Chapter 25
Alec used the brass knocker when they arrived at Dr. Thornton’s townhome. After two rounds of polite knocking, Kendra used her fist to not-so-politely bang on the door.
“Damn it, where is he?” she muttered, tapping her foot impatiently.
“He could be making house calls,” Alec suggested.
“Where’s Jenny?”
“The market? Or her day off? Or she peered out of the window, saw your face and is now hiding under the bed rather than risk your wrath. You are a fearsome creature, my love.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
Kendra took a step back to scan the house’s windows. Around them, the neighborhood hummed with quiet activity, but there was only stillness from Thornton’s townhouse. A sense of disquiet crept down Kendra’s spine.
“Let’s try the servant entrance,” she said, moving off the stoop and down the path.
Alec gave her a sidelong glance. “You think that Thornton has fled, don’t you?”
“No. Or if he has, it’s only temporary,” she said.
They walked the length of the townhouses, eventually turning to find themselves in the narrow alley behind the houses.
“He kept the drawing room exactly how his late wife decorated it,” Kendra went on. “Her portrait is in there, and in his study, like a shrine. He’s not going to abandon the home that he built with her.”
Counting the houses, Kendra located the servant’s entrance to Thornton’s townhouse. There was no brass knocker here, so Kendra used her fist again to thump against the panel.
A door in the adjacent house opened, and a middle-aged woman, bundled in a coat and bonnet and carrying a canvas bag, stepped onto the stoop. She paused when she spotted them.
“Are ye needing Dr. Thornton?” She cocked her head as she surveyed them, clearly pegging them as upper class from their clothing. “What are ye about, using the servant’s entrance?”
“We tried the front door, but no one answered,” Kendra replied. “We thought Dr. Thornton’s cook or maid might be in the kitchens.”
“He ain’t got a cook. He’s got a maid-of-all-work. Jenny. I haven’t seen her today.”
Kendra asked, “How about Dr. Thornton? Have you seen him?”
“Nay. It’s been quiet.”
“Is it normally quiet?”
The woman shrugged. “Quiet enough, I reckon. His patients are respectable folks. Not like they’re gonna make a ruckus. Sometimes he has his fellow physicians for dinner. Some kind of group, it is.”
Kendra thanked the woman for her time and received an uncertain nod in reply. When she reached the mouth of the alley, the housekeeper cast them another glance over her shoulder. Kendra waited for her to disappear from view, then reached out to test the knob. Locked.
She considered her options, then removed her bonnet and extracted two long pins from her hair. Pushing the tumbling curls away from her face, she knelt down.
Alec sucked in a breath. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”
She shot him a quick grin as she inserted the pins into the lock. “I can’t pull anything over on you.”
“Do you really think—”
“Sh-sh. I need to concentrate.”
It took her almost two minutes. “Damn. I’m getting rusty,” she muttered, straightening.
“At what? Being a housebreaker?”
“These skills have saved my life, you know,” she reminded him, and saw his eyes darken as he recalled the horrific time. She deliberately lightened her tone as she pushed open the door and added, “Consider this a welfare check.”
“And what, pray tell, is a welfare check?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. If there’s a concern, police can check on someone’s welfare, to make sure they’re okay.”
“We’re not police.”
Kendra didn’t reply as they stepped inside.
She looked down the long hallway that ran the length of the townhouse.
The fan window above the door let in the soft light of the day.
The candles in the wall sconces and candelabra on the walnut cabinet were gutted.
The house was eerily silent, as though the building was holding its breath.
Kendra’s sense of disquiet intensified. She reached into her reticule to retrieve her muff pistol.
Alec said nothing, but brought out a gun of his own from the pocket of his greatcoat. Catching her astonished look, he grinned.
“Married to you, I thought I ought to come prepared.”
Sounds drifted in from outside: the clatter of wagon wheels; the clip-clop of horse hooves; the jingle of reins; the sporadic tweeting of birds; the occasional gust of wind.
But inside the house . . . nothing.
Nerves tightening, Kendra moved quickly to the stairs. Alec was on her heels as they climbed the steps. Reaching the landing, she stopped so abruptly that Alec bumped into her.
“What—?” he began, but she was already dashing down the hall.
The door to Thornton’s study was open. Jenny’s body lay across the threshold, face down in a pool of dried blood.
“Bloody hell,” Alec cursed as he came to a halt next to Kendra, his gaze locked on the young maid.
Kendra moved into the room, careful not to disturb the blood or the body.
A silver tea tray was overturned about a yard away from the maid.
A porcelain teapot lay on its side, cracked.
Tea had soaked into the area rug. Two cups and saucers, plus bowls for sugar and milk, were part of the debris, scattered around the tray.
Milk and tea mixed with blood. There was blood spattered on the wall.
Kendra’s eyes fell on the other body in the room, sprawled in front of the fireplace. Dr. Thornton was lying face up, his eyes open and filmy. His mouth was slightly agape, giving him a surprised look. His cravat, shirt, and vest were black with his blood.
Alec lifted his gaze from Thornton to Kendra’s eyes. “My God . . . why?”
“Because he was the weak link,” she said softly. “Thornton may have told Lord Westford that his wife killed herself, but it wasn’t his idea. Someone told him to do it.”
A wave a guilt washed over her. “I knew he was involved; I could tell when I talked to him yesterday. He was sweating, nervous. If I’d pushed him more, he would’ve given me the person who told him to shut down the investigation into Lady Westford’s death. I should’ve pushed him.”
“Stop it,” Alec said firmly. “This is not your fault, Kendra. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”
“I should have known it was a possibility.”
“Kendra—”
“Okay.” She held up a hand. “Give me a minute, okay?”
She drew in a deep, shaky breath, counted to three, and let it out slowly. This wasn’t the time for self-recriminations. That could come later. Now was the time to focus.
“All right,” she finally said. Shoving her pistol back into her reticule, she squatted down to study Thornton. Using one finger, she carefully pushed down the cravat. The material was stiff with dried blood, but she managed to expose a deep slash across Thornton’s throat.
“His vocal chords have been cut,” she said, and met Alec’s eyes. “Expedient or symbolic? Someone made damn sure Thornton would never talk.”
***
“God’s teeth,” said Sam Kelly, his gold eyes hard as he stared down at the carnage in Dr. Thornton’s study. “What madness is this?”
Kendra shook her head. “It’s not madness. The killer is covering his—” Ass, she nearly said, but caught herself. “He’s eliminating threats.”
“Dr. Thornton was a threat?”
Again, she had to take a moment to battle back the guilt.
“I came here yesterday to talk to him. I knew he was hiding something, and I thought it was that he’d let Lord Westford pressure him into having Lady Westford’s death declared an accident.
But we spoke with Lord Westford today. He said that Dr. Thornton was the one who told him that his wife’s death was a suicide and offered to cover it up. ”
The Bow Street Runner let out a low whistle. “So, Dr. Thornton was deliberately shielding the murderer. And the villain paid him back by killing him.” His gaze moved to Jenny. “And his servant. Why now?”
Bile rose in Kendra’s throat. “I pushed him hard. He must have contacted the killer. Either he was seeking reassurance or he wanted to warn him. Maybe both.”
Sam shook his head. “Can’t blame yourself, lass. He made a choice. He might not have killed Lady Westford, but he made damn sure ter cover for the monster. He would’ve gotten away with it, too, if the Queen hadn’t asked you ter inquire into the matter.”
“Jenny didn’t make a choice,” she said softly.
Sam said nothing.
Kendra forced herself to concentrate on the crime scene.
“The postmortem will give us the full story on what happened,” she said, careful to keep her tone brusque.
“Based on my visual examination, the only injury that Thornton appears to have sustained is the slash across the throat. It looks deep, from ear to ear. I believe he was facing his killer when his throat was cut.” She surveyed the blood spatter on the wall and fireplace.
The arterial spurt pattern showed the last beats of Thornton’s heart.
She brought her eyes back to the dead man. “He doesn’t have any defensive wounds, but his palms are bloody. He brought his hands up to his throat to staunch the flow of blood.”
“The poor bastard must’ve known he was dying,” Sam said.
“Oh, yeah. He had a minute, maybe two.”
“That’s an eternity for someone feeling their life’s blood seeping away,” Alec said grimly.
“It could’ve been quicker if an air bubble entered the jugular vein, causing an embolism,” Kendra said. “Same with Jenny. Her throat was slashed too.”
Everyone’s eyes tracked across the room, to where the maid lay sprawled.
“Thornton invited his killer into his inner sanctum,” Kendra said slowly. “He asked Jenny to bring tea . . . or, more likely, the killer asked for it.”
Alec frowned. “Why do you say that?”