“Oh, Tesla’s here, all right.” Noah grinned. “He’s showcasing his polyphase system. He’s got fifteen feet of coil and oscillators in the electrical building. Steam hisses and sparks fly. It’s incredible. Last time I was there, a woman stood frozen for nearly an hour. She thought she’d seen God.”
“I imagine it would seem like that.”
I glanced from one building to another. There was so much to do and see and I wanted desperately to do it all. It would be daunting, trying to hobble over so much ground, especially in heavy crowds. I’d hate to hold my companions back. Thomas watched me in that uncanny way of his. “Taking a boat ride across the pond would be fun. I’m up for it if you are, Wadsworth.”
I bit my lip. We’d sent word to my uncle, asking if we might stay out a little while longer to visit the fair, and he’d instructed us to spend no more than two hours at the exhibition. We’d already been waiting an hour for the nightly illumination; judging from the size of the crowd, by the time we crossed the bridge and made our way to a boat, that’d take at least another hour alone. I wanted to go very badly, but I wanted to respect Uncle’s wishes.
“Perhaps next time, Cresswell. Much as I wish to spend eternity in this heavenly city, we have a devil to catch.”
Our carriage rolled to a stop outside a prim house that seemed to sneer at our arrival. I raised my brows. It was an interesting design; each arch was ornamented, reminding me a bit of—
“Is it me, or does it look like a witch owns this property and is gouging out children’s eyes and setting them in jars for her spell work as we speak?”
“Thomas,” I chided, swatting his arm. “It’s very… gothic.”
He snorted. “How magnanimous of you, Wadsworth. The spires look like fangs.”
“Don’t be snippy about the house,” I warned, “or it might bite you back.”
Ignoring Thomas’s further commentary, I pushed his assessment aside. It was a grand estate—a favor from Grandmama. She’d made the arrangements for us, claiming to know the perfect location for our endeavors. I had no idea she owned property here, but she was full of surprises. It was much too large for the three of us, though after leaving the chaos and clamor of our families behind, the extra space would feel welcome. A much-needed respite from meddling dukes and vengeful fiancées. I smiled to myself. Grandmama always knew what I needed.
I accepted Thomas’s arm as we got out of the carriage, tottering only a little until I secured my balance with my cane. I exhaled, my breath steaming in front of me, startled to see we weren’t alone. Uncle paced outside our temporary home, either unaware or uncaring of the snow that had started falling in earnest.
Thomas and I exchanged glances. Uncle hadn’t seemed to notice our arrival, either. His focus was directed inward, his hands clasped behind his back, his lips moving with words we couldn’t hear. Thomas cleared his throat, and Uncle swiveled to us, his expression stern. Whatever magic and merriment I’d felt upon leaving the White City vanished. Thomas helped me up the stairs, his attention split between ensuring I didn’t slip over the slick cobblestones, and my increasingly irate Uncle.
“Professor? What is it?”
“I spent the afternoon walking from one police station to the next, all across Chicago.”
I drew my overcoat closer, trying to ignore the bits of frosted ice that pelted my skin. I’d no idea how long my uncle had been out here, but he’d catch his death if he didn’t get inside.
“Uncle, we should—”
“It’s the lack of bodies that troubles me.” He stopped moving long enough to stare at the soft glow of a lamppost. “Do you know what I find most disturbing?”
“That you’re not frozen solid after standing out here without a coat?” Thomas asked. “Or is that only me?”
Uncle flashed him a warning look before turning to me. “Well?”
“I-it isn’t t-that unusual for a-a city, i-is it? P-perhaps t-the b-bodies are i-in t-the canal,” I said, fully chattering. I leaned on my cane, the cold biting into my leg unmercifully. “May we please discuss this in the house? M-my leg—”
“There are no bodies. No body parts,” Uncle said, motioning us all inside. Thomas kept his hand on the small of my back as we stepped through the ornate front door. “Even in a city of this size, corpses have a way of turning up. Miss Brown’s body, for example, was discovered within hours of her murder. Why, then, are there no corpses?”
A footman helped me out of my coat. “Tea service is waiting in the drawing room, Miss Wadsworth. Your grandmother also arranged for assorted pastries.”
I moved as quickly as I could into the room, standing before the fire, soaking in its warmth, mind churning over possibilities. “Our murderer… he might have some laboratory secreted away where he keeps the bodies.” I accepted a cup of tea Thomas offered, shifting to meet his and Uncle’s worried expressions. “He could dismember them, then toss them into the river. Or any of the canals or lagoons of the Columbian Exposition.” I glanced at Thomas. The earlier beauty of the fair now took on a sinister aura. “There were many waterways. Perhaps they’ve gotten tangled up in the underwater mechanics.”
“Theories are good, Audrey Rose, but facts are better at this juncture. There’s no bloody clothing, no scarf or coat or bit of torn fabric or skirt or shoe—not one clue or trace of evidence that any crime close to the Ripper murders has been committed here.” Uncle collapsed into an overstuffed leather chair, twisting his mustache. “Does that sound like the work of the Jack the Ripper we know? The very one who mailed letters written in blood to detective inspectors? The one who made a game of hacking off body parts and organs?”
Thomas and I were silent. As much as I wished otherwise, Uncle had a very decent point. It did not sound like the attention-seeking man we’d been terrorized by back in London. Nor did it sound as if it were similar to the New York murder. Each of those killings were spectacles in their own right—ways for the murderer to flamboyantly show off his ability to thwart police efforts.
“I fear we left New York on a whim,” Uncle said. “Bits of poetry and newspaper clippings affixed to journals do not indicate Jack the Ripper lives. Or that he’s chosen this city to taunt next, out of the whole of America, if he has survived. I want you both to tear those journals apart, find me a bit of irrefutable proof that this isn’t some fanciful folly conjured up by your need to escape your father, Thomas.” He turned his attention on me and I withered beneath his scornful gaze. “I sincerely hope you didn’t insist on coming here so you might dodge your own responsibilities and live in sin.”
Thomas didn’t so much as breathe.
I drew myself up. “I wished to come here because I thought this was where the Ripper was. I am not ruled by my heart, sir. Nor am I running from my heartbreak. Coming to Chicago had nothing to do with what happened in New York.” Even as I said it, I knew that wasn’t entirely true. I was all too happy to rush from New York without a second thought. What he’d said about Thomas, though… I stepped forward, fists clenched at my sides. “And are you suggesting Thomas invented a lead for his benefit alone? You know him better than that, Uncle. He would never abuse your trust or our privilege—”
“It would not be the first time a young man has twisted the truth in order to get what he most wants.” Uncle held up a hand, not permitting me any further liberty to speak. I was so angry I feared steam was spewing from my ears. “Find me proof that this is where Jack the Ripper is hunting now, or we’ll return to New York by week’s end.” He met Thomas’s gaze. “No matter how brilliant you are, Thomas, I’ll deliver you back to London personally, should this have been an elaborate stunt to corrupt my niece.”
THIRTY-ONE
DEVIL’S DOMINION
GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
10 FEBRUARY 1889
Sleet pelted the tin roof of our borrowed home, the drops steady and rhythmic. It took some getting used to at first, but soon it became comfortable background noise
, almost lulling me to sleep despite our newest task. I took a sip of mint tea, relishing the fresh, clean taste. Thunder crashed in the distance, lighting the room in a flash of silvery white. I pulled my shawl closer. While I hadn’t recently conjured up images of wolves or other dark creatures stalking the night, on evenings such as this, my mind played devilish tricks.
A second crash of thunder had me sucking in my breath. I looked at the window as the night sky was set ablaze. Thin lines of ice crept along the windowpane, as delicate as lace. Mother Nature was a fine seamstress, her stitches almost as carefully worked as mine when I closed up a corpse.
Thomas lifted his head from his own work, a slight smile starting. “Are you afraid of thunder, Wadsworth?” I gave him my most unpleasant look, not deigning to respond. He already teased me endlessly about clowns and spiders. “I wouldn’t mind holding you under the covers until the storm passes. I would feel quite gentlemanly.”
I inhaled sharply and the room felt as if it did, too. Images of our pre-wedding night flashed through my mind. Thomas watched me very carefully, his expression a mixture of desperate hope and unrelenting fear. Hope that I’d tease him back in our familiar way. And fear that I wouldn’t, that his father had truly succeeded in driving us apart for good. My pause lasted only a moment, but it felt like forever.
“You would offer to do that, wouldn’t you?” I said, finally collecting myself. “I’m surprised you didn’t suggest we do so without our clothing. You’re losing your Cresswell touch.”
Relief instantly replaced the building tension in the room.
“Actually, I was about to suggest that next. And not for entirely selfish reasons, either.” His expression was too innocent, which indicated trouble. “Did you know snuggling skin to skin releases endorphins which assist with increased brain activity? If we decide to forgo clothing and hold each other until the storm passes, we might solve this case faster.”
“What medical journal did you read that in?” I narrowed my eyes. “I thought laying skin to skin was proven effective during hypothermia.”
“Don’t be cross with me.” Thomas held his hands up. “I cannot help quoting scientific fact. If you’d prefer proof, we could we test this experiment out. Let’s see who’s right.”
“Would that it were actual scientific fact and not an attempt for wanton follies, I might agree to it.”
“What better kind of follies are there?”
My attention strayed to his lips, but I quickly banished any longing for them. If we didn’t work on proving Chicago was the most likely place Jack the Ripper would strike next, I’d have to watch him leave for England to marry Miss Whitehall.
Ignoring that misery, I shoved the journal away. “Maybe Uncle is correct. Maybe the Ripper is truly dead and we’re chasing his ghost.”
“Or maybe he’s here as Daciana and Ileana believe, and he’s biding his time before he makes himself known.” Thomas twisted in his chair, his fingers strumming along the tabletop. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but my sister and I are fairly impressive when it comes to seeing the obvious and compiling an entire scenario from the slightest of hints.”
“Your humility is also an attractive quality,” I muttered. Thomas drew his brows together and I sighed. “You were about to impress me. Or you were boasting to yourself; it’s hard to decipher sometimes.”
“That’s because it’s often a bit of each, my love.” He flashed a grin, then winced. Remembering to not call me his love was proving difficult. I wondered if his reaction was due to any shift in my expression. Each time I felt that invisible force punch my heart out. He stared down at his hands before glancing back up. “I’ve been thinking about Noah.”
“Very productive to think of a different case while trying to prove you didn’t fabricate an excuse to leave New York and your betrothed behind.”
At the word “betrothed,” his eyes darkened. He might not like the term or his intended, but until we found a way for him to be free of it, he belonged to another.
“Noah’s case sparked an idea about ours. An angle we haven’t considered. Your brother has several clippings of missing women scattered throughout his notes.” He flipped his journal around, showing me an article. His flirtations were now gone, replaced by steadfast determination. “Why? Why would he bother making note of them if he wasn’t responsible or if they weren’t connected?”
I thought back to the man, Mr. Cigrande, who’d been convinced the devil had risen from Hell and stolen his daughter. It was highly probable that she’d simply had enough of his religious outbursts and had abandoned her old life. That was what Noah was trying to determine now.
“I admit the articles about missing women in London is a bit odd, even for my brother,” I said. “But I’m afraid it’s not enough proof for Uncle. We need something bigger—something he cannot possibly find fault with.” I fiddled with my mother’s ring. “He will not hesitate to make good on his promise. If Uncle feels we’ve lied to him, he’ll drag you in chains back to England if he must. He despises deception.”
“I haven’t deceived anyone. In fact, I’m the one who’s been deceived.” Thomas blew out a frustrated breath, running his hand through his hair. “I loathe complications.”
We fell back into silence, the sound of the storm and flipping pages our only talkative companions. I found a few more missing London women and added their names to my notes, not hopeful about their significance to this American case, but desperate for any links. As time dragged on, Thomas became more restless than usual.
He stood, paced about the room, and muttered to himself in Romanian. I worried he was becoming too agitated to find his calm center and see those clues only he could. If we didn’t find a thread to tug on soon, this whole case would unravel before our very eyes.
I gently touched his arm, startling him. “Want to go adventuring tomorrow, Cresswell?”
“Do you feel that?” His agitation dissipated in the next breath. He pulled my hand to his chest. His heart gave an excited thump. “You make my dark heart sing, Wadsworth.” He carefully turned my hand over, pressing a kiss to my palm. Electricity tingled over each nerve ending. I longed to touch him again, exploring as we’d done a few short nights ago. I curled my hand into a fist. I had no business wanting him as much as I did. “The real question is, would you care to go on an adventure with me tonight?”
I had a feeling he wasn’t suggesting we go for a sleigh ride. My attention strayed to his lips; it would be so easy to pretend the last few days hadn’t happened. But they had. I shook my head. “You know I can’t do that, Thomas.”
“Why?” he asked, brow crinkled.
“You know why,” I hissed. “You are promised to another. We cannot succumb to wanton pleasures. Think of what it would do to our families.”
“Can’t we, though?” He brushed his thumb over my lower lip, his voice smooth and alluring in the dim light. “If the world thinks we’re heading straight to Hell, we might as well enjoy the journey there. I’d rather dance with the devil than sing with angels. Wouldn’t you?”
Hail tapped against the windowpanes, waiting for my response. I wasn’t sure about angels or devils, but spending an evening with Thomas, alone, forgetting about our growing worries, was more appealing than it ought to be.
Sensing my wavering, Thomas dropped another kiss on my wrist, moving ever so slowly upward, his eyes fixed on mine. It was hard to tell who was in need of a distraction more. I thought of the notes I’d jotted down, of the girls who’d vanished in London. Most were my age or a little bit older. None had been given an opportunity to truly live. To explore themselves or the world around them. Life was short, precious. And could be snatched away by a villain when we least expected it. If tomorrow was never promised, then I’d seize today.
I tentatively reached over, running my fingers through his hair. If we didn’t find information, he’d soon be gone from my life. I did not want to spend any more nights without him lying beside me. Our time could be ext
inguished in an instant. If I’d learned anything at all during our last few cases, it was to live each day in the present. I knotted my fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, worries of betrothals and complications melting into the past. He was right. We were already damned to Hell; it was silly to not at least enjoy our descent.
I brushed my lips against his, relishing the way his gaze darkened with the same longing I felt. I tipped his face up, wanting to fall into the depths of his rich brown eyes.
“Yes.” I kissed him again, more fully. “I’d enjoy going on an adventure with you very much.”
He gripped me by the waist, pressing me against the table, deepening our embrace until I worried we might not make it from this room before tearing each other’s clothes from our backs. Most unexpectedly, he stepped away, his breathing uneven.
“Grab your coat. I’ll go ready the hansom.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he rubbed his hands together. “You, my love, are in for quite a treat.”
I stood there, mouth agape, trying to collect myself. It seemed our ideas of nighttime adventures were vastly different, though this turn was no less intriguing. After taking a few steady breaths, I called for my cloak.
Snow replaced ice and rain on our ride through the city, turning the buildings a riot of color. It was magnificent, seeing the multihued lights of theaters and saloons set against a backdrop of purity. Vices versus morals; the ultimate struggle of this city.
I glanced around, one hand gripping my cane, the other my cloak. While I’d envisioned cuddling in bed, Thomas had brought me to a rather questionable establishment. Snow covered much of the disrepair of the building like a thick layer of stage makeup hiding imperfections. Rats rustled in rubbish bins in the nearest alleyway.
“Well?” he asked. “Aren’t you excited?”
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