The colder temperature and snow seemed to mute the noise somewhat, muffling the clip-clop of horses’ hooves that carried riders and pulled carriages, hackneys, and wagons loaded down with supplies and coal. The streams of pedestrians were thinner, and there didn’t seem to be as many costermongers about, pushing their carts and trying to cajole the public into buying their wares. As the Duke’s carriage joined the city traffic, Kendra gazed at figures huddled in doorways and alleys—chapped, red hands worrying the edges of raggedy blankets, or standing around barrels in which wood and coal burned, to keep warm. The smoke pumping out of the city’s million chimneys for those lucky enough to have a home and a hearth darkened the afternoon sky into an early twilight. The air was heavy with the acrid stench, as well as other odors, ranging from the god-awful—something that smelled like rotten eggs, dung, and decaying vegetation—to the more pleasant smells of roasting chestnuts, meats, and pies.
“Where is Dr. Munroe’s anatomy school located?” Rebecca asked. She gathered her heavy pelisse closer to her throat and scooted forward on the seat to peer out the window. Her cornflower-blue eyes filled with pity as the carriage passed two hollow-cheeked women standing in a doorway with babies clutched to their breasts.
The Duke carefully placed the ribbon inside the book he’d been reading and set it aside. “Covent Garden. Dr. Munroe’s rider ought to have informed him of our impending arrival by now. I expect Mr. Kelly shall meet us there as well.” He hesitated, a frown pulling his brows together. “We shall most likely be going down into Dr. Munroe’s autopsy chamber.”
Kendra looked at him curiously, wondering at his cautious manner.
He cleared his throat, his gaze on Rebecca. “I must insist that while we go below stairs, you stay in the doctor’s office, my dear.”
Rebecca’s head whipped around. “But, Your Grace!”
He said firmly, “I must protect you from whatever gruesome sight might await us on Dr. Munroe’s table.”
Rebecca turned in the seat to face her godfather fully. Her eyes had taken on a militant gleam. “If you recall, sir, I have seen such gruesome sights before, when your very own ice house was used as a makeshift autopsy chamber. I did not swoon then, and I will not do so now, if that is what you fear.”
The Duke heaved a sigh, clearly not happy to be engaging in this particular argument. “That is not my fear, my dear,” he said gently. “I think you know very well that your father would never have given you permission to travel with us if he thought it would lead you into an autopsy chamber to view a cadaver. He would expect me to protect you from that.”
“Sir, I implore you to reconsider. ’Tis most unfair to restrict me because of my sex.” She glanced at Kendra, and her jaw tightened. “I’m certain you will not be barring Miss Donovan from the room, will you?”
“No, but Miss Donovan has a certain expertise that is needed,” the Duke said.
“For heaven’s sake!” Rebecca threw up her hands in a testy gesture. “My sensibilities are not so delicate. Ladies are not restricted from viewing hangings, you know. Some ladies have even rented rooms across from Newgate and brought their opera glasses to view the hanging more closely!”
“Where in blazes did you hear that?” demanded Alec, appalled.
Rebecca gave a temperamental shrug. “I read it in the Morning Chronicle, if you must know. My point is that the rules that ladies are forced to adhere to are arbitrary. I may watch some poor wretch being choked by a hempen quinsy, but not view a body laid out for dissection?”
Alec winced. “Becca, really.”
Kendra had always thought Rebecca would have made a kick-ass lawyer if she’d been born in a different era. “She’s making a good point,” Kendra offered, and earned a grateful smile from Rebecca.
“This is not your America, Miss Donovan,” the Duke said sharply, frowning at her.
It was a rare reprimand, which made Kendra bite her lip. He meant 21st-century America, not the country of this time period.
The Duke turned back to Rebecca. “Mr. Kelly said that the victim is a man. He will most likely be on the autopsy table . . . unclothed. Now do you understand why I cannot allow you to accompany us, my dear? I cannot put you in a position that may harm your reputation. Your father would never forgive me.”
Kendra had to suppress laughter at the way the Duke lowered his voice to say unclothed, but then she saw Rebecca’s eyes widen and her mouth part slightly. Rebecca was an excellent artist, and had undoubtedly viewed sculptures and paintings depicting unclothed men, but she was also a sheltered, unmarried maid in the 19th century, and the idea of seeing a naked man—albeit a dead one—was obviously shocking to her.
Rebecca closed her mouth and shot Kendra a quizzical look that Kendra had no trouble interpreting. She’d seen it countless times throughout her life. Who are you really? Why are you so different?
Kendra dropped her own gaze to her gloved hands, her stomach churning suddenly. She didn’t blame Rebecca for her suspicion and resentment. Hell, she’d have felt the same. That pinch of guilt made her weigh the pros and cons of telling Rebecca her secret. She’d need to think about it carefully, though. Impetuous decisions aren’t my strong suit.
She was relieved when the carriage began to slow, finally jerking to a stop. Coachman Benjamin jumped off his perch and came around to open the door, oblivious to the awkward silence within the cab as he unfolded the steps.
As she descended onto the pavement, Kendra’s gaze traveled to the nondescript, three-story brick building that housed Dr. Munroe’s anatomy school. The doctor deliberately kept a low profile. A wise choice, in Kendra’s opinion, given the superstitious public’s tendency to view his profession somewhere between that of a witchdoctor and an occultist.
They climbed the steps in silence. The door opened easily, and Kendra was assailed with memories from the last time she’d walked through this darkly paneled foyer lit by wall sconces. Straight ahead was a set of closed double doors, but Kendra knew that beyond them was an auditorium with old-fashioned wooden seats raised above the floor, so students could observe Dr. Munroe’s lessons on anatomy and watch him conduct autopsies.
The corridor branched to the left and right. They went right. Kendra caught the murmur of voices through the half-open door before the Duke rapped his knuckles against the panel, and then nudged it open.
“Your Grace!” Dr. Munroe had been sitting behind his desk, holding a glass of whiskey. But upon their entrance, he hastily set the whiskey aside, and thrust himself to his feet. “Lord Sutcliffe, ladies—good afternoon. The messenger returned with word to expect you around four. Thank you for being so prompt.”
Aldridge said, “We were fortunate; the roads were in excellent condition, despite the snow. One never knows what hazards one will encounter. ’Tis good to see you again, Dr. Munroe.”
“Likewise, sir,” Munroe said, and gave an abbreviated bow.
The Duke was already pivoting to the fireplug of a man in the room, who’d also put down his whiskey and risen to greet them. “And you, Mr. Kelly,” the Duke said. “You are well since we last met?”
“Aye, sir, quite well, thank you, Your Grace.” Sam grinned, shifted his attention to Alec, and gave the marquis a nod of acknowledgement. His golden gaze traveled to Rebecca. “Milady, I confess that I didn’t expect ter see you here.”