A Murder in Time(70)

Alec shrugged. “Mr. Kelly seemed a competent sort.”

“Then we’re at a standstill until the Runner returns.”

“The thief-taker’s already gone?” a new voice demanded to know.

Kendra glanced at the two men striding down the hill. She recognized both from yesterday’s nuncheon. The shorter man had a round, almost babyish face with wispy blond hair and blue eyes. The other was the good-looking young man who’d been drinking out of a flask. By the look in his bright eyes now, she suspected he was drinking again today. Or maybe he’d never stopped.

“Gabriel.” Alec’s voice was ice-cold. “What are you doing here?”

The good-looking man—Gabriel—scowled and threw out his arms. “You are not my keeper, Sutcliffe. Until His Grace cocks up his toes, none of this is yours yet. I am free to go where I please.”

“You’re bossy, as usual,” Alec snapped.

“Gabe.” The other man laid a hand on Gabriel’s arm, shooting Alec an uneasy glance. “Mayhap we ought to return to the castle.”

“Listen to Harcourt, Gabriel. And go easy on the port.”

Gabriel flushed and shook off his friend’s hand. “I suggest you mind your own bloody business, my Lord.” His chin jutted out belligerently, his gaze hot. He took a step forward, and for a minute Kendra wondered if he was going to take a swing at Alec. Then Morland intervened, stepping forward and clapping a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “I’ll walk with you back to the castle, my boy.” He had a forced jovial note in his voice. “’Tis too fine a day to be shadowed by bickering.”

In an adroit maneuver, Morland and Harcourt flanked Gabriel, hustling him back up the footpath. Kendra glanced at Alec.

“What’s going on between you? It’s clear that the guy hates your guts.”

Despite the grimness he was feeling, Alec smiled. “Miss Donovan, ladies do not mention one’s innards.”

“I’ll make a note.” They began following the trio at a more leisurely pace. She slanted him a curious glance. “Who is he? Jealous rival? Longtime enemy?”

Alec’s smile faded; his face became shuttered.

“You might say that,” he finally answered. “He’s my brother.”





22

Apparently families were as screwed up in the nineteenth century as they were in the twenty-first. Kendra wondered if simple rivalry was at the root of Gabriel’s animosity. Or if there was something more, something even darker, more twisted than jealousy.

By the time the Duke sent for her, she’d gotten three blisters on her fingers from cutting vegetables. The wounds reminded her of Jane Doe’s soft hands. Definitely not a servant.

She walked into the study, and stopped when she saw the slate board.

“Few people venture into the schoolroom, much less that wing of the castle, but I see no need to incite hysteria in anyone curious enough to go there,” Aldridge said, rising from his chair and coming around the desk. “I thought it best to bring the slate board here.”

She nodded. “That’s a good idea. Some of the staff have already begun thinking gypsies are responsible. In fact, you might want to warn them. There could be trouble.”

“No need, Miss Donovan. The Romani are gone.”

She raised her brows. “You already told them?”

“Alec and I rode out to their camp, but they had already departed.”

“How—”

“The Romani have been persecuted their entire lives, Miss Donovan. Whenever something befalls the countryside—a cow becomes ill, a field is devastated by blight—they are the first to be blamed. Despite our modern age, many fall back on superstition. The Romani are a pragmatic and clever people; they will leave at the first sign of trouble.”

“Well, that’s one less thing to worry about, I suppose.”

He was silent as he surveyed the shadows beneath her eyes. “I can see that you have been worrying,” he finally said.

Kendra shrugged. “There’s a lot to worry about.” Time travel. Serial killers. An attraction to a man who’s more than two hundred years older than I am. She glanced at the slate board. “He’s out there, you know. He’ll kill again.”

Aldridge frowned. “I fail to see what we can do until the Runner returns.”

Panic tickled at the back of her throat. How long, she wondered, would it take the Bow Street Runner to conduct his inquiries? Days? Weeks? Months? London’s population, even during this time period, had swelled to more than a million.

“We have a general sense of who this guy is. We know that he’s either a member of the gentry or, at the very least, he’s affluent. He lives in the area or is familiar with it. We also know the general time that Jane Doe was killed.”

“What do you propose?”

“First, we need to come up with a list of suspects.”

“Suspects,” Aldridge murmured.

The way he said it, the word sounded ugly. She had no doubt that the Duke wanted the killer caught. But it was amazing how many people got downright pissy when their friends and family were questioned by the authorities. “Yes. Men who fit the profile. Is that a problem?”

“’Tis troubling to look at neighbors, acquaintances, perhaps even friends with suspicion.”