“I’ve heard there are at least four men in custody for the crimes,” I said, hoping to shed doubt on their case. “Two of whom are in asylums. Surely that works in Uncle’s favor. They all can’t be guilty.”
“We simply cannot take any chances. He’ll be looked after in Bethlem Royal Hospital, I assure you, Miss Wadsworth.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe this was happening. I gathered my enraged thoughts, corralling them into a cage, willing them to be tamed. Maintaining a sense of serenity was what I needed to do, but it was hard when all I longed to do was shake these men from their shortsighted stupor. Bethlem Royal Hospital, known to most everyone as Bedlam, was horrendous. Uncle could not stay there.
“You must believe me,” I whispered, angry tears burning my eyes. “I know how it looks, but I assure you my uncle is an innocent man. He’s brilliant, and shouldn’t be punished for finding the right avenue to search. He lives and breathes a case when he’s involved with it. I’m sure he’s got plenty of good reason to be in possession of those items. He probably did those sketches after attending the scene. You simply need ask him. This is how he works. You must know that.”
Superintendent Blackburn gave me a pitying look. I’d find no help here. He was duty-sworn and that was that. Blackburn wouldn’t release my uncle based on his denial of being involved alone. He’d need proof, even if it came wrapped in another body shroud.
I clamped my mouth shut and stood. If I stayed a moment longer I was in danger of being hauled off to Bedlam myself. Uncle might be innocent, but I’d definitely be guilty of slapping some sense into these brutes. With my parasol if need be. I motioned to Thomas, who was still glaring at the police collectively, then swept from the room like a storm rushing through the streets, cleansing all the grit in a mad downpour.
To Hell with them all.
An Afternoon Tea, 19th century
FOURTEEN
PROPER LADIES DON’T DISCUSS CORPSES
WADSWORTH RESIDENCE,
BELGRAVE SQUARE
14 SEPTEMBER 1888
Standing in the doorway of our dining room was like gazing upon something familiar yet undeniably foreign at the same time.
There were so many place settings laid out, I felt dizzy. Small topiaries were arranged on the table along with several towering bouquets of exotic hothouse flowers. Pink-and-white porcelain cups were awaiting their warm liquid, while their matching plates stood at the ready.
“You look as if you’re expecting the blade of the guillotine, Cousin,” Liza said, waltzing into the room. “It’s not as if you’ve been raised by wolves. You’ve missed only a few months of gossip. You’ll catch up in no time,” she said. “If you can deal with blood and other horrendous things, a little lace and tea will surely be nothing.”
I tore my attention away from the table and looked at my cousin. She sounded like my mother for a brief moment, and my nerves settled. I smiled. If Aunt Amelia was the embodiment of what all proper young ladies should aspire to, Liza was her shining protégé. Except Liza had a fascinating way of flouting tradition when it suited her romantic notions.
Growing up we saw each other only twice a year, but that hadn’t prevented her from saying we were the very best of friends. She was three months older, which, in her opinion, made her infinitely wiser on all matters. Especially those of the heart.
Her hair—somewhere between caramel and chocolate—was twisted into an intricate design about her crown. I’d love to fashion mine in a similar way. Her dress was made of watered silk and was of the most gorgeous lavender I’d ever seen. The stitching was superb. A flash of the last cadaver I’d sewn back together crossed my mind. Not to boast, but my stitches had been as good. Perhaps a pinch better.
“Isn’t it grand?”
“You could say that,” I replied before I could stop myself.
Liza turned to me, grinning. “You can play the gossip game nicely today, then go about your secret detective business tonight. It could be just like a novel!” She clapped her hands together. “How thrilling! Perhaps I’ll tag along with you on some of your adventures. Are there any handsome boys to flirt with? There’s nothing better than a little danger dashed with some romance.”
My thoughts turned to Thomas’s face. Liza laughed again, the sound like tinkling bells in a fairy tale. I flushed, struggling to regain my composure. “Not really.”
“Don’t hold back, Cousin! This is the best part! Oooh, I’ve an idea. Come.” Liza dragged me down the hallway, up the stairs, and into the room we’d set up for her stay. Before closing the door, she quickly scanned the corridor for her mother. But Aunt Amelia was buzzing about near the kitchen, commanding the staff like a colonel at war.
Satisfied we were alone, Liza ushered me over to her dressing table, then pulled out a makeup kit far more complex than my postmortem tools. “So, what’s his name?”
She tugged a brush through my hair, pulling and twisting black strands with expert ease. I gritted my teeth, not wanting to show how uncomfortable I was with the harsh primping or topic. Surely if I could sit for Uncle in his laboratory, I could suffer through this. I immediately chided myself. Uncle was trapped in an asylum and I was only having my hair styled. I needed to keep perspective.
“Whose name?” I asked, steering my mind from unpleasant things. For some reason, Thomas was a secret I’d like to keep.
“Stop playing coy. The handsome boy who’s stolen your heart, that’s who!”
Liza stepped back, admiring her work before grabbing the kohl. I tried not to cringe. I’d already lined my eyes lightly and wasn’t keen on being made into something I was not. I’d delicately put a stop to my maid’s heavy-handed rouging.
“Tell me everything about him,” Liza said. “What he looks like. What color his eyes are. If he wants to run away with you to some beautifully exotic paradise… how many children you’re going to have. I hope he plays piano. All good men should be so well rounded. Oh! Tell me he’s deliciously smart and writes you romantic poetry. I bet he composes Shakespearean sonnets by moonlight with stars dancing in his eyes, doesn’t he?”
I cast my attention down, searching for a way out of the conversation, but my cousin gripped my chin, forcing me to look up while she lined my eyes. She quirked a brow, waiting for my response. Stubbornness was a trait she’d inherited from the Wadsworth side of the family.
I sighed. Wasn’t I looking forward to sharing this sort of gossip with my cousin a few days ago?
“His eyes are golden brown when he’s intrigued by something. He’s regal-looking and handsome, but he’s more interested in formulas and solving crimes than he is in me or poetry. He acts devilishly warm one moment, then frigid the next,” I said. “So there will be no children or any beautiful paradise in our future. Most of the time I cannot even tolerate his presence. His arrogance is… I don’t know. Annoying.”
“Silly. Arrogance usually hides something below the surface. It’s your duty to unearth it.” Liza dabbed my lips with her fingers, then shook her head. “It’s truly tragic.” She handed me a napkin. “Now blot.”
I mimicked her motion of blotting my lips with the napkin, taking careful pains to not smudge the color she’d stained my lips with. When I was done to her satisfaction, she nodded, then pointed to the looking glass on the vanity. “What’s tragic?”
She raised her brows. “You’re in love with him. And he’s most certainly in love with you. You’re just both being obtuse.”
“Trust me,” I said, facing the looking glass. “He’s the foolish one.”
“Well, we must show your foolish boy this girl, then. I’m sure you’d become an equation he’d desperately enjoy solving.” She tapped my nose. “Wield your assets like a blade, Cousin. No man has invented a corset for our brains. Let them think they rule the world. It’s a queen who sits on that throne. Never forget that. There’s no reason you can’t wear a simple frock to work, then don the finest gown and dance the night away. But only if it pleases you.”
>
I stared at Liza for a few beats, seeing her in an entirely new light. She nodded toward the looking glass again, somehow knowing I hadn’t truly seen myself before.
My reflection shone back, lit almost as if the heavens themselves were shining down on me. Dark strands of hair were piled atop my head, my eyes more mysterious somehow with the dark liner, and my lips were the bright crimson of freshly spilled blood. I was beautiful and dangerous at once. A rose with thorns.
I was precisely who I wanted to be.
“Oh.” I turned from side to side, admiring the full look. “It’s lovely, Liza. You must teach me how to do this.”
I thought of my mother and the saris she’d brought me to wear from Grandmama’s homeland. I felt just as stunning now as I did then, and the memory warmed me.
Mother used to dress us up and hire a cook to make savory delicacies for us every month, hoping to keep the traditions of India alive in us. Father happily participated in our worldly dinners, eating raita and fried breads with his hands.
We’d drag Nathaniel in for our feasts, but he was always unimpressed by eating without silverware. He’d say, “I cannot tolerate being so messy,” then storm out in his little suit. How I missed those simpler days.
Liza ran her gaze over my ensemble, then immediately rummaged through her trunk, tossing dresses and corsets and fabrics over her head until she settled on one.
“What’s wrong with my dress?” I asked, touching the rose embroidery on the skirts. “I just had this one made.” And it was quite beautiful.
“Nothing’s wrong with it, silly,” Liza said. “But I’d love to see you in my tea gown. Ah. Here it is.”
A cream lace gown with pale pink underskirts was promptly thrown over my head and tied in the back before I even knew what was happening. Liza wiped her hands off in a gesture of finality. Pleased with her efforts. “There. You’re darling. I always wished my hair was as dark as yours. Makes the green of your eyes nearly emerald.”
I stood there, staring at my image. It seemed a horrid contradiction to the reality of the world and what was going on in it. Here I was, playing dress-up while Uncle was in the asylum and a murderer was butchering innocent women.
Liza was at my side steadying me before I collapsed onto the divan.
“I know,” she nodded sagely, misinterpreting my thoughts, “it’s a gorgeous gown. You must keep it. Come. It’s time to greet our guests. I’ve heard Victoria and her sister Regina are coming. Their father does something with Parliament and I’ve heard the most interesting rumors…”
It felt as if I were watching through someone else’s eyes the events unfolding before me.
Aunt Amelia sat at the head of the table, a queen holding court during her royale tea. Liza sat on my right while the esteemed Victoria Edwards sat on my left, her button nose turned permanently upward.
A royale tea was different from high tea in that it began with a glass of champagne and did not include supper. That much I remembered. Sandwiches, savories, scones, and sweets were laid out across the table, more riches and delicacies than all of Nathaniel’s favorite imported cheeses and fine foods combined.
Uncle’s arrest was responsible for my nerves, making me forgetful. It had been only a few months since I’d last attended such a formal tea. And though I didn’t care for them, I wasn’t normally so distracted.
I stirred my tea then set my spoon behind my cup, as was proper.
Victoria turned to me, a slight smile fixed to her face. “I’m so sorry to learn of your uncle, Audrey Rose. Must be quite difficult having such a ruthless criminal in the family.”
I’d just taken a bite of a cucumber sandwich and barely swallowed my surprise down. Liza jumped in, rescuing me with her quick tongue.
“Such a shame. If they can accuse someone as brilliant as our uncle, surely they can accuse just about anyone. Perhaps”—she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper—“they’ll set their sights on members of Parliament next. It’d make for a rather sensational story, wouldn’t you agree?”
Up until that last point Aunt Amelia had been smiling and nodding, proud of her daughter’s appropriate response. When Liza flashed a grin my way, my aunt’s face turned a furious shade of red. She straightened, then dabbed at her mouth with a lace napkin we’d undoubtedly stitched.
“Now, girls”—she glanced between us—“let’s not allow our imaginations to get away from us. We shouldn’t gossip or speculate on such matters. It isn’t polite.”
“But it’s true, Mama,” Liza insisted, garnering curious gazes from around the table. “Some royals are under suspicion. It’s all everyone in London’s talking about.”
Aunt Amelia looked as if she’d swallowed an egg whole. After a moment, she threw her head back and laughed, a sound more forced than her thin smile. “See? This is precisely why speaking of such things is a waste of time and energy. No royal would truly be under suspicion. Now, who’d like more tea?”
Victoria, displeased by the turn in conversation, faced me a second time. “You look rather pretty this afternoon, Audrey Rose. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure what we’d been invited to. Given all the rumors swirling around about your association with that strange assistant of your uncle’s. What’s his name? Mr. Cresswell?”
Another girl, whose name I thought was Hazel, nodded. “Oh, yes. I’ve heard about him from my brother. Says he’s got as much feeling as an automaton.” She smiled wickedly. “Though I’ve heard he’s quite good looking. And his family does have a title. He can’t be all bad.”
“Mr. William Bradley told me he’s got his own flat on Piccadilly Street,” Regina added, looking pleased to involve herself in the conversation. “Honestly, what kind of parents allow their son to live on his own before he’s come of age? I don’t care how rich they are, it isn’t proper.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I wouldn’t be surprised to discover he’s killed those… women… and hid their bodies away. Maybe Liza’s right. Maybe Dr. Wadsworth is innocent and it’s Mr. Cresswell who’s truly the madman. I bet he’s got a slew of unsavory women coming and going there. He might be heir to a good fortune, but who’d marry such an odd fellow? He’d probably murder his own wife.”
“Be serious,” I said before I could stop myself. “Because he’s interested in science hardly makes him a murderer or automaton. In fact, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with Thomas. I find him to be quite agreeable.”
“Mind your tongue, Audrey Rose!” Aunt Amelia fanned herself. “Addressing a boy by his Christian name is inappropriate. Especially when you’re not involved.”
If I thought my aunt was upset before, this was a whole new level of emotion. How quickly her tea had turned into discussions of the macabre and impolite.
I held my eye roll in. At least tea was more interesting than I imagined it’d be. The other girls quickly lost interest in Thomas Cresswell and the “tragic and disturbing” murders affecting the lower-class slums.
Conversation moved to more suitable afternoon tea subject matters. Like who was going to be invited to the duke’s coming-of-age masquerade in six months.
“You simply must come!” Victoria was saying to me, threading her arm through mine as if we were already the very best of friends and she hadn’t just called my uncle a murderer. “Everyone who’s important will be there. If you want the right people attending your party, you’ll need to make an effort to attend theirs. I hear he’s even hired a spiritualist to perform a séance.”
As the afternoon wore on, I watched them, noting the role they were all playing. I doubted any of them truly cared about what they were saying and felt immensely sorry for them. Their minds were crying out to be set free, but they refused to unbind them.
Hazel leaned across the table, catching my attention. “Your dress is absolutely divine! Would you be terribly bothered if I had one made like it?” When I didn’t respond straightaway she amended, “In different colors, naturally. It’s just the design is so gorgeous!”
Hazel sighed dramatically. “But he’s a fool with a title. You really think he’d propose if I wore a similar gown?”
“How could he not?” I teased, holding back laughter at her serious expression. “Surely boys are interested in proposing only to girls in lacy gowns. Why care about beauty and brains when they can have beauty over brains? Foolish creatures they are.”
Hazel drew her brows together. “Why ever would a girl choose anything over beauty? A wife should abide by her husband in all matters. Let him do the thinking.” Both Regina and Hazel nodded at that dreadful sentiment before Hazel continued. “Anyway, you truly are the sweetest thing, Audrey Rose. Will you be attending the circus when it comes to town?”
Perhaps I’d been wrong in my earlier judgment. It seemed it’d take a little more time for some girls to free themselves from chains society placed upon them. I bit my lip, thinking of a response that wouldn’t offend them further.
Victoria, abandoning her conversation with my cousin and aunt, clapped her hands together. “Oh, yes! You simply must join us. We’ll coordinate our attire and everything. People won’t know who to look at first, the performers, or us!”
My aunt nodded her encouragement from across the table, her expression threatening something more unpleasant than even Leather Apron could dream up.
I smiled tightly. “That sounds lovely.”
FIFTEEN
GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH
WADSWORTH RESIDENCE,
BELGRAVE SQUARE
25 SEPTEMBER 1888
“You’re not serious,” Nathaniel said, shaking his head at another of my nearly all-black ensembles.
Stalking Jack the Ripper Page 13