A Murder in Time (49 page)

“That's another fallacy, Doctor—that evil is limited to the lower classes.”

“You are correct, of course. Still, I have encountered more crime in the bowels of London than in a privileged environment like Aldridge Castle.”

“I'm not talking about crime brought on by desperation and poverty. I'm talking about evil.
That
has no class. In the fifteenth century, Countess Elizabeth Báthory of Hungary was convicted of torturing and murdering more than eighty young girls. She confessed to killing more than six hundred. She was an aristocrat.”

“Dear heaven,” Rebecca breathed.

Munroe eyed Kendra curiously. “I am aware of the account. However, as you noted, it was the
fifteenth
century. As I recall, the countess was under the belief that virgin blood would enhance her beauty and make her immortal. People of that era believed that witches and wood sprites brought about disease.”

“Superstitious nonsense,” the Duke sniffed.

“Times have changed, Miss Donovan. Mankind has evolved. We are more enlightened thinkers than our ancestors.”

“I've heard that before.”

He raised his brows. “You don't believe we are evolving as a species?”

She thought of her earlier epiphany, that she wasn't superior to her nineteenth-century compatriots. And she thought of the countless murder boards she'd stood before, centuries from now, detailing man's depravity toward man, and shook her head. “We might be becoming more civilized as a whole—and I'm not even sure about that—but I don't think mankind ever really changes. We're not smarter, better, kinder people, Doctor.” She paused, grim. “We're just inventing better technology.”

Aldridge gave her a puzzled look. “Technology? You mean, techniques?”

Dammit.
“Or tools. We have better tools. They've improved and will continue to improve. But human beings?” The sun was shining, but she felt cold. “I think people like Sam Kelly and you, Dr. Munroe, will always have work. Because there will always be monsters.”

47

The sun was sinking behind the green and gold fields, casting long skinny shadows over the landscape, by the time Sam returned to Aldridge Castle. He'd spent the entire day riding over the sodding countryside, trying to chat up the snooty servants in the neighboring households. It always amazed him how they adopted the airs of their betters, looking down their noses at the likes of him, even when he brought out his Bow Street Runner baton. He much preferred outdoor servants, the stable hands, and gamekeepers, down-to-earth folk whose tongues could be loosened with a dram of whiskey.

Unfortunately, even the free use of his flask hadn't elicited much information, he reflected ruefully.

Fifteen minutes later, a footman escorted him to the Duke of Aldridge's study. Entering, Sam saw that everyone was gathered around a table, studying the map of London that had been spread across it. Someone—Kendra Donovan, he guessed—had marked it with red and blue dots, using Lady Rebecca's colored sticks.

“Ah, Mr. Kelly.” The Duke glanced at him, straightening. “Good evening. We are attempting to determine whether or not there is a pattern to where the girls vanished. Would you like a refreshment?”

Music to his ears. “Whiskey, thank you, sir.”

Alec took it upon himself to stroll over to the side table that held the selection of crystal decanters. He poured a generous three fingers into a stout glass, and brought it over to the Bow Street Runner.

“Have you found a pattern?” Sam asked curiously as he took the glass from the marquis.

“Not really,” Kendra answered. “There's a heavier concentration of brothels near Sutton Street where Harris once lived.”

“Which may be attributed to Sutton Street's location in a less desirable area in Town,” Munroe pointed out.

Aldridge picked his pipe off the desk, and lit it. “And you, Mr. Kelly?” he asked. “Have you learned anything of value?”

“The vicar's household ain't enamored of Mr. Harris.”

Rebecca gave a sniff. “That, my good man,
I
could have told you.”

“Aye, ma'am.” He grinned and took a sip of whiskey, appreciating the superior quality compared to the stuff he usually could afford. “'Tis a small household—a butler, the cook, a valet, and a maid-of-all-work. The cook does not live in. The butler, valet, and maid have rooms near the kitchen, on the other side of the vicarage from the family's rooms.”

Kendra shot him a look. “Basically you're telling us that only Mrs. Harris would know if her husband left in the middle of the night. And I doubt if she'd say anything.”

“Aye, miss.” Sam eyed the American. “Mrs. Harris ain't one ter preach . . . er, ter share personal information about her husband.”

“What of the other households, Mr. Kelly?” Aldridge asked.

“As they are much larger than the vicarage, me and me men didn't speak with everyone.” He hesitated. “Mr. Morland's mum, Lady Anne, had an episode earlier this morning. He went ter London ter fetch a mad-doctor. The servants are a closed-mouth bunch, but I was told she wandered into the stable yard, demanding a horse and calling herself a lass named Myrna or Mina.”

Rebecca put a hand to her throat. “Good heavens. Is there nothing that can be done for the poor woman?”

Munroe shook his head. “I've heard of this kind of madness before. There is no cure, my Lady.”

“Most likely Lady Anne was calling herself Myrrha. The other day, she called Mr. Morland Adonis. Myrrha is the mother of Adonis.” Aldridge sighed heavily. “It makes a dreadful sort of sense, doesn't it? Lady Anne spent her life with her father's passion for ancient Greek mythology. Now she can no longer distinguish reality from the myths she studied as a child.”

“I cannot imagine a worse fate,” Rebecca said softly.

Kendra remembered how she thought she'd had a psychotic break on her first day in this time period, and had to suppress a shiver. “Neither can I.”

Another heavy silence descended. Sam cleared his throat. “Aye, well. We checked the list of tenants that you gave us. No one remembers seeing Mr. Morland riding the other day.”

“He also said that he did not see any of his tenants,” Aldridge reminded him. “What of Mr. Dalton?”

“Mr. Dalton has gone ter Barking for a cattle auction, so it was easy enough ter conduct the interviews. Much of the staff at Halstead Hall served his aunt. The general opinion is that he is a likeable enough fellow, but they're suspicious that he was a sawbones, especially when his pa was a doctor, and he has ties ter the gentry. Why lower himself in such a way?”

Kendra assumed the question was rhetorical, so she asked instead, “Did they say anything about Dalton's late wife?”

“They never made her acquaintance. But Lady Halstead referred ter her as a flighty piece of baggage.”

Alec said with a slight smile, “Lady Halstead was never one to mince words.”

Kendra stared at the map of London spread before her, and shook her head. “He has to have a hidey-hole.”

“A hidey-hole?”

“A place that he's taking the girls. Somewhere private. Somewhere away from the servants' watching eyes.”

“There are a few abandoned cottages in the area,” Aldridge said. “Derelict buildings and barns. We even have old monastery ruins in these parts.”

“And caves,” Rebecca added. “This entire vicinity is riddled with caverns. When I was a little girl, I often went about exploring them, searching for fossils. It was quite a passion of mine. Remember, Duke? There were rumors that some caves were even used as priest holes for local Catholic landowners when Queen Elizabeth attempted to obliterate all ties to the papacy.”

Alec scowled. “Bloody hell. If the fiend is hiding in one of the caves, finding him will be like searching for a needle in a bottle of hay. Duke's property alone is more than fifteen thousand acres. A search would take weeks, perhaps months.”

“Well, there's a happy thought,” Kendra muttered.

There was a small knock at the door, and Harding came into the room. Aldridge lifted his brows slightly, having expected the footmen to light the wall sconces.

The butler hesitated, a dark uneasiness shifting beneath the man's normally impassive face. “I apologize for disturbing you, sir. Mrs. Danbury asked me to speak to you . . . ah, there's been a bit of a worry below stairs, you see.”

“If this is about Monsieur Anton—”

“No, sir. It is about . . . well, a maid seems to have gone missing, sir.”

Kendra swung around to look at the butler. “What? What do you mean? Gone missing?”

Harding glanced at her, and then back at the Duke. “A tweeny. Rose. Cook said . . .” He gave a helpless shrug. “We can't find her, sir.”

Cold dread gripped Kendra. “Rose?” she echoed.

“Yes, miss.”

She barely heard him. Her heart began to pound as she spun to face the slate board. Her gaze became transfixed on the victimology column. The words seemed to dance in front of her eyes, taunting her.
Pretty. Petite. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Young . . .

Oh, dear God . . .
Rose.

48

Kendra felt sick—ice cold and sick.

“No,” she whispered, and her knees began to buckle. Her vision wavered. There was a flurry of movement, then arms went around her. The next thing she knew, she was sitting on the sofa and Alec was pressing a glass of brandy into her hand.

“Drink it,” he ordered tersely.

“No . . .” She tried to shove it away, but couldn't seem to catch her breath. The air had evaporated from her lungs. She was getting dizzy. Leaning forward, she put her head between her knees and concentrated on breathing.
In. Out.

Rose.

“Doctor, can you do something?” Rebecca cried, and rushed to sit next to Kendra, putting her arms around her. She frowned when she felt the American trembling. “She's going to be ill! Does anyone have any smelling salts?”

Kendra straightened, pushed aside the helpless terror gripping her. “No, I'm fine.”

“You are not fine—”

“I'm fine,” she snapped at Rebecca. “It's Rose who needs help now. When was she last seen?”

The butler spread his hands, looking as helpless as she felt. “Sometime this morning, I believe. We were busy preparing for the nuncheon in the garden.”

Rebecca shook her head. “But she could not have been taken by the madman. She is not a prostitute. She is a tweeny. She does not fit your pattern, Miss Donovan.”

“She fits in every way except one.” A knot was forming in the pit of Kendra's stomach. “We know that he's escalating. We know that he wants to engage us. The only reason the unsub chose prostitutes was because they were expendable to society.”

“A servant in my household is
not
expendable.” There was a note of raw fury that Kendra had never heard before in Aldridge's voice. His eyes were no longer gentle, but a burning blue. “This madman, whoever he is, must realize that I shall use all my resources to hunt him down.”

Kendra crossed her arms in front of her, trying not to shiver. But she was cold.
So cold
. “He is aware of your power and influence, Your Grace. He already believes that you're using all your resources to find him—and yet, haven't found him. Don't you see? He believes he's smarter than you. He believes he's smarter than all of us!”

And maybe he is . . .

She rubbed her palms against her face. She needed to
think.
But the horror was welling up inside her, choking her.

“We don't know if the madman has the girl,” Alec said.

Yes, I do,
Kendra thought.
I know
. “It makes sense,” she whispered. “He's taunting us. He's showing us that he can come here and snatch one of our own.”

“We must organize a search,” Alec said.

“But where?” asked Rebecca.

“Everywhere!” Kendra said. “Goddamn it! He's taking them somewhere!”

“I'll gather me men to help,” Sam volunteered.

With an effort, Kendra pushed herself to her feet. It took even more of an effort to keep her voice steady. “I need to interview the staff, get a time line together. And then we need to go see Morland, Dalton, and Harris.
Immediately.
”

Sam stared at her. “Harris was in the village when we questioned his household, but he was the only one who was nearby. I told you that Mr. Morland and Mr. Dalton were both gone.”

“Or so they'd have everyone believe.”

The Duke was already moving toward the bellpull. “I'll have the carriage brought around.”

Alec touched Kendra's shoulder. “We shall find the maid.”

His gentleness was almost her undoing. Her throat tightened, and she could feel the surge of hot tears pressing behind her eyes.

“I would also like to lend my assistance,” Munroe said.

The lines in Aldridge's face deepened. “Thank you, Doctor. Your assistance would be appreciated.”

Kendra bit her lip until she tasted blood. But dear God, she needed to keep her emotions in check, because she knew that the Duke wasn't only thanking him for searching for Rose. He was talking about the possibility of needing Munroe's assistance if they should find her.