Capturing the Devil

by Kerri Maniscalco

  Which was how Noah became involved.

  “After being missing for a week, our victim was found in her bed, tucked under the covers, her clothing folded neatly and left on a chair. The landlady is convinced she must have snuck back in to retrieve her things, then died in her sleep.”

  “That’s absurd! Why wouldn’t she think something more nefarious occurred?” I drew my brows together. “Did she hear anything odd?”

  Uncle shook his head. “There were no sounds of struggle. Actually, there were no sounds coming from that room at all. The landlady happened upon her when she was about to show the room.”

  “Were there signs of a disturbance?” Thomas asked. “Any personal items missing?”

  I sneaked a glance at him. He’d barely spoken the entire carriage ride home, his focus turned inward. What little he did utter wasn’t happy news. He said there was no doubt remaining that Jack the Ripper sought me. Then he’d shut his emotions off and entered that land of frost and ice. He hadn’t yet warmed from it.

  “Not that the landlady noticed.” Uncle took his spectacles off, buffing them with the corner of his tweed jacket. “The only oddity was Miss Van Tassel wasn’t wearing her nightgown. The homeowner said she’d never sleep so indecently, but she couldn’t fathom what kind of girl went off for a week without a word and snuck back in, either.”

  Thomas canted his head. Finally. He was coming around. He gazed at the body. “I suspect the loo was shared in a corridor or on another level of the home, which means it’s unlikely she removed her own clothes before bed.” He looked to my uncle for confirmation. Uncle nodded. “Regardless of her sleeping preferences, she’d likely have kept her nightgown on in case she needed to get up in the night. Not to mention, here where temperatures are frigid, it doesn’t make sense for her to sleep without layers. At least not during this season.”

  He paced around the small basement laboratory, his hands near frantic as they tapped along his thighs. I knew he was pushing himself, trying to shove pieces of this impossible puzzle together in hopes of preventing the Ripper from stalking anyone else. Anyone such as me.

  I waited for the worry to creep in, to hinder my own investigative skills. I almost felt relief, like I finally understood a part of his game I hadn’t known existed before. If Jack the Ripper wanted me, then we could find a way to deceive him into thinking he’d won. I hadn’t shared this idea with Thomas; judging from the wildness in his eyes and the promise of violence, I didn’t deem it necessary just yet. I would let him calm himself before broaching that subject. And then we’d come up with a plan together.

  “She was missing for a week but doesn’t show signs of decay…” Thomas muttered observations aloud to himself, not expecting an answer. “A young person, dying in their sleep with no indications of disease or trauma. He killed her but how? And why return her to her chambers? What purpose does that serve?”

  He paced faster, slowly becoming one with our killer, placing himself in the role of a demon. While he continued his descent into the mind of a murderer, a wide-eyed maid brought a tea service with stacks of lemon and raspberry tarts, pausing to consider which surface she might set it on. Her eyes lingered on the nearly naked corpse, and though her expression was perfectly blank, her throat bobbed with suppressed emotion. No one enjoyed the dead being on display, at least not in the way we set them like meat to carve.

  “There, on the sideboard, please,” I said, my tone as calm as possible. “Thank you.”

  After she’d retreated up the stairs, I made my way over to the teapot, pouring three cups. A hint of Earl Grey and rose cut through the slight odor of death. I put two rose-scented sugar cubes in Uncle’s cup and four in Thomas’s, knowing the extra sweetness seemed to aide him in his deductions. I was too rattled for sugar and left mine plain. I set the silver tongs and bowl aside, carefully bringing one cup and tart over at a time. It gave me something to do while turning over my own thoughts. If I could convince Thomas of my safety, perhaps we could set a trap. Would the Ripper be able to walk away from an opportunity to snatch me?

  “Thank you.” Uncle took his cup, sipping immediately. He’d practically finished the whole thing by the time I’d handed Thomas his. I glanced at the clock. We’d missed supper ages ago.

  Thomas paused his pacing only long enough to shove in a few bites of his pastry before washing it down with tea. “Do we know who she was with or what she was doing prior to her death? There was mention of her possibly collecting wages from her old employer.”

  “The police were sorting that out when I was told to take the body. They also sent word to the Pinkertons, so your associate will be informed by them.”

  “We’re missing something.” Thomas seemed more agitated by the second. “What else? Was there anything in the room that shouldn’t have been? Anything the landlady commented on, even in passing.”

  “Roses,” Uncle said. “She mentioned a vase full of fresh roses on the nightstand.” Thomas didn’t so much as breathe as he swung around, his gaze landing on me. Either unaware of the sudden tension in the room, or maybe because of it, Uncle handed me and Thomas aprons. “Focus, the two of you. Let’s see what answers we can find on our own.”

  I glanced at my untouched tart before setting it aside. It was just as well that I complete this portion of our work without a stomach full of sweet lemon curd. I placed my hands on the flesh like I’d been taught, pressing my blade hard enough for the skin to part like ruby waves as I dragged my scalpel from shoulder to sternum and exposed the red layers of flesh.

  A sense of calm entered the room as I repeated the process on the other side, my Y incision nearly complete as I slid the blade down the torso. Without waiting for further instruction, I doused my rag in carbolic acid and wiped my weapon down before sinking it back into the flesh. In moments I’d removed the heart and viscera, handing them off to Uncle to be weighed and cataloged by Thomas.

  He caught my eye briefly, looking up from his notes, his expression unreadable. I glanced at the liquid matter splattered up my pale sage velvet sleeves like tiny embroidered petals. Just as quickly as he’d studied me, he was back to his own work, his brow crinkled in deep concentration. Perhaps I’d imagined that his attention was directed toward me.

  Once we’d taken note of every detail, I pulled the tray with the stomach close, preparing to do a full dissection of it. I’d be looking for any signs of poison. A drop of perspiration hit the metal surface, quickly followed by another. I jerked my attention up. Uncle removed a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted at his brow. It was quite cold in the basement of this house, especially in the dead of winter.

  Petals of red bloomed over his cheeks. Not embarrassment. He appeared to be suddenly burning up with fever.

  “Are you feeling all right?” I asked, trying to keep the concern from my voice. The last thing I wished to do was annoy Uncle. “Thomas and I can handle this if you’d like to rest—”

  “It’s nothing. I forgot my overcoat again and caught a chill.” Uncle waved off my worry. “Mind your work, Audrey Rose. Stomach contents. Open it up now; unfortunately we haven’t got all evening to study this body. General Inspector Hubbard will be here within the hour, and he’ll expect answers. I suggest we try not to anger him again.”

  “Very well, sir.” I picked up another scalpel, readying myself for the dissection of the stomach. I tried ignoring Uncle’s hands as he gripped the edge of the examination table, his knuckles as white as the bones I’d just exposed. In quick, careful motions, I opened the outer layers of the organ.

  “It appears—Uncle!” I cried as he collapsed against the table, the medical tools clattering onto the floor around him. “Uncle!”

  I moved swiftly to his side, slipping my hands under his arms, trying to lift him back up. It was of no use; he’d lost consciousness. His head fell forward, his spectacles askew. I shot a look in Thomas’s direction. “A little assistance, Cresswell?” I tilted Uncle’s head back, my fingers searching out a pulse. It
was faint, but it was there. He must be more ill than he’d let on. His lids fluttered, but he did not open his eyes again. “Thomas?”

  I glanced up. Thomas stood against the wall, his fist gripping his stomach, his face screwed up in pain. The world became a narrow corridor, void of sound. Irrational horror spread through my limbs, weighing me down as much as my uncle’s body.

  Poison.

  “Thomas!” I shouted, watching helplessly as he staggered forward, trying to get to me. I gently set my uncle on the floor, making sure he was on his side in case he began vomiting. I did not want him to asphyxiate on it. I sprang up, my heart now beating ten times too fast as I limped over and caught Thomas the moment before he slammed to the ground. I gripped him to me fiercely, as if I could protect him from this invisible demon. “You’re fine,” I said frantically, smoothing his damp hair back. “You’re going to be all right.”

  A cough racked through him and he wheezed a laugh. “Are you commanding that?”

  “Yes.” I held his face between my hands, staring into his eyes, watching his pupils dilate. I forced the tremor from my voice, not wanting to scare him. “I command you, and if there’s a God, then I command Him and His angels, too. You will not die on me, Thomas Cresswell. Do you understand? I will kill you if you die!”

  Another coughing fit had him trembling in place. He could no longer speak.

  “Help!” I screamed as loudly as I could. “Come immediately!”

  I clutched Thomas tightly, forcing my mind to become the leader my heart desperately needed. It was clear they’d been poisoned. I focused on identifying which kind. Uncle twitched from his place on the floor, his breath coming in deep wheezes. His face was splotchy, as was Thomas’s. I almost lost my battle with tears as I studied him.

  Thomas gripped his stomach, indicating they’d ingested it. Think. It was both a command and a plea to myself. If I could identify the poison, I could find an antidote.

  “Miss?” The maid from earlier stopped short, her attention bouncing from Thomas to Uncle to me, sitting there, cradling my dying love. A look of unadulterated fear entered her features. I wondered if she thought I was the monster who’d done this. “Are they…”

  “Ring for a doctor immediately!” I said, thanking the marvels of technology for having a telephone in this old house. “Tell him there’s been two poisonings. Possibly arsenic, given their symptoms, but it’s working through their system at an advanced rate. It might be belladonna or something similar. Maybe even some strange combination of them all. Tell him he must come at once. Do you understand?”

  She nodded too many times, her own body trembling. I made my voice harsher than it needed to be to wake her from her own daze.

  “Hurry! They haven’t got much time left.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  AN AVENGING ANGEL

  GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  16 FEBRUARY 1889

  A heart was a curious thing. So contradictory. The way it ached in both good and bad ways. The way it leapt with joy and ceased with sorrow. It could beat madly and wildly during both pleasure and pain. Currently, my heart was steady. Too steady, as I watched blood drip into a waiting bowl, the rhythmic splatters hitting in time with my breaths. Perhaps I was in shock. It was the only rational explanation for how calm I was.

  The doctor must have felt my gaze on him, probing. He flicked his attention to me, his fingers covered in wet blood—Thomas’s blood—before returning to his patient. His name was Dr. Carson and he appeared to be one million years of age.

  Each of his movements was slow and deliberate—an excellent trait in a doctor, but a horrible thing to witness when there were two people I loved in need of immediate attention. I wanted to shake him into action but forced myself to stand still, without any motion at all. Fearful of what I’d do should I begin moving.

  He’d seen to Uncle first. I didn’t wish to consider how torn I’d felt when he’d made that choice. He dabbed at the wounds he’d made on Thomas’s forearm, his lined face tense. My grip on my cane tightened, as if I could crush my worry with my fist.

  Worry wasn’t the only emotion I felt. The more I considered how someone had tried to murder Uncle and Thomas—and likely me—the brighter the flame grew in my center. Anger was good. It meant there were still things left to fight for. I nursed it, coddled it, begged for it to surface, to kindle the fire I needed to raze the murderer to ashes. There were no guarantees that either Thomas or Uncle would live.

  If Thomas died…

  The doctor cleared his throat, the sound annoyed, as if it wasn’t the first time he’d tried getting my attention. I shook myself from swirling thoughts. “Pardon?”

  “Bloodletting is the best method to remove the poison,” he said, voice gruff. Like the pale-faced staff, he probably imagined I was the murderess. I was, after all, the only one unscathed. “He’s weak, though. I can’t remove any more without a greater threat.”

  He tossed a dirtied rag into the second bowl of blood and I watched as he added a sharp-smelling astringent and set it aflame. Perhaps he worried I was a vampire or a bloodthirsty demon. As if I’d guzzle tainted blood even if that were true.

  “Will he be all right?” I asked, shoving my treacherous thoughts away. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  The doctor studied my face carefully. I did my best to hide each terrible thought, to soften my anger so as to not have it be confused with guilt. His eyes narrowed. “If you’re a godly woman, I suggest praying, Miss Wadsworth. There’s certainly nothing of this earth left for you to do.”

  He snapped his satchel closed and left the room without another word. I didn’t bother watching him go. I remained at the end of the bed, guarding Thomas. His skin was so sallow—more pale and sickly yellow than I’d ever seen it before. Even when we’d nearly drowned in those water-filled traps under Bran Castle, when we’d been soaked through and freezing, he’d always gaze at me with that wicked half smile, his flesh flushed and vibrant with life.

  Thomas Cresswell couldn’t die. If he did… a darkness so complete as to truly be terrifying welled up inside me. I did not know who I’d become, should I lose him. But Satan would tremble at my approach.

  I watched his chest rise unsteadily, his lids fluttering as Uncle’s had earlier. I was grateful for the movement—it was the only indication he wasn’t yet a corpse. I waited to feel as if I’d crumble this very moment, in this very spot. I’d already lost so many people I loved; I feared I’d cave under the pressure of my grief. All I felt was rage, coal-burning, crimson-tinted rage. Heat seared down my limbs in fast-moving torrents, my hands clenched automatically. If I knew who’d done this, I would stalk him to the ends of the earth, consequences be damned.

  Thomas rolled to his side, moaning. I stood there helpless, feeling like I was twelve years old again, watching my mother’s life fade until all that was left was the ghost of her memories. I’d prayed then. Begged God to spare her, to grant one blessing for me and I’d forever dedicate myself to Him. I’d promised anything, anything He could want in exchange for her life. I would have even given mine. God hadn’t spared me a second thought when He’d taken my mother. I had little faith He’d listen to my pleas now.

  Thomas began shivering so hard it seemed as if he were convulsing. I rushed to his side and tugged a quilt up to his chin, though it was quickly thrown off as he thrashed around. He was mumbling, his words too low and garbled to understand.

  “Shhh.” I sat beside him, doing my best to soothe his fit. “I’m right here, Thomas. I’m right beside you.”

  This fact only seemed to unsettle him more. He tossed his limbs about, their motions stilted and jerking. Arsenic attacked the nervous system, and I feared the poison had reached its intended target. He whispered something, over and over, his body becoming more agitated with each exhalation he made.

  “Thomas… please, don’t worry. Whatever you need to tell me can wait.”

  He coughed, his entire body t
rembling once again. “R-rose… r-r-rose.”

  I clutched his hand to my heart, hoping he couldn’t feel it breaking. His skin was as clammy and cool as ice shards. “I’m here.”

  “H-hotel.”

  “We’re in the home on Grand Street,” I said gently. “The one you and Uncle and I are borrowing from Grandmama. It’s that large one that reminds you of storybooks. Remember? The sort where witches brew tonics for bad children?”

  Thomas sputtered, his voice no longer audible as his lips moved. I prayed then. A few quick words to a God I was unsure of. “Please, Lord. I beg of You. Do not take him from me. Heal him. Or if You cannot, grant me the ability to tend to him myself. Please, please, do not let this be how our story ends.”

  A knock on the door killed what remained of my prayers. “Come in.”

  The maid held up a covered tray. “It’s plain broth, miss. The doctor said it might be good to try and get some in them both.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. This was the same young woman who’d served us our tea and tarts earlier. I refused to trust anyone until I discovered who’d poisoned my loved ones. “Did you make the broth?”

  “No, miss.” She shook her head vehemently. “The cook did. She’s got a light course prepared for you… she thought you might not be too keen on eating something heavy.”

  “Have you tried the broth?” I asked.

  “Of course not, miss. The cook doesn’t allow it.”

  I took a deep breath. A dark, hateful piece of me wished to witness the cook take a spoonful, to be certain she wasn’t the one who’d slipped the arsenic into our tea. I forced myself to clear those thoughts, adopting a smile instead. I motioned for her to hand me the tray. “I’d like to try them both first.”

  Looking a bit confused, she nodded, then went to fetch the second tray, meant for Uncle. Thomas groaned beside me. I balanced the tray on my lap, removed the lid, then dipped the spoon into the clear, rich-smelling broth. Green flakes of parsley floated around innocently.