A Murder in Time (41 page)

“Jane Austen. That is what you said, is it not? The authoress of that book?”

“Yes.” Once again she was baffled by the intensity of his gaze.

“How did you come to know the authoress' identity?”

“What? Well, because . . .” Kendra's fingers trembled as she studied the hardcover, which was in pristine condition. Completely natural, she realized, for a book only a few years old.

Pride and Prejudice
was engraved in gold letters on the red leather. Below that was inscribed:
By A Lady
.

Even though she knew what she'd find, she opened the book and scanned the inside page.

Pride and Prejudice

A Novel

In Three Volumes

By The Author of “Sense and Sensibility”

Nowhere on the cover or in the book was the name of the author.

Lies had a way of catching up with people, she knew. In the FBI, she'd always counted on it. Still, she'd never figured it would be something as innocuous as Jane Austen that would be the thing to trip her up. She lifted her gaze to Alec's eyes. “I can't explain.”

“Cannot . . . or will not?”

She sighed and looked away. His hands came down on her shoulders, surprising her into swinging her gaze back to his.

Too close
, was all she could think.

His green eyes bored into hers. “Do you fear someone, Miss Donovan? Are you in hiding?”

He was giving her a way out. She only wished that she could take it, spin a believable tale, but her mind was blank.

“My uncle shall protect you, Miss Donovan.
I
shall protect you.”

“You thought I was a thief and a liar.”

He frowned. “'Twould appear I was correct in half of that assumption.”

Kendra realized that she had no right to feel insulted at his words. Or hurt. But she did.

“I will not judge you, Miss Donovan.”

You say that now
, Kendra thought. Regretfully, she shook her head and handed him back the book. “I'm sorry . . .”

He drew in a sharp breath. “You ask us to trust you with your unorthodox theories, and yet you cannot extend us the same courtesy.”

“It's not the same.”

“I do not agree with you, Miss Donovan. I believe it is very much the same.”

The silence pooled between them again. He looked at her, and then his eyes dropped to her mouth. When he lifted his gaze, her heart was thumping with an awareness she didn't want to have. Deliberately, she took a step back.

“I should go to the study. Review my notes again.”

“Escaping?”

“I need to work,” she said, but they both knew it was a lie. Still, he didn't try to stop her as she walked to the door. She didn't run, even though she wanted to. It probably took five seconds for her to leave the library, but it felt like an empire could've risen and fallen in the time that it took her to reach the hallway.

She was half afraid that he'd come after her. Her heart raced. It continued to race when she reached the study alone. Her hand shook as she went about the task of lighting candles. She finally had to stop and do a couple of deep-breathing exercises to calm down. She had to focus. She didn't know how she'd come here—vortex, wormhole, whatever. But she'd begun to believe in the
why
. She was here to catch a killer. This was her purpose.

Catch the killer. Go home. The two had become firmly interwoven in her mind. She couldn't afford a distraction like the Marquis of Sutcliffe.

38

“W'ot's wrong, miss?”

Kendra was sitting on the bed, allowing Rose to practice her hairdressing skills by pinning up her hair. But her mind was replaying what had transpired the night before when Alec had neatly trapped her through her own words, and revealed that the Duke was aware that she'd lied to him. Odd how that bothered her the most.

He was hoping you'd come to him, trust him enough to tell him the truth.

Kendra recalled Alec's words, and felt the same stirring of dismay, guilt, and defiance that she had then. The last time she'd truly trusted anyone was when she'd told her parents that she wanted a say in her own future. And look at how well that had turned out. They hadn't even argued with her. They'd simply abandoned her.

She thought of the Duke's gentle blue-gray eyes. He wouldn't abandon her, she knew. But he might help her all the way into an insane asylum.

“Miss?”

“I'm sorry, Rose. I'm a little distracted.”

“You seem a bit blue-deviled—” Rose broke off when the door flew open and Molly came running in. The tweeny was flushed, her eyes bright as she came to a halt, clutching the door.

“Lud! W'otever are you doin', Molly Danvers?” Rose exclaimed. “I could've skewed miss 'ere with the 'airpins if I 'and't been done!”

“Where's the fire, Molly?” Kendra echoed.

Molly's face went blank in confusion. “Oi dunno anythin' about a fire . . . but 'is Grace asked me to fetch ye!”

Kendra went still. Alec must have told the Duke about her deception, and Aldridge had finally decided to put an end to the charade. What, she wondered, could she possibly tell him?

“All right.” She stood up slowly, and wiped her suddenly clammy palms on her skirt. “I'll meet the Duke in his study. I just need a moment—”

“Nay. Not the study, miss. The woods. That's where the Lady is.” Molly's eyes were wide as she gave an exaggerated shiver. “She's
dead,
miss! Dead in a most 'orrible way!”

The woman was most definitely dead; Molly had been right about that. And how the woman had gotten into that state had indeed been horrible. She lay sprawled, faceup, eyes open, across one of the narrow paths, just inside the cool dappled green of the forest. A handful of men dressed in rough tweeds stood five steps away, staring down at the body. As Kendra approached with Alec and the Duke of Aldridge, the men doffed their hats—a courtesy that Kendra wasn't entirely sure was directed at her, or at the men.

“Did anyone touch anything? Move her?” Kendra demanded sharply, as she hurried to squat down beside the victim. This close, the grisly scent of death blended with the loamy earth odors. In a few hours, once temperatures climbed and morning slid into afternoon, she knew from experience that the smell would have reached her from at least a yard away. The body was relatively fresh.

The boy who'd reported the body and ushered them to the area answered. “Aye, well, me pa and Mr. Black over there, they turned 'er over, ma'am.” His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat as his eyes were drawn back to the dead woman. “We didn't know she'd stuck 'er spoon in the wall until then. Me pa told me to fetch 'elp.”

“We thought she mighta been bosky, and fell down and 'urt ‘erself,” one of the older men offered. “We 'ad Martin 'urry ter the castle to tell ye, Yer Grace.”

“You didn't carry her here?”

“Nay, miss.”

Kendra frowned as she scanned the body. The woman appeared to be in her early to mid-thirties. Her head was tilted to the side, her face—it had been very pretty at one time—now mottled and marred with nasty scratches, dirt, and dried blood. Her eyes were blue, cloudy with the milky film associated with corneal opacity after death. The sunlight streaming through the canopy of oak leaves touched the hair tangled around her face, turning it into a nimbus of gold. She was wearing a long wool coat, flung open to reveal the brown silk inner lining and gown that had been candy-pink. The lower skirt was torn and soiled, and from the hips to the edge of the bodice, the fabric was stiff, stained nearly black with dried blood.

Absently, Kendra swatted at the flies buzzing around and crawling across the corpse. The blowflies had already begun their cycle of life and death, dropping their eggs to produce the maggots that fed on the decaying flesh. “She wasn't killed here. Looks like she was stabbed in the torso, near the heart, but there's no blood on the ground. She bled out somewhere else. She also appears to be missing a shoe. Anyone find a shoe?”

There was a chorus of negatives.

“I need to make notes, look around the area before we move the body,” Kendra said, looking at the Duke. Perhaps it was because he was a scientist and understood the importance of documentation that he nodded.

He turned to the kid. “Martin, is it? Go and fetch Miss Donovan foolscap and writing implements from the castle.”

“A tweezers and magnifying glass would also be helpful,” she added.

Martin glanced at the Duke, who nodded his permission. The boy sprinted off.

“If she wasn't killed here, why do we need to worry about the area?” Alec wondered.

Kendra met his eyes. Last night was still fresh in her mind, but the dead woman lying at their feet trumped any feelings of discomfort. “You never know what you may find. I'd at least like the chance to find it before we trample all over it. Speaking of trampled . . .” She looked down the path. “This isn't the route to the lake, but it's obviously used.”

“Yes. 'Tis often used by those who live in the surrounding area but work on the castle grounds,” Alec replied.

“So he wanted her to be found,” Kendra said softly.

“I believe you are correct, Miss Donovan,” Aldridge said slowly, puzzlement in his blue eyes. “But why?”

Kendra had a few ideas. And because none of them were good, she simply shook her head. “Not here. Later.”

The Duke crouched down next to the victim. “It looks as though the poor girl ran through the forest.”

“Ran and fell down at least once, maybe more. The skirt around the knees is heavily soiled. She lost a shoe, but obviously kept running.”

Terrorized
, Kendra thought. The tights covering her foot were so shredded and caked with dirt and blood that it was impossible to determine their original color. “She can't have been out here that long. We've got flies and maggots, but no beetles or spiders. The animals haven't done too much damage either. The ears suffered the most. Soft tissue. Something's gnawed on the lobes. What time did you find the body?”

“A bit after seven,” one man said.

Kendra did the calculations in her head. It was now eight-thirty. Ten minutes to the castle to report the crime. A little longer back since the boy had to wait for them. Even though they'd set off at a brisk pace, they hadn't been jogging. “What's your name?” she asked.

The man turned his hat in his hands. “Bobby, miss. Bobby Black.”

“Does anybody know when the path might have been last used?”

Bobby Black darted a nervous glance at the Duke. “Oi can't speak fer anyone else, miss. But me and Reggie Carter came through 'ere last evenin', about eleven or so. We used it coming 'ome from the stables. The chit wasn't 'ere then.”

“You're sure of the time?”

“Aye.”

“And you're sure she wasn't here? It was dark. You could've overlooked her.”

“Nay. We would've tripped right over 'er!”

Kendra looked at the Duke. “We'll need to interview the rest of the servants. Find out if anyone else used the path after Mr. Black and his friend went through. It will give us a window for when the victim was dumped here.”

Aldridge nodded. His expression, as he scrutinized the corpse, was grim. “You were right, Miss Donovan. You predicted the madman would kill again, and he has.”

“Yes, but . . .” Kendra frowned, her own gaze dropping to study the body again. “This isn't right. This is all wrong.”

“I do not comprehend.”

“Our killer has a type. It's his signature. It means something deeply personal to him, and he won't change it. It's not a whim that he targets young girls with the dark eye and hair color. This woman doesn't fit the victimology. She's opposite in every way—blonde, statuesque, and much older. She wasn't even killed in the same method as our Jane Doe. Look—no strangulation.”

The Duke raised his brows. “I recognize the anomaly in appearance and even manner of death, Miss Donovan, but I refuse to believe we're dealing with two separate killers. The mathematical odds of that would be staggering. We're not in a large metropolis.”

Alec reached over and threaded his fingers through the victim's tangled hair. It was easy to see that several sections had been hacked off. “This remains the same.”

The sound of approaching feet—more than one pair—had everyone turning. Martin was trotting down the path, carrying the requested items, followed by several more workmen, and Sam and Rebecca.

Flies, Kendra knew, weren't the only thing drawn to death. There were always gawkers around crime scenes. That's why yellow tape was rolled out and a perimeter established.

Beside her, Alec sighed. “Becca, you shouldn't be here.”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense, Sutcliffe! Mary told me another woman had been discovered . . .” She paled a bit as she stepped near to study the dead woman. “'Tis true, I see. Dear heaven . . .”