A Murder in Time (53 page)

She nodded. “Good. I'm going to talk to Thomas about yesterday.”

Alec grabbed her arm, glaring at her. “Are you mad? Have you no
sense
? I am not about to let you go traipsing through the woods alone with a murderer on the loose!”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Bloody hell. You look like the victims, Miss Donovan! Do you not realize that?”

On some level, she had. But she shrugged, “In size and coloring, yes. But I'm older. I don't fit the pattern.”

“He already broke his pattern!”

“I'm not a helpless fifteen-year-old. I can protect myself!”

Alec's grip tightened, as though he wanted to shake her. “You would not be able to protect yourself against a lead ball.”

“Guns aren't his style. He wants his hands around his victim's throat. He wants to see her panic, her terror. He wants to watch the life go out in her eyes.”

“If this is your attempt to ease my concern, you are doing a bloody awful job of it!”

“I'm going to talk to the hermit. If you want to, you can come with me.”

“I shall.” He dropped his hand. “You might want to fetch your spencer, Miss Donovan. There's a chill in the air.”

The hermit opened the door in answer to Alec's knock. His eyes locked on the marquis, and Kendra thought she detected a gleam of fear.

“Your Lordship.” He licked his lips nervously. “Er, what do you want?”

Kendra said, “We need to talk to you, Thomas.”

His gaze swung back to her. “I helped search for the maid last night.”

“Yes. I heard. Can we come in?”

He hesitated, but they knew he wouldn't deny her request. Not with the Marquis of Sutcliffe standing right there.

As Thomas stepped back, Kendra's eyes scanned the dim interior. It was as she remembered, except the shutters from the window had been removed, though the window was so greasy with dirt that it barely allowed the gray light of the overcast day inside. She saw that the drug paraphernalia was no longer on the floor, but crammed on the table with dirty dishes and paint supplies. The odor was the same, a mixture of sweat, turpentine, and paint, mingling with the smoke from the fireplace.

Alec hung back in the doorway, his expression filled with distaste. She couldn't really blame him; the air was fresher back there.

“You haven't done much painting,” Kendra observed. She moved forward to stand in front of the easel. The canvas was still blue. The white female form in the center had taken on flesh tones, with more dimension, but it was otherwise faceless.

“Art requires sacrifice,” he mumbled, his eyes skating away from hers.

“Sure it does.” She moved around the easel. The space was so tight that her hip hit one of the cabinets, rattling the paint supplies strewn across the grimy surface. She put a hand up to steady them. “We need to talk to you about Rose. She made a sandwich for you yesterday.”

“I don't know nothin'.”

“You went into the kitchens. Who did you speak to?”

He frowned. “The cook. I asked for somethin' to eat. She told the little maid to give me some bread and cheese.”

“Did you wait in the kitchens while she prepared it?”

“Nay. I waited outside.”

“So Rose came outside to give you the sandwich?”

“Aye.”

“Did you talk?”

“She said the countess was havin' a nuncheon out in the gardens. She had to help with that.”

“While you were talking, did you notice anyone around?”

“Who?”

“Anyone. People.”

Thomas shrugged. “A couple of gardeners.”

“How did you know they were gardeners? Did you recognize them?”

“Nay. I . . . I dunno. They could've been stable hands, I suppose.”

“Were they standing in a group, or were they separate from each other?”

“I don't remember.”

“Thomas, I want you to think about the girl who gave you bread and cheese yesterday. She needs help.”

“I dunno nothin'.”

“You might know more than you realize. That's why I want you to think about it.” Kendra paused, then asked, “Were you in the woods last Sunday? The vicar said he saw you.”

He stiffened. “I'm often in the woods.”

“Did you see the vicar?”

“Nay.”

“He was riding. You didn't see someone on horseback?”

“Nay.”

Was he telling the truth? Kendra's gut said no. But if he was lying, for what purpose? She let that go, and circled back to Rose. “After Rose gave you the sandwich and you talked, what happened?”

“Nothin' happened.”

“After you talked, did you see where Rose went? Back into the kitchen? To the gardens?
Think
Thomas. This could be important.”

“I dunno. I left.”

“You're not
thinking
!”

“Miss Donovan.”

She swung around, and glared at Alec.

“He does not know anything,” Alec said gently.

Anger and frustration rose inside of her. And fear, terrible fear.

“Miss Donovan, Thomas does not know where Rose is,” Alec said, even more gently.

She let out a sigh, and stepped back. “I want you to keep thinking, Thomas. If you remember something,
anything
, you will let us know.”

He looked at her like a dumb animal. She wanted to hit him. Instead, she turned on her heel, and walked out the door.

Though she walked fast, Alec easily fell into step beside her. He wisely kept silent.

They'd entered the forest when Kendra finally spoke. “I still think he's hiding something. Or not telling the truth.”

“Maybe he was poaching in the woods. 'Tis a serious crime, punishable by transportation, even hanging. The Duke does not adhere to those harsh penalties, but Thomas may err on the side of caution.”

Kendra rubbed her hands against her arms, suppressing a shiver as she considered hanging for such a simple transgression.
I don't belong here.

Neither one spoke as they retraced their footsteps through the woods. As they emerged from the forest, Alec suddenly grasped her arm. His touch brought her out of her dark reverie.

She saw what he had seen: a large crowd walking along the path that led to the front courtyard. Her first thought was that Aldridge had organized another search party. He was walking with Sam and Dr. Munroe. But then she saw the black bag Munroe was carrying, and her stomach knotted.

“No.”
She shook off Alec's hand, picked up her skirts and ran. Her heart was thundering in her chest by the time she caught up to the Duke. She stood transfixed, but she knew. Dear God, she
knew.

Aldridge met her eyes. “Yes,” he answered her unspoken question. “The maid's been found.”

52

In a distant corner of her mind, Kendra was glad that she hadn't eaten breakfast yet, because she knew that her stomach would've revolted. As it was, the sour taste of bile surged up the back of her throat, making her want to gag. She pressed a hand to her stomach, as if she had the power to keep the churning acids contained by her touch.

“Where?” She didn't ask whether Rose was alive. She knew that she was not.

“Near the lake, where the first girl was found.”

Just a short distance from the hermit's hut. Had the tweeny been dumped there while they'd been talking to Thomas? Had they just missed the murderer?

“We searched the area yesterday.” Alec came up behind Kendra, and laid a warm hand on her shoulder.

“He knew,” Sam said, looking angry. “The bastard's been watching us.”

“Rebecca is waiting for you inside the castle, Miss Donovan,” Aldridge began.

“I have to go to Rose,” she said sharply. “I need to see the body.”

Alec's hand tightened on her shoulder. “Is that truly necessary?” He was furious suddenly. “Hell and damnation, why put yourself through that?”

“I have to go! It's why I'm here!” she shouted. But was that true? Why was she here if she couldn't save anybody? If she couldn't save Rose?

Alec frowned, puzzled. Before he could question her, Aldridge lifted a weary hand. “I will allow you to accompany us, Miss Donovan. But you shall not attend the girl's postmortem. Is that understood?”

Kendra shifted her gaze to the Duke. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Then come.” The Duke's expression was bleak, but fiercely determined. “Whatever has been done, has been done. 'Tis time to bring the poor girl home.”

Someone had covered Rose's naked body up with a coarse wool coat. Two men stood as sentries next to the body, tears shimmering in their eyes. This wasn't like Lydia or April Duprey—Rose was one of their own. They probably knew her family, had watched her grow up.

She was only fifteen.

Kendra had looked down at other fifteen-year-olds who'd suffered the butchery of a serial killer, and had felt pity. Now she also felt a sorrow so heavy that it made her heart ache.

“You do not need to subject yourself to this, Miss Donovan,” repeated Alec, his voice low. “Why are you punishing yourself this way?”

Am I punishing myself?
Self-flagellation for not protecting Rose? She didn't know.

“Let Dr. Munroe take care of her,” he persisted softly, so close that she could feel his body heat.

Kendra was tempted to do as he suggested, to take the coward's way out. No one here would think less of her—but she'd hate herself for it.

Straightening her shoulders, she shook her head. “I need to see this through.” She turned to look at the circle of faces. “Who found the . . . who found her?”

A tall, gangly youth whose ears stuck out almost sideways from his close-cropped sandy hair shuffled forward. “That would be me, ma'am. Me and Gerald.” His pallor was a sickly green, his face tear-streaked. His freckles looked like they'd been drawn on with a Magic Marker. Ridiculously young. He stood before her nervously, twisting a knit cap with his hands. It struck her that all the men around her had taken off their hats. Not a courtesy to her, but as a sign of respect for the dead girl at their feet. A lump formed in her throat.

“What's your name?”

“Colin, ma'am.”

“When did you find her?”

“Er . . . 'alf hour. No more.”

Kendra scanned the area. Rose had been placed near the grassy knoll where they'd had the nuncheon, about ten yards from the lake. Unlike the path upon which April had been dumped, this was isolated enough. The area, as the Duke said, had been searched the previous evening. There was no reason to search it again. Rose could've lain here for days before anyone found her.

“What made you and Gerald come to this area, Colin?”

“Nothin' really.” His gaze fell to the cap he was twisting. “Me and Gerald . . . we just wanted ter talk a bit.”

Kendra looked over at Gerald. Same age as Colin, but smaller in stature with flaxen hair and baby blue eyes. The boys were still at that developmental stage in their life, probably eager to slip away to share their horror in private, away from adult ears. Too bad for them, then, that they'd encountered a fresh horror.

“It's significant that the killer didn't dump . . . the body in the lake.”
The body. The victim.
It was easier for her to think of Rose in more impersonal terms. “He wanted her to be discovered, but it would've been too risky for him to put her on a more public path. Too many people searching, too many possible witnesses. When, exactly, was this area searched yesterday?”

Someone spoke up from the back of the crowd. “We went through 'ere at about 'alf past ten.”

“It was dark. Could you have missed her?”

“Nay, ma'am. We 'ad lanterns. We would've spotted 'er.”

“Aye. Or one of the dogs would've found 'er.”

“Okay. If everyone would step back, please . . .” She gave a nod to Dr. Munroe. He'd been waiting, and now squatted down beside the shrouded form. He opened up his black bag and withdrew a magnifying glass.