Chapter 3
A curious silence descended. Kendra wondered if everyone else was finding the moment as surreal as she was.
The Duke was the first to speak. “This incident,” he said. “You are speaking of murder?”
It was a natural assumption. In the last year, Kendra had been involved in several such investigations. She knew her activities had been the cause of gossip among the Beau Monde, but uneasiness knotted her stomach at the idea that she’d drawn attention in royal circles as well.
“Possibly,” the courier said cautiously. “Yesterday morning, Lady Westford was found dead in the Bowden Theater. ’Tis a theater in Covent Garden.”
The Duke lifted his eyebrows in shock. “Lady Westford is dead?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so, Your Grace.”
Kendra glanced at the Duke. “You knew her?”
“Yes, though I cannot claim we were close friends. Lady Westford has an interest in natural philosophy, and throughout the years, we’ve attended the same lectures at the Royal Society.
It’s rather unusual for ladies to go to such scientific forums. I found the countess to be intellectual and charming. This is a . . . a terrible shock.”
Alec said, “I met Lady Westford when she launched her youngest daughter into society several years ago.” He looked at the courier. “What happened?”
“It appears her ladyship fell from the upper balcony of the theater, my lord.”
The Duke’s eyes widened. “Good God, during a performance?”
“Ah . . . no.” The man’s gaze dropped to the hat that he was rotating in his hands.
He was silent for a long moment. Again, Kendra had the impression that he was searching for the right words.
At last, his hands stilled, and he lifted his gaze to the Duke’s.
“It’s believed she fell on Sunday, when the theater was closed. ”
“I don’t understand. Why was she at the theater when it was closed?”
“One of many questions, Your Grace.”
“I have a question,” Alec drawled, eyeing the courier. “Why is the Queen requiring my wife’s involvement? Surely, the matter is being looked into by the proper authorities?”
“Bow Street’s Chief Magistrate, Sir Nathaniel Conant, assigned an investigator—Mr. Parker—to look into the matter.
London’s chief coroner is currently in France, but Dr. Lucien Thornton, a respected physician, conducted the postmortem.
He concluded that her ladyship accidently fell from the balcony to her death. ”
Kendra contemplated the man. “So her death has already been officially declared an accident?”
“Yes.”
She frowned. “Then what’s the problem?”
“There is speculation that she did not fall, that she . . . ah, that she jumped.”
“My God.” The Duke let out a shocked breath. “Suicide? I do not believe it!”
“Nor does Her Majesty,” the courier said quietly. “Self-murder is such a vile, sinful act, and would cause great disgrace to the family, not to mention cast a shadow on Lady Westford’s soul. Her Majesty is requesting that Lady Sutcliffe investigate the matter quietly, to remove all doubt.”
“What is your name, sir?” Alec demanded, his green eyes narrowing on the courier.
“You present yourself as a royal courier, but you clearly did not ride here on horseback, which is the fastest method used by messengers—even royal messengers. And you appear to be intimately familiar with the details of her ladyship’s death. ”
A gleam of what might have been rueful admiration entered the other man’s eyes. “Very astute of you, my lord. I am Mr. Boothe. I clerk for Mr. Disbrowe,” he admitted. “I am acting on behalf of Her Majesty.”
Kendra’s uneasiness intensified. She didn’t need the Duke or Alec to tell her that they were dealing with the inner circle of the Palace.
The British royal family had become a constitutional monarchy centuries before, during Charles II’s reign, but the Palace had more power today than in her own time.
Maybe they couldn’t toss her in the Tower of London—could they?
—but they could probably make her life damned unpleasant if she fell afoul of them.
“Edward Disbrowe is Her Majesty’s vice chamberlain,” the Duke told Kendra.
“Why does the Queen want an investigation?” Alec asked. “Tongues will wag that Lady Westford committed self-murder regardless. No one can stop that from happening. I dare say not even Queen Charlotte.”
Mr. Boothe nodded. “Unfortunately, rumors will always abound, given the suspicious nature of her death.”
“You’re not asking me to investigate an accident,” Kendra said slowly, meeting the man’s eyes. “You’re here because of the third possibility. You think she was pushed.”
A shadow crossed Mr. Boothe’s face. “Her Majesty is concerned that foul means were employed. She wishes to know the truth.”
Unless the truth is uncomfortable, like a suicide. Kendra pushed that thought aside, because it wouldn’t deter her. She’d follow the investigation wherever it might lead and not let politics—or even a queen’s discomfort—dissuade or distract her.
She kept her gaze on Mr. Boothe. “Why is the Queen taking such an interest in Lady Westford’s death? Were they friends?”
The Duke cleared his throat. “I can answer that, my dear. Lady Westford is . . . was one of Her Majesty’s ladies-in-waiting.”
“She served Queen Charlotte for the last six years,” Mr. Boothe added. “Her Majesty was quite rightly distraught when she received word of the tragedy yesterday afternoon.”
“Where is the body now?” Kendra asked. “I’ll need to see it, and the theater where she died.”
“I’m not certain, but Dr. Thornton ought to be able to tell you. She was found at the Bowden Theater on Monday morning. Its doors are open.”
Open and doing business, Kendra thought with a flash of irritation.
God. It was incredibly frustrating that her nineteenth century counterparts didn’t have any procedures in place to seal off crime scenes.
Hell, they didn’t even have an official police force, just a cobbled-together group of constables, watchmen, magistrates, and Bow Street Runners.
Mr. Boothe smoothed the brim of his hat before placing it firmly on his head. “Naturally, Her Majesty wishes to be kept informed of your investigation. You shall report your findings to me, and I will convey them to the Queen.”
“And if I need to speak to the Queen?”
Mr. Boothe’s reaction could only be described as shock laced with horror. “One does not speak to the Queen, my lady. A protocol must be followed. One first must request an audience and—”
“Her Majesty is asking for my help in this matter,” Kendra reminded him.
Mr. Boothe waved his hand as if that detail was irrelevant. Probably because it was, Kendra mused. Queen Charlotte wasn’t issuing a request; this was an order.
“The Queen has no information to share,” he told her. “And even if she did, she cannot grant you an audience at this time. The King . . .” Mr. Boothe’s mouth compressed into a thin, pained line, and he shook his head. “She is currently traveling to Windsor Castle to visit His Majesty.”
His Majesty, King George III, who was currently incarcerated in the ancient fortress due to his madness.
Kendra remembered that from the history books, although the King’s illness was hardly a secret in this time.
Five years ago, he’d been forced to hand over power to his profligate son, Prince George, making him the Prince Regent and ushering in the period known, fittingly, as the Regency.
“I have a royal coach at my disposal,” Mr. Boothe informed them. “If we leave immediately, we ought to be in London by midafternoon.”
Kendra said, “I’ll be bringing my own team to help with the investigation.”
Mr. Boothe blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve worked with Dr. Munroe and Mr. Kelly on previous investigations. Dr. Munroe operates an anatomy school in London. I’d like him to examine the body. Mr. Kelly is a Bow Street Runner.”
This was another thing that had changed, Kendra mused.
In the twenty-first century, she’d been part of task forces and teams. But she’d always been a loner, the person who worked through holidays and happy hours.
But here . . . here she was outside her jurisdiction.
Way outside. She needed a team who could both help her navigate the labyrinth of rules and be openminded enough to accept her ideas and theories.
Sam Kelly and Dr. Munroe had overcome whatever reservations they’d had about her, and treated her, for the most part, as an equal.
Ironically, she hadn’t been so openminded herself, viewing both men as inferior because she had more than two centuries of knowledge on them.
A common, modern-day mistake. By her standards, the era’s technology was archaic and police procedure rudimentary at best, but she had soon realized that many of the people she met were still enormous assets.
“This is most unusual.” Mr. Boothe frowned. “Bow Street was already involved, and Dr. Thornton—”
“Has determined that there was no crime,” Kendra interjected.
“Lady Sutcliffe’s request isn’t as unusual as you asking a marchioness to investigate a possible crime, Mr. Boothe,” the Duke put in with a faint smile. “I can vouch for both men, sir. And their discretion—which, I presume, is really your concern. Fortuitously, they are here at Aldridge Castle.”
“I trust you to know what is best, Your Grace. I’ve left my card with your majordomo.” His gaze moved to Kendra. “You will keep me informed, my lady.” He gave a quick bow and swept out of the door.
The Duke exchanged looks with Kendra and Alec. “I shall have the carriage brought around immediately,” he said, and also left the room.
Once they were alone, Kendra said to Alec, “I’m sorry. I know this is the last thing you wanted.”
Alec huffed out a laugh. “I knew our life would be unconventional, madam-wife.” He reached over to clasp her hand, lifting it to touch the simple gold ring that now adorned her finger. He smiled into her eyes. “I have what I want—you.”
Kendra surprised him—and herself—by grabbing his coat lapels and yanking him in for a deep kiss.
She gave a breathless laugh when she released him, smoothing out the creases she’d made on his coat.
“I guess we both got what we wanted.” She grinned.
“Now, we’d better get moving. Even I know that when a queen wants answers, it’s best not to keep her waiting. ”