Stalking Jack the Ripper

by Kerri Maniscalco

  “I’ll take that.” I snatched another journal from Thomas’s side of the table. It seemed he’d grabbed nearly all of Uncle’s journals before arriving here and was hoarding them along with his manners.

  He didn’t bother lifting his head from his own work. Of all the… I set my jaw, and reread the same few sentences, forcing my brain to find a connection between the victims. Two prostitutes, Miss Smith, and a coachman-turned-sailor. Most of whom had a connection to Father, I realized with a start. The only person who couldn’t be traced to him was Miss Annie Chapman, and she’d been slain in the most brutal manner.

  Everything pointed to the fact that Miss Chapman didn’t know her killer, but the others likely did. I swallowed hard, knowing there was something we needed to do immediately.

  “Excuse me.” I stood, gathering my skirts like silent witnesses, and headed out the door without waiting for Thomas to stand. If he wanted to treat me so coolly, then I’d show him the same lack of respect. I needed no man to empower me. I had my father to thank for that much; his absence in most everyday things had prepared me well enough to stand on my own.

  Walking swiftly down the hallway, I paused, listening to sounds of voices drifting up from ornate metal vents in the floor. Once I reached my father’s study, I halted to the sound of someone knocking at the front door. Drat. I crept back down the hall and slipped into the well-lit drawing room while the first footman greeted the caller.

  Last thing I needed was to get caught rummaging through Father’s things, but suddenly recalling something Thornley mentioned had my mind spinning with new questions.

  Thomas continued to pore over his notes. I paid him little attention, straining to hear who was calling on us at this hour. Footsteps approached, and I pretended to lose myself in reading. The first footman entered the room, waiting for my acknowledgment. I looked up, eyes innocent and wide. “Yes, Caine?”

  “There’s a Mr. Alberts here to see you, Miss Audrey Rose. Says he works for your uncle and brings an urgent message. He apologizes for the late hour. Shall I send him away?”

  I shook my head. “It’s not like Uncle to send someone over unless it’s important.” Especially if Father intercepted any correspondence he’d want to keep private.

  Something must have happened. Perhaps he found a link to the crimes and couldn’t wait until morning, or maybe he’d discovered our murderer’s identity.

  Anticipation raced through my core, erasing all else from my thoughts. “Send him in straightaway, please.”

  The footman disappeared, emerging again with my uncle’s servant in tow. The man gripped a worn derby hat, nervously twisting the brim round and round, looking as if he’d just encountered something awful.

  My heart turned to lead, dully thudding in my chest. Perhaps he was simply afraid of encountering my father. Uncle certainly barked loud enough over the last few years about his cruel brother, the miserable Lord Edmund Wadsworth, who hid his darkness behind his pompous title. I hoped that was the cause of his anxiety.

  “You have a message from my uncle?”

  He nodded, throwing glances toward Thomas as he did so, his unease growing. “Yes, Miss Wadsworth. It’s—it’s something terrible, I’m afraid.”

  Uncle’s servant wrung his hat until I was convinced it’d be torn in half.

  “Do speak freely, Mr. Alberts,” I said. “What news do you have of my uncle?”

  He swallowed hard—his Adam’s apple a bobbing buoy in his throat. “He’s been arrested, miss. Scotland Yard’s taken him away in a Black Maria and everything. Told us he’s the one responsible for them deaths in Whitechapel. Said he’s gone mad.” He paused, steeling himself against the rest of his news. “A witness come by an’ identified him. Said he’s the one she seen skulking about the murder. Superintendent said they’re taking everyone suspicious in on account of… on account of how awful them… ladies… were cut up.”

  Notes Thomas had begun scribbling slipped through his fingers, the pages fluttering to the ground like ash after a fire. “What kind of nonsense is this?”

  Alberts shook his head, dropping his gaze to the floor, a tremor going through the entire length of his body. “They’re rummaging through his laboratory right now. Looking for more evidence to keep him locked away. Say it’s only a matter of time before he’s found guilty and executed. They say he’s… he’s Leather Apron.”

  “Caine, please fetch my coat.” My attention shifted to Thomas, who was momentarily taken off-guard, his mouth hanging wide and his eyes blinking disbelief away. We needed to get to Uncle’s laboratory now, before they destroyed his life and all his research. “Alberts, thank you for informing us of this—”

  “Politeness be damned, Wadsworth!” Thomas bellowed, quickly moving across the room and into the hall. “Let’s hurry while there’s still a laboratory to save. You”—he pointed at the second footman lingering in the hall—“ready the Hansom cab as if your very soul depends on its velocity.”

  He grabbed my overcoat from Caine, offering to place it round my shoulders, but I yanked it from his grasp. When the second footman hadn’t moved, I nodded at him. “Please do as Mr. Cresswell has so rudely demanded.”

  Thomas snorted as the footman scampered off to do my bidding. “Oh, yes. I’m the villain. Your uncle is being hauled off, his scientific findings most likely being destroyed by barbarians, yet I’m the rude one. That makes perfect sense.”

  “You’re infuriatingly rude. Being boorish and snapping at people won’t get the job done any quicker, you know.” I pulled my coat on and fastened the buttons with deft fingers. “We wouldn’t still be waiting here for the carriage if you’d asked them nicely to fetch it.”

  “Any other words of wisdom I should take into consideration, my dove?” he asked flatly.

  “Yes. As a matter of fact. It wouldn’t kill you to be kinder to people. Who knows?” I said, tossing my hands in the air. “Maybe you’d finally find someone who could tolerate you. And, anyway, how twisted your first concern is of the lab and not my uncle’s life. Your priorities are hopelessly in disarray.”

  “Perhaps I don’t want any friends,” he said, moving toward the front door. “Perhaps I am content with speaking the way I do and care only what your opinion of me is. My first concern is not of your uncle’s laboratory. It’s of their reason for taking him in.” Thomas rubbed his forehead. “Thus far they’ve arrested four other men I can think of. For the offense of drinking too much and flashing a knife. My concern is whether they’ve taken him to a workhouse or to an asylum.”

  “Neither is pleasant.”

  “True,” Thomas said, “but he’s less likely to be dosed with ‘tonic’ in a workhouse.”

  In the next moments, our sleek Hansom carriage pulled around the front of my house, the single black horse looking dangerous. The beast snorted, sending puffs of steam into the already foggy evening. I hoisted myself into the carriage, not bothering to wait for Thomas or the coachman to help.

  We needed to hurry. There was no telling how much damage the police were actually doing to Uncle’s precious work. And if what Thomas said was true regarding the asylum… I couldn’t finish the thought.

  Thomas hopped into the small enclosure, his attention riveted on the road ahead of us, the muscles in his jaw tense. I couldn’t tell if he was worried about Uncle, or upset I’d insulted him. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

  The coachman cracked the whip and we were off, flying through the streets at a gloriously fast pace. We wove in and around larger horse-drawn carriages, moving as agilely as a panther through the urban tangle of London’s streets. In what felt like mere minutes, we were pulling up to Uncle’s home in Highgate.

  I leapt from the cab, my skirts adding bulk and weight to my already heavy footsteps. Police filed in and out of Uncle’s home, removing boxes of paperwork. I ran up to a young man who seemed to be in charge.

  “What is the meaning of this?” I demanded, hoping I might shame them into stopping. If only for a litt
le while. “Have you no respect for a man who’s assisted in finding criminals most of his life? What could you possibly want with my uncle?”

  The constable had the good grace to blush, but stuck his impressive chest out a bit more when Thomas ambled up the steps, an obnoxious swagger in his stride. The constable turned his attention back on me, his light eyes showing a hint of remorse. No salty tears spilled from those oceanic blues, though.

  “I’m truly sorry, Miss Wadsworth,” he said. “If it were my decision alone I’d send everyone on their way. Believe me when I say I’ve got nothing against your uncle.”

  He smiled shyly, something strangely out of character for a man who had the build and confidence of an Olympian.

  “In fact, I’ve always admired the sort of work he’s done. Orders came from high up, though, and I can’t ignore them, even if I wanted to.”

  It was hard to imagine someone who spoke so well choosing the life of a simple policeman. I narrowed my eyes, noticing the extra decorations on his uniform; he was a high-ranking officer, then. He was no simple policeman, he was of nobility to hold such an esteemed office at his young age.

  My gaze traveled back up to his face. The fine bones and sharp angles of his cheeks and square chin made him quite handsome. He was most certainly highborn. Facially, he looked like a younger, more handsome version of Prince Albert Victor, sans mustache.

  “What did you say your name was?” I asked.

  Thomas rolled his eyes. “He didn’t, Wadsworth. But you already knew that. Get on with your flirtation so we might get on with our actual purpose for being here.”

  I glared at Thomas, but the young man paid him no mind. “I apologize for my rudeness, miss. I’m Superintendent William Blackburn. I’m responsible for the four hundred eighty constables here in Highgate.”

  His name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place where I’d heard it. Perhaps I’d read it in some paper with connection to our murders.

  Thomas interrupted my muddied thoughts. “Seems you’ve employed every last one of them to trample through this home,” he muttered, shoving aside an officer before marching in to assess the situation himself.

  I wanted to strangle him for being so rude. Superintendent Blackburn might be able to give us answers we’d otherwise not be privy to. For all his superior intelligence, Thomas could be downright obtuse when it came to dealing with people. If I had to befriend the devil in order to help Uncle, so be it.

  I found myself apologizing. “He’s a little high spirited, please forgive his impolite behavior. He can be quite…” I trailed off.

  Thomas Cresswell was not charming to anyone other than me occasionally, nor was he polite on a good day. Mother would have instructed me to not utter a word when a kind one couldn’t be discovered, so that’s precisely what I did.

  Superintendent Blackburn gave me a sheepish grin and offered his arm. I hesitated for only a moment before looping mine through his. Play nice, Audrey Rose, I reminded myself.

  “I’ll escort you inside and try my best to explain the reason behind your uncle’s arrest.” He paused and looked around before leaning close, an almost familiar scent lingering on his skin. “I’m afraid it doesn’t look very good for him, miss.”

  THIRTEEN

  BLUEPRINTS AND BLOODY BOLTS

  DR. JONATHAN WADSWORTH’S LABORATORY,

  HIGHGATE

  13 SEPTEMBER 1888

  Walking into Uncle’s basement laboratory with uninvited guests rummaging about like scavengers was its own nightmare, plucking at the ligaments between my bones.

  Uncle’s books, his notes, his journals were all painfully absent. It felt like one of my ribs had been sawed off, leaving me both gasping for breath and missing a piece of myself all at once. Letting go of Blackburn’s arm, I slowly turned in place, my eyes two unbelieving orbs in my head. If this was a dream, I hoped to wake from its dreadfulness soon. I had a terrible feeling, however, that this was only the beginning of a series of horrendous nightmares.

  The specimen jars were the only items that remained untouched, the dull, preserved eyes watching the chaos with silent judgment. Oh, how I wished I could be like those dead, unfeeling things now.

  Anything would be better than the reality I was standing in.

  My refuge all these months was destroyed in a few hours by the hands of men who couldn’t care less about this sort of work.

  “—combined with his history of dissection, and medical knowledge worked against him,” Superintendent Blackburn was saying, but I couldn’t concentrate on his words. Thank heavens Uncle wasn’t here; his heart would be sheared in half.

  I watched helplessly as an officer wrestled a large, gilded tome Uncle had been stroking a few short days ago from the shelf, placing it in a box as if it were a rabid animal ready to snap at him. If only that could happen.

  He removed a small box Uncle kept in his desk, the lid slipping off. Bolts and screws clattered to the ground, halting the investigation. The officer bent to retrieve the items, a look of shock and disgust as he rose, holding them up for the superintendent to see.

  The bolts were covered in a rusty crimson that could only be one thing. My own blood ceased to circulate as my eyes met Thomas’s startled gaze from across the room. “I need to speak with Uncle. I need… I can explain—I just—”

  Someone placed a chair next to me and I plopped into it straight-away; it was as if the oxygen had been suctioned from the laboratory with a new steam-powered device I’d seen advertised across London. What was Uncle thinking, stealing evidence? Those bolts were from the murder scenes and belonged to Scotland Yard.

  Uncle had inadvertently placed himself as the main suspect and I had no idea how to assist him or who to even turn to for help.

  Father, though he had the right connections, would rather see his brother hang than assist him in any way. Nathaniel, though he’d want to help, if only for my sake, most likely wouldn’t do anything to anger Father or cause an even greater scandal that was bound to fall upon the Wadsworth name. Especially something of this magnitude, sure to hit the papers once reporters caught its scent.

  Undoubtedly, Aunt Amelia would throw lavish parties and attend daily services, hoping to distract people from her association with her disgraced brother.

  Then there was Grandmama.

  She had no ties to Father’s side of the family, therefore wouldn’t feel obligated to get involved. Not out of maliciousness, but out of a strong dislike for Wadsworth men in general. Grandmama openly blamed Father for Mother’s illness and made it very clear that “if a Wadsworth were looking out at a crowd, ready to swing for their crimes, I’d be front and center, watching and cheering” before handing out homemade boondi ladoo treats to everyone in attendance.

  Each time we sent correspondence, she searched for excuses to have my bags packed and passage paid to visit her in New York; this would be perfect.

  There was no way I’d leave London now.

  “Ransack the laboratory, if you must,” Blackburn said to an officer. “Just do it carefully.”

  That snapped me from my reverie. I glared at the superintendent, only partially aware of Thomas throwing a fit over one journal in particular: his.

  “You must be mad! I won’t hand over my property.”

  Superintendent Blackburn knelt in front of me, his look no longer light. I stared at the pale strands of his hair. Unlike my brother’s careful cut, his hair was too wild to be tamed, curling about his temple like serpents. How fitting for such a cold-blooded monster.

  “I know it’s a lot to absorb at once, Miss Wadsworth, but I’m terribly afraid there’s more.” He motioned for the officer fighting with Thomas to give up the one journal since Thomas had brought it into the house with us, and it hadn’t been part of their inquest. “We’ve got witnesses who’ve stepped forth, placing someone fitting your uncle’s description at the scene of the last two crimes.”

  My attention finally jolted back to reality. I stared at Supe
rintendent Blackburn as if he were the mad one.

  “Oh, really? Exactly how many men in London fit my uncle’s description?” I asked. “I can count at least ten off the top of my head, one of them being the queen’s grandson, Prince Albert Victor Edward. What? Will you say the Duke of Clarence and Avondale is involved in these murders next? I’m sure the queen would love that. As a matter of fact”—I squinted at him—“you look as if you could be the duke’s younger brother yourself. Might you be involved?”

  Superintendent Blackburn cringed at my inappropriate criticism of his inquest involving the second in line to the throne and himself. I took a deep breath, trying for calmness. I’d be of no use to anyone if I, too, were taken away in a Black Maria on suspicion of being a traitor to the crown.

  I steadied my voice. “Surely that’s not the reason you’ve arrested him. You seem much too smart a young man to arrest someone on hearsay, Superintendent.”

  Blackburn shook his head. “I do apologize for passing along the unpleasant news, miss. I am truly sorry.” He shifted on his feet, trying to maintain his balance while still perched on the ground before me.

  “We’ve also found some rather disturbing diagrams and drawings of these mechanisms best described as…” he paused, the tips of his ears turning a slight pink. I motioned for him to get on with it. “Forgive me, I didn’t want to overstep my bounds. But they appear to be torture devices. Some ideas fit with mechanical parts Scotland Yard found at the murder scenes. They believe only someone with an intimate knowledge of the crime would be able to construct such… atrocities. As I said earlier, your uncle possesses such knowledge. Now we’ve got drawings of similar devices found in his laboratory.”

  He nodded toward the officer who’d just located the hidden bolts. “Then there’s the matter of those parts. You’re an intelligent girl. I’m sure you can deduce what that dark substance is without my spelling it out. I truly want to believe your uncle’s innocent—there are all these things saying otherwise. I cannot ignore what’s laid out before me, even if I want to. The public wants this to be over.”