Capturing the Devil

by Kerri Maniscalco

  A man in a dark brown cutaway coat and matching bowler hat jumped aside as a bucket of waste splashed onto the street from the tenement window above, narrowly escaping a most unpleasant bath. He crashed directly into me, knocking my cane to the ground along with what appeared to be a medical satchel filled with familiar tools. Forgetting about his bag, he held fast to my arm, preventing me from tumbling onto our items and potentially getting impaled on anything sharp.

  While I steadied myself, I eyed a rather large bone saw peeking out from where it had come undone in his bag. There was also what appeared to be an architectural drawing. Perhaps he was a doctor building his own medical offices. After he made sure I wasn’t in danger of falling, he let me go and quickly snatched up his satchel, stuffing the medical tools back in and rolling the drawing back up.

  “Apologies, miss! M-my name is Henry. I didn’t mean to—I really should learn to watch where I’m going. I’ve got my mind full of a million things today.”

  “Yes. You should.” Liza swiped my cane from the ground and gave the man a scowl Aunt Amelia would be proud of. “If you’ll excuse us, we must be on our way.” The man turned his attention to my cousin and snapped his mouth shut, though I couldn’t be sure if that was due to her beauty or her temper. She openly scrutinized him while he seemed to collect his thoughts. “If you’ll pardon us, Mr. Henry,” she said, latching onto my arm once more and tossing her caramel-haired head back in a most haughty manner, “we’re late for a very important appointment.”

  “I didn’t intend—”

  Liza didn’t wait to hear about his intentions; she led us through the maze of butchers and vendors, her pale sage skirts and parasol in one hand, and me in the other. We were moving at a pace much too difficult for me to manage when I finally wriggled free of her grasp and steered her off West Street.

  “What in the name of the queen was that about?” I asked, indicating the man we’d practically run from. “He didn’t intend to bump into me, you know. And I believe he was quite taken with you. If you weren’t so abysmally rude, we could’ve invited him to the party. Weren’t you saying just yesterday that you wished to find someone to flirt with?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “And yet… he was polite, a bit clumsy, but harmless and seemed to have a sweet temperament. Not to mention, he wasn’t unpleasant to look at. Don’t you enjoy a man with dark features?”

  Liza rolled her eyes. “Fine. If you must know, Henry is too close to Harry and I’m quite through with men whose names begin with the letter H for a while.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “So is walking through a butchers’ alley in January in a pale dress, yet do you see me complaining, dear cousin?” I raised my brows. “Well, I can’t help it!” she cried. “You know how nervous I am to see Mother again, especially after I very briefly ran off and joined the carnival.”

  At the mention of the Moonlight Carnival we both grew quiet for a moment, silently recalling all the magic, mischief, and mayhem it had brought into our lives in just nine days aboard the RMS Etruria. In that respect, the carnival certainly lived up to its show-bill claim. Despite the trouble it caused, I’d forever remain grateful for Mephistopheles and the lesson he’d taught me, intentional or not. By the end of that cursed voyage, any doubts I’d had about marrying Thomas disappeared like a magician casting an elaborate illusion.

  Certainty was empowering.

  Liza wrapped her cloak about herself and inclined her head down the next street. “We ought to hurry over to Dogwood Lane Boutique,” she said. “Any dressmaker who studied under the House of Worth won’t appreciate it if she’s kept waiting. You don’t want her to take her annoyance out on your poor gown, do you?”

  I craned my head around, hoping for another glimpse down the butchers’ alley, but we’d already left that blood-splattered street behind. I took a steady breath in and slowly exhaled. I wondered if boredom and Thomas’s party were truly the only reasons behind my fascination with one of the goriest districts in New York City. It had been almost a month since we’d worked on a murder case. Three blessed weeks without death and destruction and witnessing the worst the world had to offer.

  Which ought to have been cause for celebration. Still, I worried over the strange sensation lingering in the pit of my stomach.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it felt like a twinge of disappointment.

  Gowns with beading and lace details.

  TWO

  FIT FOR A PRINCESS

  DOGWOOD LANE BOUTIQUE

  FASHION DISTRICT, NEW YORK CITY

  21 JANUARY 1889

  Liza took my cane and set it against the fleur-de-lis wallpaper of the dressmaker’s parlor, her eyes alight with a million romantic daydreams. I, on the other hand, imagined I looked half ready to faint. The smaller dressing lounge located off the main room was stiflingly warm. A large fire burned perilously close to racks of dresses made of chiffon, silk, and gauze. Though perhaps I was roasting because of the heavy layers of the extravagant gown I was trying on. It would be stunning for Thomas’s birthday, as long as I didn’t ruin it by sweating so much.

  Bric-a-brac littered the marble mantel, inviting and homey, like much of the décor. A young woman brought in a piping-hot tea service and set it on an end table with scones, jam, and clotted cream. Two champagne flutes promptly joined the treats on a silver tray for us. Raspberries floated to the top, turning the beverage a delightful pink. I managed to shift most of my weight to my uninjured leg, though the effort was slightly exhausting as I focused on not wobbling.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Liza ordered, slightly out of breath while she fluffed what layers she could on my dress. The gown was a beautiful blush color, the skirts a voluminous tulle with a beaded overlay that began from the bodice and cascaded to either side like a glittering waterfall made of crystal. Liza tugged the ribbons on my bodice a bit tighter, then covered them with the pink ruffle, which reminded me of the petals of a peony. “There. Now all you need are your gloves.”

  She handed them over and I slowly tugged them up past my elbows. They were a cream so rich I wanted to dip a spoon in and taste them. I had my back to the giant looking glass and fought the urge to turn around and see the final result. As if plucking that very thought from my mind, Liza shook her head.

  “Not yet. You need to put the shoes on first.” She hurried into the next room. “Mademoiselle Philippe? Are the slippers ready?”

  “Oui, mademoiselle.” The dressmaker handed my cousin a pretty teal box with a satin bow, then rushed back out to the main room, ordering her employees to add more beads or tulle to other gowns.

  “Here they are.” Liza approached me with a devilish grin. “Let me see your feet.”

  “I’d rather not—”

  I would have argued—my shoes of late had been more utilitarian and clunky than to my liking—but when Liza opened the lid and held up my new slippers, tears stung my eyes. If it were possible, the shoes were even more enchanting than the gown. They were flat silk shoes embroidered with roses and embellished with gemstones. A pale pink so exquisite I could hardly wait to wear them. When I touched them, I realized they weren’t silk—they were made of a buttery leather, so soft I could practically sleep on them. Liza helped steady me while I slipped them on, her own eyes misting as I wobbled and held tighter to her shoulder.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you all right? I didn’t think the shoes were that awful.”

  “You know that’s not…” Liza sniffled and swatted at my backside. “I’m just so happy to see you light up again. I know how much you missed wearing your favorite shoes.”

  Hearing it spoken aloud, it seemed such a silly thing: to mourn the loss of frilly, insensible shoes. But I loved them and had taken for granted the choice to wear whatever I pleased. I lifted my skirts so I could admire my gleaming foot attire.

  “You did a marvelous job designing them. I cannot think of one detail I’d change.”

  “Act
ually”—Liza stood and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief—“this was Thomas’s idea.”

  I glanced up sharply. “Pardon?”

  “He said if you could no longer wear shoes with heels, there was no reason he couldn’t have some made that were equally beautiful. If not more so.” I stared, unblinking, like a fool. She grinned. “He designed them himself. He even had extra padding added to the soles to help soften any discomfort. He noticed you often wince when you first stand. These, while they’re gorgeous, also function in a way that might ease some of your pain.”

  I blinked several times, finding myself unable to formulate any sort of decent response that didn’t include crying into my pretty new skirts. It might not appear to be of much consequence to anyone without an injury, but to me it meant the world.

  “They’re highly impractical,” I said, looking down at them. “They’ll get dirty and ruined—”

  “Ahh, about that.” Thomas emerged from around the corner with more boxes stacked in his arms. He paused long enough to run his gaze over me, his attention slow and meandering. Heat rose in my cheeks and I subtly patted the front of my bodice down, physically checking to see if wisps of smoke were coming from my person. He finally met my eyes and grinned in satisfaction. “I had a few extra pairs made.”

  “O-oh… what a delightful surprise, Mr. Cresswell! However did you know we’d be here?”

  At this, I rolled my eyes skyward. Liza was almost as abysmal at acting as Thomas was at singing. She kissed my cheeks and smiled warmly at Thomas. The two co-conspirators had planned this moment out. I could have hugged them both. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I saw this darling little robe I need to inquire about.”

  Thomas nodded as she moved past him and promptly started up a loud conversation with the dressmaker in the next room. “You look stunning, Audrey Rose. Here.” He set his armful of boxes down on the settee and then took my hand in his, guiding me around to peer into the looking glass. “You’re a vision. How do you feel?”

  I didn’t wish to sound vain, but when I first saw myself standing there, dressed in a gown fit for a princess, with shoes designed by a handsome yet wickedly charming prince, I felt as if I’d stepped out of the pages of a fairy tale. It wasn’t the sort of story that placed me in the role of the helpless maiden, however. This tale was one of triumph and sacrifice. Of redemption and love.

  “I didn’t know you were such a talented cobbler, Cresswell.”

  He tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear, expression thoughtful. “I find myself striving to learn new talents, especially when the result is you looking—”

  “Radiant?” I guessed.

  “I was going to suggest ‘like you wish to destroy my virtue at once,’ but I suppose yours isn’t a terrible deduction, either.”

  Thomas pressed his lips to mine in a gesture that was meant to be sweet and chaste. I was almost certain he hadn’t intended for me to pull him near, deepening our kiss. And I sincerely doubted he’d planned on lifting me into his arms, skirts puffed around us, as he walked us over to the settee and maneuvered me onto his lap, careful to mind my leg. There was truth in his assessment after all.

  I ran my fingers through his soft locks, allowing myself a few moments of unfettered bliss. Times like this, when I was curled into his arms, safely tucked away from murder and corpses, I found stillness and peace. Staring into my eyes as if I offered him the same respite, he brought his lips to mine again. Recalling where we were and the danger of having someone walk in and find us in such an indecent position, I slowly forced myself to sit back. I laid my head against his chest, enjoying the solid beat that matched my own.

  “It’s your birthday and yet you’re the one surprising me with gifts. Somehow, I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

  “Oh? I thought the one with the birthday had the right to choose whatever he wanted. Maybe you’ll want to ravish me for being so irresistible.”

  And humble. “Thank you for the shoes, Thomas.” I looked at the stack of boxes, teetering precariously close to the edge of the settee now. He caught my stare and nudged them back to safety. “All of them. It was very sweet. And highly unnecessary.”

  “Your happiness is always necessary to me.” He tilted my chin up and kissed the tip of my nose. “We’ll find new ways of navigating the world together, Wadsworth. If you can no longer wear heels, we’ll design flats you adore. If you ever find those no longer work, I’ll have a wheeled chair made and bejeweled to your liking. Anything at all in the universe you need, we will make it so. And if you’d prefer to do it on your own, I will always step aside. I also promise to keep my opinion mostly to myself.”

  “Mostly?”

  He considered that. “Unless it’s vastly inappropriate. Then I’ll share it with gusto.”

  My heart gave an involuntary flutter and I was sure if I didn’t keep making light of the situation, I’d tackle him to the ground immediately and never be asked back to this boutique again. “Eighteen.” I sighed dramatically. “You’re practically ancient. In fact”—I breathed him in, trying to hide my smile—“I believe I smell grave dirt on you. Terrible.”

  “Wicked thing.” He nuzzled my neck, prompting gooseflesh to rise in the best of ways. “I’m actually here to invite you to the slums, per your uncle’s request.”

  Our warm moment came to a sudden halt. I took in his serious expression and the scientific and cool persona that he often donned before we examined a corpse. For the first time I noticed his dark clothing, the black coat and matching leather gloves peeking out from his pocket—perfect for attending a murder scene. My treacherous heart picked up its speed once more.

  “Has there been a murder?” A muscle in his jaw tightened as he nodded. “Have you already been to the scene?” I asked, wiping my own expression clean.

  He watched me carefully before answering. “Yes. Your uncle called for me shortly after you and Liza went out this morning. I was already planning on surprising you here, but you’d just left and Liza asked that I give you both at least an hour. I decided to go to your uncle first.”

  “I see.”

  “Actually,” Thomas said, “I don’t think I’ve expressed myself clearly. Your uncle quite nearly bit my head off when he noticed I hadn’t brought you with me, and sent me out again straightaway.” He stood and held his hand out. “Shall we see about solving another gruesome murder, my love?”

  I didn’t want to be so excited by those words, yet I couldn’t deny the subtle thrill running through me, as if tiny lines of electricity had replaced my veins. I craved solving another murder almost as much as I craved Thomas’s kisses. And I craved those frequently.

  I took my cane from him and went to grab my cloak when Liza marched back into the room, a stern look upon her face.

  “Oh, no. If you believe I’m allowing you to rush out that door in that dress to investigate some blood-soaked murder scene…”

  She closed her eyes as if the very thought was too much to bear. My cousin turned on Thomas, pointing to the door, an army general addressing her unwieldy troops.

  “She’ll meet you in five minutes in the main sitting room. Unless you’d prefer for her to show up at your party in old rags or her petticoats.” Thomas opened his mouth, likely to quip about my undergarments, then shut it at the warning look Liza flashed. “This is non-negotiable. Now, go.”

  THREE

  ROOM 31

  EAST RIVER HOTEL

  LOWER EAST SIDE, NEW YORK CITY

  21 JANUARY 1889

  While Liza and I had taken shelter in the dressmaker’s shop, winter had decided to run amok in the streets. The skies, which had appeared pregnant with precipitation earlier, finally gave birth to a shrieking storm. Wet snowflakes plopped against the roof of our carriage, cocooning us in a layer of frigid cold. Wind howled as it rushed through the alleyways, forcing people to pull their collars up and run as quickly as they dared over ice-slicked streets.

  Even though I’d purch
ased new stockings and was wearing one of the warmer pairs of shoes Thomas had had made for me, my teeth began to chatter. I clamped my jaws together, hoping to will the chills away through sheer stubbornness alone.

  It was impossible. My teeth clacked in the most embarrassing way. Thomas eyed me from across the hansom, then checked the warming brick at my feet, face grim.

  “It needs to be reheated over a fire,” he said, half unbuttoning his overcoat.

  I watched as his own body trembled before I reached over and stilled his movements. “What happened to body heat being the most effective way of preventing frostbite? If you take that coat off, you’ll freeze before you can valiantly assist me.”

  He glanced up, the seriousness leaving his features at once. I swore stars danced in his golden-brown eyes. “What did you think I was doing?”

  “Removing your overcoat to place about my feet?”

  He shook his head, his expression laced with mischief. “I was planning on stripping bare and having you do the same. That is the best way to share body heat. I paid the driver to go around the block a few times if necessary. Figured we might sneak back to your grandmother’s house instead of frolicking around another murder scene. Since she’s traveling and the house is empty, I imagine I could get you warm soon enough.”

  He dragged his gaze over me in a way that felt more searing than a simple touch. His look promised what months of flirtations had hinted at. And there was little humor in how serious he was about pleasing me. Despite the plummeting temperature in our carriage, I felt the sudden need to fan myself. He pulled his attention back up to mine, lips quirked upward.