A Murder in Time(139)

She stopped her frantic movements, concentrating instead on subduing the blind panic. She closed her eyes. Breathe in; breathe out.

As the fear receded, her senses expanded. The air was cold and dank. She could smell beeswax and mildew. And something else that nearly broke her control again.

Blood.

It took every ounce of willpower to keep calm. She opened her eyes. Golden light flickered over stone walls—a building of some kind, or a basement . . . no, a cave. One in the network of caves that Rebecca had mentioned. Which also meant it would be impossible to find.

“You’re awake.”

The voice was close, startling her. She cut her eyes to the source, the movement causing greasy nausea to roll through her. Thomas was sitting in the corner of the room, staring at her. In the candlelight, his eyes glowed like a demon.

“What the f*ck did you hit me with?” Her voice was unsteady.

He stood and came over to her. “You were where you didn’t belong.”

“Story of my life.”

“You will be punished now.” The hermit giggled.

Kendra squinted up at him. Even in the dim light, she could see the unnatural shine in his eyes. Madness or narcotics? Maybe both.

“He’s coming,” whispered Thomas. He was close enough for his stale breath to fan across her face.

She stared at him, trying to make sense out of his words. “Who? Who’s coming?”

“My master. He’s coming for you.”





62

“I have not the faintest idea where Miss Donovan is,” Rebecca confessed. Her eyes darted between the Duke and Alec, her brow puckering. “Why? What has happened? Should I be concerned?”

Aldridge hesitated. “I am certain she is about. We simply need to locate her.”

Rebecca wasn’t fooled. “Do not treat me as though I have cotton for brains. She is my responsibility! I demand to know if something is amiss.”

“My dear—” Aldridge began, but he broke off when the door to the stairwell opened, and Munroe stepped into the room. “Ah, Doctor, what have you learned?”

“Lady Rebecca.” Munroe nodded by way of greeting. He looked at the Duke and Alec. “I have finished my examination, and can conclude that the discoloration on Miss Donovan’s dress is indeed potash. I cannot determine whether it is the same substance that contaminated April Duprey’s pelisse, you understand.”

Rebecca frowned. “No, I do not understand. What is this about potash on Miss Donovan’s dress?”

“It would seem Miss Donovan acquired potash on the dress she wore yesterday. The question is, where did she come into contact with the substance?”

Alec straightened suddenly. “We visited the hermit yesterday.”

Aldridge’s gaze shifted automatically to the slate board. “Thomas? But he does not fit Miss Donovan’s profile at all.”

“The maid said Kendra had been wrong,” Alec reminded him, his expression grim.

“Potash . . . The hermit claims to be an artist, does he not?” Rebecca asked.

“’Twas one of the requisites that my sister wanted in an ornamental hermit. Why?”

She looked at the men. “Potash is used by artists. If you mix it with animal oils, it creates Prussian blue. ’Tis often used by those who do not have the coins to buy paint supplies commercially. I have mixed it myself when my supply has run low. Dear heaven.” Rebecca put a hand to her throat, looking stricken. “When potash was mentioned before . . . it simply did not occur to me to mention this use. I had not thought of Thomas.”

“Surely Miss Donovan would not be so unwise as to confront the hermit alone?” Munroe said.

Horror flooded Alec. I hunt serial killers.

“Yes, she would!” He spun on his heel, striding to the door.

“Alec, wait!”

The marquis glanced back at his uncle. “There is no time to wait, Duke. I must go to the hermit!”

“I know. I shall come with you.” Aldridge went to his desk and opened the bottom drawer. Face grim, he withdrew a flat, square box. Setting it on the desk, he flipped open the lid to reveal two dueling pistols. “But we ought to go prepared.”





63

Partners.

Kendra closed her eyes, furious with herself. She hadn’t even considered the possibility. Names floated through her mind, nasty bits from history: Leopold and Loeb, who, in the 1920s, committed the murder of a young teen just to prove they could pull off the perfect crime; Angelo Buono and Kenneth Bianchi, cousins who became known in the media as the Hillside Stranglers.

Duos fed off each other’s perverted fantasies and murderous impulses. There was usually a dominant partner and a submissive.

Thomas was clearly the submissive. He’d probably been the one to dispose of the bodies afterward.

She opened her eyes and forced herself to meet Thomas’s burning gaze. “You f*cked up, Thomas. You didn’t expect Lydia to be found in the lake, did you?”

He looked puzzled. “I done it before. Threw the whores in the river. None were ever found.”

“Careless,” she insisted. “You kept April Duprey in your hut, didn’t you? Stashed her there until you could dump her on the path. She got potash on her coat, you know. Just like I got on my clothes yesterday. That’s how I knew you were involved. That’s how the Duke will know you’re involved.”