A Murder in Time(119)

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.”