A Murder in Time (50 page)

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 tried 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.”

Harris frowned. “I don't understand, sir. Your maid is missing, and you are under the impression that she is here?”

Kendra studied him closely, couldn't see anything beyond his confusion—or the
appearance
of confusion. Serial killers were chameleons. They adapted to whatever the situation called for, and lied without batting an eyelash.

“Where were you today, Mr. Harris?” she demanded bluntly. She'd be damned if she'd waste time being polite.
Time
. They were running out of it.

Harris flicked her a haughty look. “Are you accusing me now of murdering your maid, Miss Donovan? It wasn't enough for you to insult me yesterday by suggesting that I went about murdering whores?”

“I want to know where you were today. I'm not too concerned if that insults you or not.”

Red tinged his cheekbones. “Your Grace, surely—”

Aldridge cut him off, his tone sharp. “I shall apologize for any insult, but please answer the question, Mr. Harris. Time is a factor here.”

The vicar gave a put-upon sigh and shrugged. He wouldn't challenge Aldridge, Kendra knew. “I worked in my study in the early morning hours, and then rode over to the King's Head, where I indulged in a pint. Mr. Hawkings can attest to my whereabouts if my word isn't good enough for you.” He let that hang for a moment, but when no one contradicted him, he continued, his tone becoming even more brittle. “I returned home, had my midday meal. Later, I went riding.”

“You rode yesterday.”

Harris gave her a look that suggested she was an idiot. “What of it? That does not preclude me riding today, Miss Donovan. I recall pointing out to you yesterday that I ride most afternoons. This afternoon was quite typical, I assure you.”

“Did anyone see you or did you see anyone while you were riding?”

“I have no idea.”

“You don't know if you saw anyone? What, were you struck by temporary blindness?”

His face tightened at her sarcasm. “You are being impertinent, Miss Donovan, and I do not appreciate it. I did not see anyone. Therefore, I have no idea if anyone observed me.”

“Where did you go riding?”

“The woods, the same as yesterday.”

“What time did you leave the King's Head?”

“Eleven. Mayhap half past.”

Rose had last been seen around eleven o'clock. “And you came right home?”

“Yes.”

Kendra swung around to face Mrs. Harris, who was watching wide-eyed. “Is that true?”

She gave a frightened squeak. “P-pardon?”

“When did your husband return home today?” Kendra demanded impatiently.

“I shall not have you intimidate my wife, Miss Donovan!” Harris protested.

“I'm only asking her a question. I'll leave the intimidation to you.” Kendra approached the woman, made sure to shift her body to block the woman's view of her husband. “Mrs. Harris, what time did your husband return home? Was it eleven or eleven-thi—half past eleven? I need you to be specific.”

“I-I . . . think . . . half past,” she said faintly. “Yes. Yes, it must have been.”

“You need to tell me the truth, Mrs. Harris.”

“How dare you!” the vicar declared.

Mrs. Harris looked on the verge of tears. “B-but I am. I am not lying, I swear!”

“Miss Donovan, I believe we have what we came for,” the Duke said quietly. Kendra threw him a desperate glance. “Come, my dear.” He approached, took her arm, and steered her toward the door.

Kendra looked back at Harris, and thought she saw triumph in his eyes. “I am sorry I could not be of more assistance, sir.”

Asshole
, she thought. But that didn't make him a killer.

Aldridge gave her a concerned look as soon as they were settled once more in the carriage. “A half an hour is not much time to abduct the maid, Miss Donovan,” Aldridge pointed out gently.

“How far is the tavern from the vicarage?”

“By horse, a few minutes.”

“If it's so close, why'd he take a horse? Why not walk?”

The Duke frowned and shrugged. “'Tis not unheard of, Miss Donovan.”

She supposed he was right. Hell, she'd known people who drove their car across the street rather than walk. Maybe Harris was like that. Or maybe he had another reason.

“And the tavern to the castle?”

“It would depend on the pace you set. Five minutes perhaps. Less than ten. As I said, scarcely enough time to snatch the maid.”

Kendra thought of the abduction cases she'd been involved in. A mother takes her eyes off her child for a minute in a crowded mall, and the child is gone. A teenager leaves a neighbor's house to walk down the street and disappears. Minutes.
Seconds.