“My parents and I have been staying at Aldridge Castle since Christmastide, so I was in residence when you sent word.”
“Ah, I see.” If he was concerned about Rebecca descending with them into the bowels of the building, he didn’t let on. Instead, he turned toward Kendra, and his grin widened. “Miss Donovan, you appear well. Recovered from your adventure in Yorkshire?”
Kendra returned his smile. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Kelly. You look well too.” He actually looked like an elf, with curly, reddish-brown hair and gray sideburns. His gold eyes could dance with good humor, like they were now, but Kendra had also seen them go as flat and hard as any cop she’d met on the job in the 21st century.
Munroe said, “Please, would everyone like a drink? I have Madeira and brandy, as well as whiskey. Or tea? I can call Mr. Barts to brew a cup for the ladies.”
“Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?” Kendra said, tugging off her gloves.
“Please be seated,” Munroe said, and pulled out his chair for the Duke.
Sam waited for Rebecca and Kendra to settle into the remaining chairs in the room before he cleared his throat. “Well . . . this mornin’, a watchman was chasing a thief.” He paused. “Actually, the thief was Snake.”
“Snake,” Kendra and Rebecca said in unison.
Sam nodded. “The watchman chased him into a church. It was abandoned, and empty, save the dead man on the floor.”
“Good heavens,” Rebecca murmured, shaking her head in amazement. “That must have been traumatizing for him. How is he?”
“I don’t know,” Sam admitted with a shake of his head. “I didn’t see him. He slipped away from the watchman—Edward Price—when he was gettin’ help. Price says he didn’t see nothin’, just the dead man.” He hesitated. “Sir Giles Holbrooke.”
“Sir Giles?” Alec said, startled.
“Good God,” the Duke added. “You mentioned in your letter that he was a man of consequence . . . Sir Giles is—was—one of the Prince Regent’s advisors.”
“Aye.” Sam looked at the Duke. “You knew him?”
Aldridge shook his head. “Only by reputation. How did he die?”
“He was strangled—garroted, actually,” Munroe answered. “It might be best if we continue this discussion in the autopsy chamber. I have something to show you.”
“Certainly,” the Duke said, and pushed himself to his feet. “Lady Rebecca shall wait for us here, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh. Of course.” Munroe nodded, his gaze moving to Rebecca. “Shall I pour you a glass of wine, or have Mr. Barts make you a cup of tea while you wait?”
For a moment, Rebecca’s eyes flashed with resentment, and her mouth took on a mulish pout. Kendra wondered if she was going to rebel and insist on accompanying them to the autopsy chamber. But then her shoulders sank a notch as the tension went out of them. “A glass of wine would be lovely,” she said softly. “Thank you, Dr. Munroe.”
When Munroe went to the counter that held several bottles and tumblers, Kendra followed. “Do you mind if I borrow this, Doctor?” she asked, hefting up a bottle of whiskey.
“Do you want a glass, Miss Donovan?” he inquired, puzzled. He finished pouring burgundy wine into a glass and brought it to Rebecca.
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
Before Munroe could inquire further, Alec cleared his throat in such a way that commanded their attention. He said, “I was acquainted with Sir Giles. For two years during the war, I worked as an intelligence agent on the Continent.”
The Bow Street Runner’s eyebrows shot up. “You were a spy, milord? But you are His Grace’s heir. What were you doing in service?”
As a firstborn son, Alec was in line to inherit. Only second-born sons in the aristocracy were allowed to risk their lives and shed their blood in war.
“’Tis what I had wanted to know at the time, Mr. Kelly,” the Duke agreed.
Alec ignored his uncle, keeping his eyes on Sam. “My mother’s family lives in Venice. Sir Giles approached me because he thought my connections in Italy could be useful. I am fluent in the language and can blend in easily enough.”
Aldridge looked at his nephew. “I did not realize that Sir Giles was the man who recruited you. Or that you worked for him.”
“I shall state for the record that I did not murder Sir Giles.” Alec’s mouth curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Having once been accused of murder was still a sore spot for him, Kendra knew.
“No one will accuse you of this atrocity, my boy,” said Aldridge.
Alec shook his head. “Forgive me, sir. It was a joke—a poor one.”
Sam rubbed the side of his nose as he considered the latest information. “Obviously I’m aware of Sir Giles’s current position in government, and his importance in the War Department. But I didn’t realize he was actually a spymaster.” He hesitated, his gaze on Alec. “It would be helpful, milord, if you shared any information that you know about him.”
“I’m not certain I have anything relevant to tell you,” he admitted with a frown. “I didn’t maintain my connection to Sir Giles after I returned home. In truth, the association to the man was tenuous even when I was in the field gathering intelligence for him. I dealt primarily with another man, who acted as a courier. I have maintained an acquaintance with him, and know he continues to work in government. I shall send him a note and request a meeting.”
“Aye. That would be helpful. Thank you, milord.”
Kendra said, “Sooner would be better than later.”
Alec smiled at her. “I shall send the note tonight.”
“Do you think Sir Giles’s murder has anything to do with his work as a spymaster?” asked the Duke, looking troubled.
Kendra noticed the glance that the Bow Street Runner exchanged with Munroe.
“I think it may be possible,” Sam said slowly.
Munroe moved to the door. “Let us go downstairs. There is something you need to see.”
6
Kendra remembered Dr. Munroe’s subterranean autopsy chamber very well. In contrast to the sterile M.E. rooms of the 21st century, this was the stuff of nightmares. Workbenches, cupboards, and shelves held an assortment of large glass jars that had God-knows-what floating inside the murky greenish liquid. Ancient microscopes were lined up next to scalpels, saws, and pruning shears, the last of which were used to snap off a cadaver’s ribs. Two wooden buckets filled with bloody water had been set next to dirty sponges. The sight reminded Kendra of the whiskey that she held. She crossed the room, and carefully set the bottle down on one of the cupboards.
She turned, letting her gaze drift across the three tables, finally settling on the one that was occupied. Amusement flickered through her when she saw that someone—most likely Dr. Munroe—had apparently considered her feminine sensibilities and draped a linen blanket across the victim’s pelvis. Rebecca could have come down, after all.
“Do you have an idea of the time of death?” she asked as she removed her bonnet and pelisse. Even though it made her shudder, she put them down on the counter. To the naked eye, it appeared clean. She didn’t want to think about what was happening on a microscopic level.