A Murder in Time(138)

Kendra glanced at the canvases stacked against the far wall. Her skin crawling, she forced herself to move toward them, to drag off the dirty wool blankets. The first row was benign landscapes: the river, the forest; local scenes.

She flipped those back to reveal the second row, and these were far different from the pretty landscapes. There was nothing pretty about the ghastly images Thomas had painted, young girls shackled and screaming.

Art requires sacrifice.

She turned and ran outside, drawing in deep gulps of fresh air. Leaning over, she put her hands on her knees and tried to get a grip on the emotions swirling through her. Something flashed in her peripheral vision. She didn’t even have time to turn before pain exploded in her head, driving her to her knees.

And into darkness.





60

“Is something on your mind, my boy?”

Alec glanced at the Duke, who was studying him over the rim of a teacup. Dr. Munroe was also eyeing him, apparently finding him more interesting than the carefully ironed newspaper in his hand.

“Pardon?” Alec replied.

“You seem a bit blue-deviled. What is troubling you?”

Alec was at loss for words. What could he say? You have a woman living under your roof who is from the future—or, at least, believes that she is. In truth, Alec wasn’t entirely certain which he’d prefer. He was not a natural philosopher like his uncle. His own interests tended toward the pragmatic: business, finance, investments. Having Kendra Donovan claim she was from another time period was disturbing on a fundamental level. He damned well didn’t like the idea of . . . what had she called them? Wormholes. After all, if she could unintentionally fall into one, what would stop anyone from following suit?

He glanced uneasily at the tapestry that hid the stairwell. How many times had he used the passageway in his lifetime, first as a boy, with a boy’s natural curiosity, and later because it was the most expedient route to the Duke’s laboratory? How many times had his uncle walked that same route? What if one day they went in and never came back out? It was too incredible even to contemplate.

But he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Kendra Donovan was mad. Nor could he quite convince himself that she’d been foxed, her mind flooded with fantasy after drinking half a bottle of brandy.

“Alec?”

He became aware that he hadn’t answered his uncle. “’Tis nothing, Duke. The maid’s death has left a pall on the castle.” That much was true. He needed to speak with Kendra again, before he spoke to the Duke about her unusual circumstance. If some madness had seized her mind, his uncle was in the best position to help.

A knock at the door interrupted his morose thoughts. Relieved at the interruption, he crossed the room, opening the door to a young maid, who stood uncertainly, clutching a bundle to her chest.

“Yes?”

The girl dropped into a hasty curtsey. “Yer Lordship. Oi . . . ah, miss asked me ter give this ter ’is Grace and the sawbones—er, Oi mean, the Doctor Munroe.”

“What is it, pray tell?” Aldridge set down his teacup and came forward. They all watched as the maid shook out the material.

“That’s the gown and spencer that Kendra—Miss Donovan wore yesterday,” Alec identified with a frown.

“Aye.” The maid gave him a nervous look. “Miss said ye were ter look at the stains. Said it mebbe potash, sir.”

“Potash?” Munroe questioned, coming forward. He took the dress from the girl, scrutinizing the smears. “’Tis possible. They have a similar look. I would need your microscope, Your Grace, to be certain.”

“Of course.”

“Where is Miss Donovan?” Alec asked sharply.

“Oi dunno. She said she’d been wrong.”

Icy fear had Alec grabbing the girl’s arm. “Did she leave the castle?”

“Oi dunno, ye Lordship!”

“Alec, you’re frightening the girl.”

“Devil take it!” Alec glared at his uncle, but let go of the maid. “I told her not to go anywhere alone!”

Aldridge frowned, glancing at the maid. “You know nothing of Miss Donovan’s whereabouts?”

“Nay, sir!”

“You may go.” Once the maid had left, Aldridge turned to Alec. “Calm down. Miss Donovan is no fool.”

Kendra’s words came back to him in a terrifying rush. “Dammit. We need to find her!”

Aldridge moved to the bellpull. “I shall summon Rebecca. If Miss Donovan isn’t with her, she most likely will know where she’s gone.”

I hunt serial killers.

But that was the thing about hunting a wild beast—desperation made them more dangerous. Kendra may think she was hunting the killer, but Alec knew, a chill deep in his gut, that the situation could easily be reversed. The fiend could be hunting her.





61

Kendra did not have a first conscious thought. She only felt pain. It radiated from the top of her skull all the way down to her toes. Slowly, she became aware of two other things: she was lying on her back, and her hands were pinioned above her head. She tried to move her arms, and felt the pinch of metal against her wrists.

Panic jolted through her like an electrical current. Visions of other wrists rubbed raw flooded her mind. She opened her eyes, barely noticing the shadowy ceiling above her as she thrashed around, rattling the chains. The sour taste of terror invaded her mouth.