A Murder in Time (57 page)

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.

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 fuck 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 fucked 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.”

He said nothing, simply stared at her.

“Your master is going to be angry with you, Thomas. You're the only thing connecting him to the murders. The Duke of Aldridge, Lord Sutcliffe . . . they all know about you now. Do you know what that means? You're a liability.
He'll
know you're a liability, Thomas. He will have to dispose of you. He'll
kill
you.”

“Nay.”

“I can help you, Thomas.” She kept her voice low. Persuasive. “I can save you, if you release me. Unlock the handcuffs, Thomas. Let me help you.”

“The siren's call that lures men into temptation.”

Kendra nearly jumped out of her skin as the voice spoke from the doorway. She'd been so focused on Thomas that she hadn't heard anyone approach. Now she turned her head, and met the mocking gaze of Thomas's master.

“Good God.” Aldridge stared in horror at the piles of hair lying near the broken box on the dirt floor.

Sam crossed the room to the paintings. Images, he thought, as horrifying as the tangle of hair on the floor.

Alec joined the Bow Street Runner, and felt the blood drain out of his face as he stared at the monstrosities depicted in oil. Dark-haired, dark-eyed girls, naked and bleeding.

“Jesus,” he breathed, and felt as though he'd been punched low in the gut. He broke out into a cold sweat. “He's got Kendra. The bastard's got Kendra.”

No one argued.

“But where?” Sam was the one to give voice to what was in all their minds. “Where did the fiend take her?”