A Murder in Time(114)
Sam Kelly and the London medical examiner, Dr. Munroe, arrived at nine a.m., which must have meant they’d been on the road at dawn. Certainly, the Bow Street Runner’s elfin features looked even more drawn. He’d washed his face, wetted down his curly hair, but he hadn’t bothered to shave since yesterday. The result was like an elf who had gone on a bender. His golden-brown eyes were red, but, unlike Gabriel, it wasn’t from whiskey—or her thumbs—but lack of sleep.
Kendra turned her attention to Dr. Munroe. He was a big man who looked to be in his early fifties, with black brows that contrasted sharply with a thick silvery mane he’d brushed back from his square face and tied into a ponytail, a style that had been popular in the eighteenth century and would become popular again among aging Hollywood producers, fashion designers, and artist-types in a few centuries. His dark gray eyes were piercing behind Harry Potter–type gold spectacles, pinched into place on the bridge of his hawk-like nose.
Aldridge was in the process of introducing the coroner when the door was flung open and Rebecca came flying into the room. She halted, her eyes automatically going to Kendra’s throat. Her lips tightened. “How are you feeling this morning, Miss Donovan? The damage looks even worse today than yesterday.”
Aware of everyone staring at her, Kendra gave an embarrassed shrug. “I’m fine.” She wished that she could cover up the contusions somehow, but none of the dozens of gowns Rebecca had bought for her had high necklines. And she could hardly run out to a corner drugstore to buy a bottle of Maybelline cover-up. Her only consolation was that Gabriel would have a bigger problem concealing his bloodshot eyes.
“I have apprised Mr. Kelly and Dr. Munroe of Gabriel’s shocking outburst,” said the Duke, “as well as your opinion that he is not responsible for these monstrous acts.”
Sam gave her a curious look. “How can you be certain, if you don’t mind me askin’, miss? His violence seems ter fit your pattern.”
Because there was a pot of coffee (as well as pots of tea and chocolate) on the side table, Kendra walked over to pour herself a cup. “No, that’s my point. Lord Gabriel reacted emotionally when I pressed him. The man responsible for these murders wouldn’t have been so rash.”
Sam didn’t look entirely convinced, but was distracted when the door opened again, and Alec came strolling in. Aldridge quickly made introductions.
“When will you do the postmortem, sir?” Rebecca asked Munroe, her forthright manner earning a surprised look from the doctor.
Alec sighed. “Dr. Munroe, do not be put off by this hoyden’s blunt manner.”
Rebecca sniffed. “I would think, given Dr. Munroe’s profession, that it would take more than my blunt manner to put him off.”
Munroe smiled. “I shall begin my work shortly. First, though, I have a few questions. I have been informed that Miss Donovan has a rather unusual expertise in this area, but my topic of discussion may be rather gruesome. I would protect your delicate sensibilities, your Ladyship. Perhaps you ought to retire from the room until it is concluded?”
Kendra hid a smile as she watched Rebecca’s eyes narrow.
“I do not see why I ought to do any such thing. I have been involved in these proceedings much longer than you have, my good man!”
Munroe lifted a dark brow.
“Lady Rebecca is progressive in nature—as are we all,” Aldridge remarked mildly.
“Does that offend your sensibilities, Dr. Munroe?” Rebecca inquired pertly.
“Many of my colleagues are advocates of Aristotle’s theory of human development,” Munroe replied, “which purports that women’s energies are concentrated in their reproductive organs rather than their brains.”
Rebecca gave the doctor a stony stare. “You ought to find better colleagues, Doctor.”
He grinned suddenly. “Aye. I agree with you, your Ladyship. Sadly, too many of my esteemed colleagues are stuck in the past. We are living in a dynamic time. New discoveries are made daily. To move forward, I believe, one must keep an open mind.”
“Excellent. Now that that’s settled, I suggest we get down to business.” Aldridge sat down behind his desk, turning his gaze to the Bow Street Runner. “I have not had the chance to ask Mr. Kelly what transpired in Town.”
Sam grimaced, and shook his head. “None of the birds at the academy could identify the devil. But I did get a name for the lass in the lake. Lydia Benoit. Not her true Christian name, I suspect.”
“Ah, yes,” Munroe said. “A nom de guerre. Lady birds enjoy a touch of the exotic. They believe it enhances their appeal. In this case, terribly ironic.”
Rebecca glanced at him. “How so, Dr. Munroe?”
“‘Benoit’ means blessed.”
A grim silence settled over the company. Then Sam cleared his throat. “She’d worked at the brothel for a year. The other birds liked her well enough. Seemed proper shocked that she’d cocked up her toes. They remembered that the bawd—Miss Duprey—had hired her out, which was a rare thing. Miss Duprey tended ter be cheeseparing with the lasses, so whoever it was had ter be plump enough in the pockets ter get the bawd ter agree.”
“But they have no idea as to his identity?”
“Nay.”
Kendra frowned as she sipped her coffee. The niggling sensation was back. Something . . . something . . . what was it? It brushed at her consciousness with fragile butterfly wings, before fluttering away. She had to let it go.