled,” Kendra said. “This wasn’t some young, faceless Irish girl who’d been murdered by a British soldier. This was Evert Larson. ‘Whoever tries to hide his sins will not succeed, but the one who confesses his sins and leaves them behind will find mercy.’ I don’t know about you, but that sounds like someone with a guilty conscience.”
The Duke tapped his pipe against his palm, frowning. “What could have happened in Spain?”
“I don’t know, but Sir Giles wasn’t feeling guilty over what happened in Spain two years ago. He was feeling guilty over thinking he might have to cover up what had happened in Spain,” Kendra corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“And if he buried the truth about what happened in Spain, he would also be burying the truth about what happened to Evert Larson,” Alec said softly. “Justice could not be done—assuming an injustice had been committed.”
“Oh, I think an injustice had been committed, and Magdalena brought it to Sir Giles’s attention,” Kendra said with quiet certainty. “I think that’s what the last month was about. He was trying to come to some sort of decision—whether to go public and launch an official investigation, or”—she shrugged—“let it go.”
“Or he began his own investigation, as you suggested, questioning Cross and Mobray over their account of what happened in Spain.” Alec shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes brooding. “That would have alarmed them.”
Kendra met his eyes. “Yes.”
He said, “Cross didn’t kill Sir Giles.”
“No.”
“Captain Mobray?”
Kendra shrugged. “He certainly has motive.”
The Duke looked at her. “Whatever happened in Spain, Cross and Mobray were in it together. They supported each other’s account.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time partners in crime or conspiracy ended up killing the other,” she murmured.
“You think Lord Cross was going to betray Captain Mobray,” said the Duke.
“I think Mobray could have feared that Cross would betray him. Mobray has political ambitions. God knows there’s nothing worse than someone who has political ambitions and a secret.” She shot the Duke a pointed glance. “That doesn’t change, no matter the century.”
Alec’s gaze moved to the slate board. “Why the theatrics with the tongue, the invisible ink? And carving the symbol into Cross’s chest?”
Kendra had to take a moment to consider that. “Theatrics might be a good way to describe it,” she said finally. “A bit of theater to cause misdirection.”
“That is what you said about Gerard Holbrooke,” Alec reminded. “Are we certain he is no longer a suspect?”
“Unless something else connects Holbrooke to Cross, I don’t think he’s good for it.” She hesitated. “After I spoke with Lady Holbrooke and Ruth, I went to the Larsons.”
Alec stared at her. “You’ve been busy.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” She tried not to sound defensive. She wasn’t going to apologize for doing her job. “We needed to find out if they had an alibi for last night.”
The Duke asked, “And did they?”
“Nothing verifiable. I told them Lord Cross had been murdered, but no one asked me how. And they had nothing to say when I asked them if they knew a woman named Magdalena.”
“Odd,” the Duke murmured.
“Exactly!” She pointed a finger at him, nodding. “These are natural questions. It’s human nature to ask. So, either the Larsons are the most uninquisitive family I’ve ever met, or—”
“They are hiding something,” Alec finished for her.
“They are definitely hiding something,” clarified Kendra. “Magdalena contacted them as well.”
The Duke threw her a startled look. “How do you know? Just because they didn’t inquire about—”
“That’s just icing on the cake. It’s really about the timing. We know that about a month ago, Sir Giles burned the letter from Magdalena and became troubled, guilty, whatever. At the same time, Bertel Larson stopped going to the shop because he was supposedly ill.”
The Duke nodded. “You are right, my dear. But what could have happened in Spain?” he asked again.
Kendra shook her head. “Something Sir Giles thought embarrassing enough to cover up. Unfortunately, I’ve always found that people in government tend to have thin skins. Their first instinct is to cover up anything that they consider a scandal.” It had been a cover-up that was responsible for her being here in the 19th century, after all. “But Sir Giles couldn’t cover this up so easily. Maybe because of Magdalena. Maybe because of Evert Larson, and his own personal connection to the Larson family.”
“But if Magdalena contacted the Larsons about what really happened in Spain, why haven’t they spoken out?” the Duke wondered. “They wouldn’t be conflicted like Sir Giles. It’s their son. They’d want the truth known.”
Kendra hesitated. “Maybe speaking out wasn’t enough.”
They were silent for a moment, the only noise the fire devouring the log in the hearth.
The Duke sighed. “If what you say is true—”
“I’m just theorizing.”
“—then which Larson? I cannot bring myself to believe Mrs. Larson is the murderer. So is it her son or her husband?”
Kendra wasn’t taking Astrid off the table, but decided not to argue the point. “As I said, none of them have a good alibi. They all have motive. Unfortunately, they’re close. We can’t play them off one another. The innocent will lie to protect the guilty.”
She moved to the table and set down her empty cup. Too much caffeine now, she thought. Her head was beginning to pound. “We need to find Magdalena. She’s the key.”
“Let us hope Mr. Kelly will find her,” the Duke said.
“There’s something else we need to consider,” Alec said slowly, and there was something in his tone that made her turn to face him.
“What?”
“If one of the Larsons is behind the murders of Sir Giles and Cross because of some idea for revenge on what happened to Evert, they’re not done. Captain Mobray could be his next victim.”
“It’s possible.” Kendra paused, and then shrugged. “Unless Captain Mobray is the killer.”
39
The Duke and Alec left for a ride in Hyde Park before darkness fell, while Kendra updated the slate board and murder book. She rubbed her throbbing temples as she paced the room, trying to look at all the information she’d gathered from different angles.
She needed more. Muldoon.
Kendra crossed the room to the Duke’s desk. She sat down and found a sheet of foolscap, then reached for the elegant quill in the silver inkstand. She scrutinized the nib to make sure it was still sharp. For the murder book, she preferred a pencil, which was easier, if still a little awkward and ungainly for fingers that craved the sleek keyboards and touchscreens of her era. But she’d begun to use the more fashionable quill pen to correspond with Rebecca while she’d been at the Duke’s northern estate, Monksgrey. Her first two letters had been messy affairs, marked with thick gobs of ink across the page where she’d allowed the nib to rest to long. Who knew writing a letter could be so damned hard?
> Thoughtfully, Kendra stroked the long feather that she was now holding. It had come from a goose’s left wing, she knew. The Duke had informed her that the slight curve in the left wing was desirable by right-handed letter writers, while left-handed writers preferred feathers from the goose’s right wing. Given most people were right-handed, Kendra imagined there were a lot of lopsided birds running around.
She leaned forward to unscrew the inkwell, dipped in the nib, and scratched a quick note to Muldoon. Carefully setting aside the quill-pen, she reached for the pounce box, sprinkling the sand inside across the page to dry the ink quicker. The Duke used hot wax and his own signet ring to seal letters after folding them several times—there was no such thing as an envelope—but the inkstand had a wafer box. Opening it, she selected one of the waxy wafers, and pressed it down to seal the folded foolscap.
Satisfied, Kendra stood, and went to the bell-pull. When a maid answered, she handed her the letter. “I need this delivered to Phineas Muldoon. I don’t have his home address, but he works at the Morning Chronicle. Will this get to him?”
The maid’s brow puckered. “Oi don’t know why not, miss. Oi’ll give it ter Mr. Harding, and ’e can ’ave maybe one of the stable lads deliver it.”
“I need it delivered immediately.”
“Aye, miss. Oi’ll see ter it.”
It took forty-five minutes for Kendra to receive a response. Not as good as sending a text, but not as bad as it could have been. It certainly made Kendra hopeful that the mysterious Magdalena might actually be found.
She opened the crisp paper. The reporter had written on her original foolscap, below her own writing. Meet me in the Grosvenor Square park. M.
Glancing at the time—quarter to five—Kendra jumped up and hurried to her bedchamber to retrieve her cloak. Because the reporter hadn’t suggested a time, she suspected he’d delivered the letter himself, and was now waiting for her across the street. Why he’d chosen there instead of the mansion, she didn’t know.
She was out the front door before it occurred to her to bring Molly with her as her chaperone. Then she was a little annoyed with herself that such a thing had occurred to her at all. Whether she liked it or not, the ridiculous, backward rules for women in this era were beginning to seep into her consciousness. I need to adapt, but I don’t want to lose myself.
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