by Lora Edwards
The carriage stopped and deposited them in the East End. Having memorized the map of Whitechapel, Teagan took the lead, walking briskly down the twisted streets. They would make it this time. The crime scene was closer than the rest, in the heart of the busy business district. She was so determined to get to her destination that she did not hear Ovidia’s shout of warning. She was suddenly knocked to the ground, and her head hit hard enough that her vision started to narrow.
No! She could not black out; she had to find him. She had to save that woman. Standing up, she closed her eyes against the wave of nausea that swept through her. She slowly opened her eyes and looked over at the overturned cart in front of her—she had walked right in front of an apple cart, which had caused the driver to swerve in order to miss her, causing the cart to topple. Apples were strewn throughout the square, and the hungry residents of Whitechapel darted around, grabbing as many apples as they could carry then sprinting off into the night, ignoring the baleful cries of the cart owner.
“Sir, you need to watch where you are going! I could have killed you. Now my apples are all over the street!” Before Teagan could answer, a sound came from under the cart. Bending down, she could see a young child, a street urchin, four, maybe five years old.
“Help me sir, I’m trapped.” Teagan looked in horror as she saw the little arm that was pinned underneath the wheel. She started to shout for help then remembered she was disguised as a man. Magic! The thought popped into her mind. I have to speak as a man, Teagan thought to herself then shouted in a soft baritone,” Bran, there is a child underneath here!” Bran, Ovidia, and the owner came around and peered under the overturned cart at the little one caught underneath. With a joint effort, they righted the cart as Teagan pulled the child out from beneath.
He flung his arms around her, grateful to be safe. “Thank you, sir! Thank you.”
“Let me look you over little man,” Bran said, checking the arm that had been caught under the cart. “You will have a sore arm for a while, son, but I don’t think it’s broken. Where are your parents?”
“I don’t have none sir. My mum was working, but she got sick and one morning she didn’t wake up. I’m on my own now.” The child looked longingly at the apples still left in the cart. “I am ever so hungry.” Before Bran could reply, the man with the cart grabbed an apple and handed it to the child. The little boy started to devour it. “Thank you, sir, thank you.”
The cart man chuckled. “Nice manners on you little mite.”
“My mum taught me to be polite she did.” The little boy smiled through the dirt and grime that covered his face.
The cart man’s face took on a haunted look as he stared at the little boy and then he brightened a bit. “Hey there little mite, how would you like to have a proper home? With a mum and a dad?”
The little boy eyed him warily. “I don’t have a mum or a dad,” he said. “I already told you that.”
“What if I could give you one,” the cart man asked.
“Would they beat me,” the little boy asked matter-of-factly, making the cart man look sad.
“No, but they would love you.” He turned back the trio. “Me and the missus, we have tried to have children, but she can’t keep them in her belly. My missus longs for a child she does. This little mite, he don’t have any parents and well, we don’t have a child…” He trailed off, looking at them as if they needed to give him permission.
Ovidia took the man’s hand, held it for a moment, and smiled. At the last moment before Ovidia spoke, Teagan muttered few words then waved her hand. “He would be delighted I am sure to go home with you and meet your wife.” Ovidia smiled then looked surprised at the rich baritone of her own voice. “Would you like that,” she asked the small boy.
“Is there food,” he asked, making Teagan’s heart hurt.
“Yes, my missus can cook. We are simple folks but our home is clean and warm. Best of all little mite, we would love you.” The man had squatted down to the boy’s level and was smiling into his dirty little face.
“I would like a good mum and dad,” the little boy said. The cart man held out his hand and the boy put his small one in it.
Bran walked over and handed the man a bulging velvet bag, smiling at the man’s surprise. The man lifted the boy up onto the seat of the cart and they both waved as he urged the horse through the crowded streets, back toward a slightly less disreputable part of Whitechapel.
“How do you know he doesn’t want to hurt the boy, that they will be good to him,” Teagan asked Ovidia, watching as they rode away.
“My mother’s father was a seer, and I have the sight. It is very dim and takes some work, but I was able to see into the man’s heart. He was telling the truth. The boy will live with them happily. He will grow up to be a teacher. One day he will marry a lovely woman and have six children, and he will die at an old age surrounded by family after living a contented and happy life. The money Bran slipped the man will allow them to move out of Whitechapel into a better area of London. It was enough money to make a large difference in their lives.”
“You could tell all that by touching his hand,” Teagan asked.
“Sometimes it is not that clear, but in this case, it was. Now, if we have any hope of stopping the Ripper, you need to stop jumping in front of carts—though this one turned out to be a good thing,” Ovidia said. Setting out again, they slowed as they reached the corner where the murder took place.
“Hey sir, what are you about,” they heard a man call. Abandoning stealth, they raced around the corner as a woman’s body fell to the ground, the gaping wound in her neck still gushing blood as a shadowy figure raced around the corner.
“You help her, I’ll go after him,” Bran yelled as he continued on in pursuit of the figure.
Teagan knelt next to the woman. She ripped off her cravat, trying to bind the wound with the silk fabric, but they were too late. She held Elizabeth Stride as her last breath escaped her, the flow of blood from the wound slowing to a trickle as her heart beat its last beat.
“Dammit, dammit!” Ovidia said as Teagan slowly lowered the dead woman to the filthy street. “We almost had him this time.”
“Don’t lose hope Ovidia, maybe Bran can catch him.”
“No, I did not catch him. He had a carriage waiting. He jumped in and was away before I could catch up.” Bran’s voice came from behind them in short bursts as he tried to catch his breath.
Teagan looked at the other two. “We still have time to get to the other murder site if we hurry. We cannot let anyone or anything distract us from getting to him and saving Catherine Eddowes.”
She knew the twisted streets of Whitechapel like the back of her hand by that point. Her studies of the Ripper case along with their many trips to Whitechapel had finally paid off, and she confidently led them through the dark streets to the next murder scene.
“We’re almost there—we might actually make it in time,” she said between heaving breaths. Picking up her speed for one last headlong run toward the victim, she could feel the hope well up in her chest. They were going to make it this time and save Catherine Eddowes. Even if they didn’t catch the Ripper, they would save a life.
There was one more corner to round; they were going to make it! She turned and ran headlong into a bobby.
“Young man! Where are you running to in such a hurry,” he asked, looking behind her as Ovidia and Bran ran up to her, both still breathing hard.
“We are pursuing a pickpocket! He took my watch and I am trying to catch the little thief,” Teagan tried again to run around him but he grabbed her arm.
“Young man! Chasing pickpockets is for us to do, not for a gentleman such as yourself. Can you describe the watch for me? We will chase him down and return your item to you if possible, though I am sorry to say, your item may be gone forever.”
Teagan acknowledged him with a nod, her heart frantically beating, her foot tapping, waiting for him to finish up. “It was dark so I did not get a g
ood look, just felt someone bump into me. Next thing I knew he was gone, along with my watch.”
“Well young sir, I am afraid your watch is lost. Sirs, be careful, there was a murder earlier in the evening. Maybe it would be best for you three to go on home.” All three nodded and the bobby finally moved to the side. They walked at a more sedate pace until they had rounded the next corner and were out of his sight.
They again ran off at a breakneck pace, trying to catch up to the Ripper. The coppery scent of spilled blood hit their nostrils, a nauseating punch of scent. They slowed down and looked at each other. It may be too late for the victim, but is he still there, Teagan thought, as she slowed, trying to disguise the sound of her footsteps. They crept closer to the wall and as silently as possible, crept around the corner.
The scene laid out in front of them was gruesome. Her throat had been slit to the bone, the lobe of her right ear had been slashed through, her face badly mutilated, and he had slit open her abdomen, leaving her intestines by her shoulder as he had done with an earlier victim.
“We are too late again,” Teagan whispered, looking down at what was left of the woman on the ground. Bran wrapped her in a warm embrace and she leaned into him, needing the comfort and ignoring that they were currently at odds.
“There is nothing more we can do here Teag. We need to leave, it would not be good if we were seen at the crime scene.”
Ovidia tugged at their sleeves, pulling them away from the bloody mess.
“I don’t know if I am cut out for fieldwork Vid,” Teagan said as she looked down at her shoes, allowing Bran to lead her away, just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
“You can do this Teag. Fate meant for this to happen, no matter how sad and awful it turns out,” Ovidia said softly. Teagan could only nod. Fate could kiss her royal arse; these women did not deserve to die in this awful way.
The three once again trudged back to the carriage, and the ride back to the townhouse was again passed in stunned silence.
Chapter 19
Teagan spent the next few days away from the others, just processing all that had happened. What was the point of coming back in time if she could not save any of the women? If they were all meant to die then why could they not have come right at the end of Mary Kelly’s death and captured him then? Teagan felt the frustration well up in her chest about the injustice of it. She had voiced these concerns to Ovidia and Bran, and they’d told her they had to try to save them. There was one murder left, the most gruesome of them all, the grand finale of the Ripper. She vowed to save the woman, Mary Kelly; she was going to do it, even if she had to do it alone. Teagan pored over her notes from the Ripper case as well as the journal they had found. It looked more and more as if the murderer was Duke Somerton, the painter. He had been in every place the journal referenced. He had the creepy painting of her and the gruesome paintings of the murders in his studio. She needed a way to lure him out so she could save Mary Kelly and capture the Ripper at the same time.
“Miss Teagan,” a timid voice came at the door to the library where she had been studying.
“Yes, I have asked to not be disturbed,” she responded.
“Yes miss, they told us, but you have received a card, and the page said it was quite urgent that we get it to you.” The little maid shrank back into the doorway, trying to make herself invisible. Teagan sighed; she had been snappy with the staff and with her friends since the last murder. She was a scholar, not an adventurer, and the stress was wearing on her. Ovidia and Bran seemed much more able to take these things in stride, but she was determined to save this last woman, at any cost. She had seen enough death and dying to last her a lifetime.
“I am sorry Adalind, please bring it to me. You are not responsible for my foul mood.” Teagan smiled at the girl and attempted to put some warmth into her voice.
The girl smiled tentatively as she crossed the carpet and handed Teagan the card.
Heavy and expensive, the cream card bore a hastily scribbled note.
Lady Draconus,
I am aware of your mission to find the Ripper. While meeting with one of the artist’s that enjoy my patronage, I came across a journal. He stepped out of the room, I looked inside, and his gruesome crimes were cataloged within. I then slipped it into my pocket.
I will be outside of your home in ten minutes with the journal, come meet me.
Yours always,
Harrison, Duke of Clarence
Teagan smiled at the girl who looked at her curiously. “Thank you, it was much appreciated.”
She smiled and left the room. How could the Ripper be so careless to leave evidence of his crimes out in the open?
The minutes ticked by while Teagan decided what to do.
Finally, she stood and moved to the front of the townhouse. She went to the large window in the front parlor and nudged the lace curtain aside to peer out at the street below.
It was bustling with people and carriages. She saw the Duke standing near a tree across the street, nervously looking at his pocket watch.
There would be no harm in talking with him for a few moments; it was broad daylight and the street was full of people.
Teagan walked out the front door and crossed over to Duke Harrison. The Duke turned, a bleak smile on his lips as he saw her coming across the street.
“Hello, Duke Harrison, how may I help you? If you come inside the house, we can speak with Ovidia and Bran. We can keep you safe while we find Duke Somerton and take him into custody.” Teagan spoke quickly—something about being out there alone was setting off alarm bells in her head.
“Miss Teagan, you are so lovely, and so naïve.” A smile spread across his face as a carriage pulled up behind them.
Teagan opened her mouth to scream and found it full of a linen handkerchief covered in a noxious odor. As her vision dimmed, she realized how stupid she had been, what a mistake she had made.
Duke Harrison picked up her limp body and placed her gently in the carriage before getting in behind her. He hit the ceiling with a cane and the carriage lurched forward.
Teagan opened her eyes then quickly shut them again; even the dim light hurt. Why did she have such a headache? Reaching up to rub her head, she again opened her eyes, and found her hands bound in glowing cuffs, looking down, she saw that she was tied to a chair. Struggling through the haze in her brain, it came back to her—the card, Duke Harrison, the carriage, and the foul-smelling handkerchief.
Teagan took a deep breath and forced herself not to panic. She was a smart woman; she would get out of this. She reached deep within herself to access her magic, but nothing happened. The cuffs, she thought, remembering that during her training, special cuffs were used to subdue magical beings.
“Ahhh, my lovely, you are awake,” said a voice in the darkness. Duke Harrison stepped forward, madness lighting his eyes. “I have waited so long for this moment, and finally you are mine.”
Teagan closed her eyes and cursed her own stupidity again. Some instinct kept telling her to call out to Bran in her thoughts—a crazy idea, but maybe, just maybe he would somehow hear her. She was not sure how all the supernatural stuff worked, but it was worth a try.
“Bran help me, I need you!”
Bran looked up from the paperwork he was working on at the study desk at the sound of Teagan’s voice. He narrowed his eyes and listened.
He felt, more than heard, the thump of the bass from the music Ovidia played while she practiced with her sword. He listened harder and could hear the sounds of the cook preparing a meal and the servants whispering in the hallway, but he did not feel Teagan’s presence.
“Bran, I need you, I am so afraid.”
He heard it again, her voice like a whisper in his ear.
She was the one, his mate—if he had doubted it before, this was final proof. Only his mate would be able to speak directly into his mind. She was in trouble, and they had to find her.
Bran tucked the problem of having a
mate into the back of his mind and quickly left the study, his boots loud on the wooden floors. He placed a palm to the door of Ovidia’s workout space and the door shimmered then fell away.
Ovidia turned, sword in hand, crouched for a fight. She relaxed her stance as she saw it was only Bran standing in the doorway.
“What’s up,” she asked, a wave of her hand lowering the volume of the music.
“Something has happened to Teagan. She is in trouble,” he said, his hands twitching at his sides.
“That’s impossible, I saw her just a bit ago in the library, poring over all her research on the Ripper. She is determined to stop the last murder from happening.”
Bran shook his head. “No, Vid, I don’t think she’s in the library. Something has happened to her, I know it.”
Ovidia narrowed her eyes, taking in his panicked expression, and then popped them open. “You imprinted on her! She’s your mate,” Ovidia shouted.
“Vid, why don’t you just shout it from the rooftops? We don’t have time for this. I know something is wrong and we’re wasting time.”
“Okay, but we are coming back to this conversation.” Ovidia’s sword vanished as she strode toward him.
“Let’s check the library, and if she isn’t there then we will question the staff.”
“Vid, she isn’t there, I know it. She is in trouble.”
“Then the best place to start would be her last known location, wouldn’t it?” Ovidia strode past him and down the hall to the library.
They arrived together and pushed open the double doors to find the room empty. The tea service sat next to a comfortable chair. The room was in perfect order with no sign of a struggle; it looked as if she had just gone out for a moment.
“What is that,” Ovidia asked, pointing at a square of cream-colored paper on the overstuffed chair Teagan had been sitting in.