Echoes in time, p.27
Echoes in Time, page 27
“She didn’t buy it.”
At the certainty in the Duke’s voice, she turned to him. “How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen similar items. She found it—one of the Thames’s treasures.”
“Ah, of course,” Alec said.
Kendra glanced between the men. “What do you two know that I don’t?”
The Duke said, “Mudlarks pick up things like this all the time.”
“Mudlarks?”
“Scavengers,” Alec answered. “They wait for the Thames’s tide to go out, then they mine the mudflats for coal, coins, anything that they can use or sell to survive.”
“Edwina was seen around the docks,” Kendra said.
“It would be clever of her to join the mudlarks.” The Duke picked up his ale and took a swallow. “They’re around, but no one pays them any attention. Unless they misjudge the tide and drown, which is an all-too-common occurrence, I’m afraid.”
“So, they go out every time the tide is low?”
Alec said, “If they want to eat, they do.”
“When’s the next low tide?”
“Later this afternoon.” Alec regarded her. “I guess we’re going mudlarking.”
Kendra’s palms tingled in anticipation. “It’s a chance. Our best chance of finding Edwina. We’re going to take it.”
***
Dark clouds began blowing in around two-thirty. Kendra prayed the rain that might come with them would hold off until after they’d conducted their search for Edwina. They were getting close.
A message arrived from Munroe to let her know that his geological expert, Mr. Engel, was at the anatomy school.
“You don’t think he’ll give you anything useful for the investigation,” Alec guessed, watching her from the seat on the other side of the carriage. “Finding the location of where a body had been based on dirt seems a bit fanciful.”
“Not in another couple of decades it won’t be. But because we’re not there yet . . . yeah, I guess I don’t think he’ll be that useful.”
“Why are we wasting time speaking to him then?”
“I don’t know if it is a waste of time—yet. You have to explore an angle before you know if you’ve wasted your time exploring it, if that makes sense.”
“Oddly enough, it does. No one can predict the future.” He flashed her a wicked grin. “Even a time traveler.”
Kendra was a little surprised to find Munroe’s anatomy school humming with activity, as most of her visits had been conducted after school hours. Today, the wooden bleachers in the operating theater were filled with medical students, while Mr. Barts lectured, standing next to a table upon which lay a naked male cadaver. A few men in the audience shouted ribald remarks, prompting an astonishingly stern rebuke from the weak-chinned apprentice.
Kendra and Alec continued down the hall to Munroe’s office. Inside, the anatomist was sitting behind his desk, talking to Sam, the Duke, and another man—Mr. Engel, Kendra presumed. At Kendra and Alec’s entrance, all three men stood.
“A pleasure,” Mr. Engel said, beaming and bowing as introductions were made. He was a short, spare man clothed entirely in black except for his snowy white cravat. Kendra thought he might be a Quaker, but he wore an ornate gold-and-ruby pin fastened to the folds of his cravat. Early sixties, Kendra estimated. The sun had permanently browned his complexion and bleached his hair into a silvery-sheened blond.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Engel,” Kendra said once they’d settled into chairs again.
“Well, I have to say this has been quite exciting, my lady,” he replied. “I’m a surveyor by trade, but the study of geology is a passion of mine. The two, of course, intersect. There is so much to learn from Mother Earth.”
Kendra caught Sam’s dubious expression.
Mr. Engel leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “I must say, I’ve never been asked to identify sediment off a corpse before. Naturally, when I received Dr. Munroe’s letter, I was quite intrigued. I wanted to come straightaway, but my sister—she keeps house for me in Cambridge—reminded me that it’s not safe to travel at night. I waited until dawn and came as soon as I could.”
“We appreciate your speed,” said the Duke.
“Well, I confess, I was fascinated. Examining soil and sediment on a corpse to help in a criminal investigation is a novel idea. I simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”
Kendra had to suppress a smile. Mr. Engel was eerily accurate—it was a novel idea. Forensic geology would first be envisioned by the novelist Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, whose most famous character, Sherlock Holmes, was able to identify where suspects had been based on the dirt on their shoes. A few years later, fiction would become fact when German scientist George Popp analyzed soil samples in an effort to solve crimes, and a new branch of forensics was born.
“Have you examined the sediment on the body, Mr. Engel?” Kendra asked.
Munroe spoke up. “I brought Mr. Engel to the morgue as soon as he arrived to conduct the examination.” He gestured to the counter holding one of his old-fashioned microscopes. “We brought the samples here, if you would care to view them yourself, my lady.”
“I’m not sure I’d know what I was looking at,” she admitted, but stood up and moved over to the counter. “Why don’t you explain what you found.”
Mr. Engel joined her. “London has a complex geology, my lady. There is much discussion about how this came to be.” He paused and smiled. “Which is neither here nor there. My passions often get the best of me. My sister is always reminding me that few people appreciate long, tedious lectures on how the earth may have been formed.”
“I’m actually interested,” said the Duke, peering through the microscope. He raised his head to look at the surveyor. “Would you be available for dinner tonight to discuss the subject at length?”
Mr. Engel seemed dazzled by the invitation. “Oh, my. Yes, Your Grace. I would be honored.”
“What did you find, Mr. Engel?” Kendra asked again.
The surveyor cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. The sediment on the body is alluvium, which is a mixture of clay, sand, silt, and gravel, deposited by running water.”
“Like a river? The Thames?” Kendra wondered.
“Yes, but not only the Thames. London is built on a network of tributaries. Over the years, we’ve built over rivers and streams, forcing them mostly underground or to disappear altogether. Sadly, they’ve become riddled with refuse, little more than sewers—even River Fleet, which is the most famous. That’s the one I think we’re dealing with, given the dominance of London clay in the alluvium.”
Kendra recalled her first visit to Goldsten’s clinic in Blackfriars. She’d seen portions of the River Fleet aboveground where it wouldn’t be in the twenty-first century.
“London clay?” Sam asked.
“’Tis seabed sediment layered above chalk below. Typically, London clay is too dense for proper agriculture. However, it’s easily tunneled and is an excellent source for brickmaking. You see it used in buildings all over the city.”
“Is there any way to pinpoint where the victim may have been in order to be covered with that sediment?” Kendra asked.
“Not specifically, no. But . . .” He dashed over to a leather satchel on the floor near the chair and drew out a rolled parchment, unfurling it on Munroe’s desk to reveal a map of London.
They gathered around as he used his index finger to trace the heart of London. “London clay is found in the soil north of the River Thames. In this section here. As you go south of the River Thames, sediment becomes more sand and gravel.”
Sam tapped the map. “So the chit would’ve had ter been kept in this area.”
“Yes, if she was kept in the city,” said Mr. Engel.
“She was.” Kendra had no doubt about that. “They need a place easily accessible to them to conduct their experiments.” Easily accessible to St. George’s, she thought but didn’t say. “If they were outside the city, in the countryside, the body would never have been found. It’s easier to dispose of a corpse by digging a grave or dumping it where the animals can get to it. In London, space is limited. The Thames is the easiest way to get rid of a body.”
Mr. Engel’s lips parted in shock as he stared at her.
Sam frowned, studying the map. “That’s a lot of ground ter cover.”
“Very true,” Mr. Engle agreed, tearing his gaze away from Kendra. “However, you need to factor in other elements. Your victim was definitely stored belowground, which is how she came into contact with London clay. You ought to look for running water—a river or a stream. Not a pond or lake. And because the woman was kept underground, I’d say you are dealing with one of London’s lost rivers.”
“In this area.” Kendra retraced the section of the map that he’d identified. Sam was right; it was a lot of ground to cover. She looked at Mr. Engel. “Could it be an icehouse of some kind?”
He put his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he contemplated the idea. “Ice houses are built near rivers and lakes. It’s possible, I suppose. However, I imagine it would have to be a defunct ice house. Servants would be constantly retrieving ice or whatever is being stored in it.” He gave a laugh. “One hopes they’d notice a corpse.”
“Any other ideas?”
The surveyor pursed his lips. “An older structure that has been built over an underground river, and still has a subterranean chamber.” He sighed. “I wish I could be more help in finding where your body was before she came to you.”
“Cold, underground, near one of London’s underground rivers, north of the Thames. You’ve actually been very helpful, Mr. Engel. Thank you.” Kendra glanced at Sam. “Mr. Kelly, will you walk with us to the carriage?”
Once they left Munroe’s office, Sam grumbled, “North of the Thames is still a lot of ground ter cover.”
“Yes, but now we’ve got a starting point. Pull in Muldoon. He may be a pain in the ass,” she stated, which made Sam grin, “but he knows how to do research. We need to cross-reference our suspects with property they might own or rent—”
“Own,” Alec put in. “They wouldn’t want a nosy landlord stumbling across what they’re doing.”
Kendra nodded. “Right. It needs to be private. Then we narrow it down by looking for property with an underground chamber or an ice house, with one of the lost rivers running through it.”
“I’ll tell Muldoon, but if we find Edwina, we won’t need the location. We’ll have our witness.” Sam glanced at Kendra. “You really think she’s been mudlarking all this time?”
“I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty, but the probability is high.”
Sam scowled when he opened the door, his gaze going to the ominous clouds on the horizon. “It’s gonna rain.”
“Will that stop the mudlarks from showing up?” Kendra asked.
“Don’t worry. They’ll be there,” Alec assured her.
“Aye. Rain ain’t gonna stop them.” Shoving his tricorn hat on his head, Sam sighed. “It’ll just make it miserable for us.”
Chapter 37
Kendra prepared for the miserable. A light rain pinged against the windowpanes as she dressed in her warmest gown and wool coat, her thickest tights, and her sturdiest leather half-boots. Not fashionable, which Molly lamented, but functional. Or as functional as it could be for the era. Neither the gown nor the coat had pockets, so Kendra still had to keep her pistol in the dainty reticule dangling from her wrist.
Alec was waiting for her by the door. Like her, he’d dressed for the cold. She was sure he also had a gun on him, but he had plenty of pockets to keep it in. While Kendra didn’t anticipate any problems with the mudlarks, the docks were a high-crime area. One of the reasons, she remembered, why Goldsten had set up his practice nearby.
Briefly, she wondered what would happen to the clinic now.
When they climbed down from their carriage, Sam was waiting for them on the embankment with six other Bow Street Runners. Kendra recognized a tall, lanky figure staring out the receding waters of the Thames as Muldoon.
“I spoke ter Mr. Goldsten’s ma and sister an hour ago,” Sam told Kendra. His golden eyes were shadowed and a muscle twitched in his stubbled jaw.
“I’m sorry.” She understood what it meant to be the messenger that brought grief to a family.
The Bow Street Runner moved his shoulders as if he was trying to dislodge a weight. “Aye, well. They were shocked. Refused ter believe he killed himself. I reckon that’s natural. No one wants ter believe something like that.”
Kendra acknowledged that with a nod. “When was the last time they saw him?”
“A week ago. Last Friday, for something called Shabbat.”
Kendra hunched her shoulders against a gust of wind and rain. “They didn’t think it was strange that they hadn’t seen him for over a week?”
“Wasn’t peculiar for him. Mrs. Goldsten said he spent most of his time at his clinic and St. George’s.”
“Did he seem troubled or worried about anything the last time they saw him?”
“According ter Miss Goldsten, her brother was always serious-minded. Fretting that he’d lose status or have his clinic shutdown if he stepped out of line.”
Muldoon joined them. “I quizzed the sisters at St. George’s and learned that Sir Preston and Dr. Carter have treated the most syphilis patients over the years, but that could be because they’re the oldest physicians in residence. Everyone has treated the pox at one time or another.”
“Anyone with a personal connection to the disease?” Kendra asked.
“There are some whispers that Mr. Beane’s brother died of the disease, but I haven’t been able to confirm that. I thought that if I don’t drown tonight, I’ll ask him directly tomorrow morning.” Muldoon grinned at her.
“They’re coming now,” Alec said.
Kendra’s gaze traveled to the shoreline below. Black patches of mud, rocks, and rubble were slowly exposed as the tide receded, and dozens of shadowy figures crept out onto the sludge. The old and disabled used long sticks to poke through the mud and navigate the shifting sands. The children used their hands to dig through the debris. They all wore long coats, bulky, with multiple pockets that they stuffed with the objects they found. A few carried burlap sacks as well.
Kendra turned her attention back to Sam, Muldoon, and the other Runners. “We want Edwina, but if she’s not down there, maybe someone knows where she is. If you don’t see her, interview as many mudlarks as possible.”
She saw Muldoon’s quick grin, and half-expected him to give her his mocking salute like he had before.
“Do I sound imperious?” she asked Alec as they made their way down the embankment.
“Darling, you sound like a leader. Mind your step.”
Her boots skidded across the slick, seaweed-covered rocks, and Alec’s hand shot out to steady her. She gave a relieved sigh when she finally landed on the shore, even if her half-boots sank into the mud.
Kendra surveyed the newly exposed beach, with its long patches of mud, clumps of seaweed, rocks, and swirling tidepools. The world was different down here, almost apocalyptic. A one-armed man struggled to yank a tin box out of a tangled pile of kelp and muck. Nearby, an old woman, spine curved into a large dowager’s hump, combed the sand with her fingers. Children as young as four were rooting around for any meager scraps. Society’s abandoned, she reflected sadly.
“We’re being watched,” Alec murmured beside her.
“I know.” Kendra nodded, her gaze drifting over several young mudlarks.
“Not by them. Him.” Alec inclined his head in the direction of the embankment.
Kendra turned slowly, careful not to draw attention, and glanced up the rocky incline. The man had chosen his position well, standing between two warehouses, leaving him in shadow. That, along with the gray drizzle, made it impossible to discern anything about him, except that he was wearing tricorn hat and a caped greatcoat.
“He could be a dockworker—”
“They don’t wear greatcoats. I noticed him when we were on the embankment. He pretended that he was part of the group of men working near one of the warehouses, but he was watching us. He wasn’t subtle, but I put it down to curiosity.”
Kendra studied Alec. He’d been a spy on the continent during the Napoleonic Wars. If anyone would recognize surveillance, he would.
Now he said, “Why don’t I go and have a word with him, shall I?”
A frisson darted down her spine, and she grabbed his arm before he could turn away. “Be careful, Alec.”
His teeth flashed in a crooked smile. “Don’t worry about me, sweet. You’d better worry about catching your quarry. It looks like they don’t want to be interviewed.”
“Damn!” she cursed, when she saw that the younger mudlarks had begun running, scattering in all directions. Hiking up her skirts, Kendra chased after a handful of the children running north. Sam, Muldoon, and the other Bow Street Runners were yelling and racing after the other kids. The mud sucked at her boots, hampering her progress. In contrast, the kids seemed to fly across the beach, as fleet of foot as a herd of gazelles.
To think she’d once prided herself on her speed at Langley’s racetrack and the laps she’d made around the FBI Hoover Building in DC. But a year of not running had taken its toll. The muscles in her legs burned as she sprinted after the mudlarks. Wind and rain slapped at her.
“Stop!” she shouted.
Several in the pack glanced over their shoulders, squealing. Smaller children peeled off from the older kids. Kendra made a split-second decision to go after the older children. She didn’t know how it was possible, but they seemed to increase their speed, lengthening the distance between them.
Gritting her teeth, she bore down and found a spurt of energy as the children ran toward a rocky formation that jutted like a finger from the embankment. She gained a few feet, but had no breath left in her lungs to order them to stop again. They were twenty yards ahead. Her heart felt like it was going to explode. Her calves screamed. Still, she gulped air and barreled forward, shrinking the distance to fifteen yards.
