Escaping From Houdini (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 3)

by Kerri Maniscalco

  “What have you gotten yourself into this time, Cousin?” I sighed, the puff of warm air mingling with the cold ocean mist. In response, waves bashed against the side of our ship, distressed and restless, and perhaps a little desperate to shove us back to England. Back to where I had a chance—even a bleak one—of finding Liza.

  How quickly dreams dissolved into nightmares.

  Despite the impossibility before me, I refused to submit to the fact that I was stranded at sea, powerless to assist those I loved. I could not believe Father allowed me to leave England without telling me my cousin was missing. I’d thought we’d gotten past his sheltering ways after he’d permitted me to study forensic medicine in Romania, but I was clearly wrong. Even though it wasn’t my fault, I felt as though I’d already failed Miss Prescott. And now Liza…

  “I will not fail again,” I swore aloud. There was only one line I would never cross—murder. Taking a life from a person—that would make me no better than the murderers I hoped to thwart. A cruel voice in my head whispered that I’d never actually stopped them. I simply gathered clues made of blood and bone, and tried piecing them together before more bodies were added to the unending tally.

  To truly end a murderer, I’d need to become one.

  I eyed the lifeboats hanging against the wall of the promenade, wondering if I possessed enough physical strength to wrangle one down and row myself back to England. I clenched my teeth and faced the water. Salt and sea mist stung my nose, the spray rising in the icy air and coating my face. It woke me up from nonsensical visions.

  Behind me a door swung open, revealing a tall figure gilded by light—the background din of staff cleaning up after the terrible opening show accentuated his own silence. He stood there, too shrouded in shadows for me to make out his features, but judging from the involuntary flutter in my chest, it was Thomas.

  As he approached the railing where I stood, I noticed a telegram peeking out from his overcoat pocket. I wondered if it was from my father and if he’d sent word to everyone aboard this ship except for me. If anyone had hurt Liza, I would kill them. Slowly.

  I almost smiled, finding the thought didn’t disturb me one bit.

  “If I didn’t know any better, Wadsworth, my dear,” Thomas said, voice laced with teasing, his typical method of distracting me from my darkness, “I’d believe you were about to perform your own escape act. Am I to be your assistant, then?” He stared down at himself, frowning slightly. “I left my sequined dragon frock coat in London and this one’s a bit plain. It doesn’t particularly scream ‘carnival chic.’”

  “Actually, I was contemplating murder.”

  “Not mine, I hope.” He leaned over the railing and glanced sideways at me. “Though I am rather handsome in this suit. I suppose if it’s my time to go, I might as well go in style. Be sure to keep my face intact. I want you to swoon and mourn at my funeral.”

  I nearly groaned. “That’s in poor taste, considering recent events.” I nudged him with my elbow as he sighed. “I still choose you even with your shortcomings, Cresswell.”

  “It’s my wit, isn’t it?” Thomas faced me, a tentative smile starting. “You can’t bear to be apart from it. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t informed your uncle about the claim you’ve staked upon me. Seems like news you’d enjoy sharing.”

  There was a question in his eyes, but I quickly gazed back at the ocean, pretending to have missed it. The stars were out in full force tonight, twinkling and shimmering across the undulating sea. It reminded me of the painting Thomas made for me the week before: an orchid that held the entire universe within its petals. It amazed me that the world could resume its orbit no matter what destruction had been wrought. I wondered how Mrs. Prescott was feeling, if she’d been given her brandy and was floating somewhere between dreams and nightmares.

  Perhaps I ought to join her.

  I felt Thomas studying me but no longer had the urge to mask my expression as I used to. He opened his mouth, then shut it, causing me to puzzle over what he might have said. Perhaps he’d grown as weary of having the same debate. I didn’t wish to tell anyone of our eventual betrothal until we’d spoken to my father. Thomas saw it as hesitancy on my part, a notion so ridiculous I refused to acknowledge it at all. We simply did not have the luxury of time to visit with Father and inform him of our intentions while we raced to the ship, as much as I wanted to. There wasn’t any part of me that didn’t long to be with him forever. After everything we’d been through over the last month, I thought he’d know that.

  A moment later, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and tugged me near, safe in his indiscretion, since we were alone on the freezing deck. I relaxed into his embrace, letting the warmth of his body and the scent of his cologne comfort me.

  “I cannot promise all will be well, Audrey Rose.”

  I exhaled loudly. “This is one of those times it’s all right to lie, Thomas. I’m quite aware of how dire things are, but I’d like to pretend otherwise. At least for a few moments.”

  “Right,” he said, turning his thoughts inward. “What I mean is, I promise to stand by your side through whatever comes our way. You’ll end up being the hero, no doubt, but I’ll look good beside you. And that’s what truly counts.”

  “Honestly?”

  He drew back, feigning being affronted. “You can’t possibly have all the glory. Good looking and the hero? This is one of those times it’s all right to lie, Wadsworth.”

  “Have you no—” He brushed his lips against mine and I forgot about my worries, just as he’d intended. The kiss started off tentative and sweet, a distraction and promise itself, but soon turned deeper and more urgent. I wound my arms around his neck, bringing him closer, getting lost in the rhythm of both the sea and our kiss. Even on the coldest night, he could ignite a fire within me. I worried that one day the blaze might consume me entirely.

  Much too soon, he broke away. In times like this I thought he was right—we ought to announce our intentions and marry immediately. Then I might kiss him whenever I pleased.

  “Shall I say the thing I’m not supposed to?” he asked, his tone serious.

  I drew in a deep breath. For him to acknowledge hesitance meant I most certainly did not want to hear it. “We’ve promised not to lie to each other.”

  “All right. Here are the facts.” He studied me again, his expression controlled but kind. “There’s nothing to be done about Liza from here. We can make arrangements to return to London once we reach America, but for now we have the very real issue of a murderer aboard our ship. It may be an isolated incident, but I don’t believe it will be.”

  Gooseflesh marched along my arms. Thomas’s deductions were hardly ever wrong. If he believed there might be more murders, it was only a matter of time before we found the bodies.

  “What do you suggest we do?” I asked, rubbing my hands over my sleeves.

  “I’m glad you asked. I’ve been thinking on this quite a bit.”

  “And?”

  “I’m in favor of hiding in your chamber for the remainder of the week.” A smile twitched across his lips as I raised a brow. “Drinking, kissing, debauching ourselves until we arrive in New York.” He sighed dreamily. “You must admit, we’d be safe from the murderer. Deliriously happy. And both of those options are much better than standing over cadavers.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Or we could finish the postmortem and see what we find.”

  “A less fun but more valiant choice as always, Wadsworth. Though your uncle wishes to resume the postmortem tomorrow per the captain’s request.” He exhaled, though there was a troublesome gleam in his eyes. “I’ve been tasked with escorting you to bed, a difficult job, but one I shall take very seriously, I assure you.”

  I shook my head. Thomas had dragged me from the deepest parts of my worries and restored my focus… all while managing to steal another kiss. I couldn’t say that his method wasn’t appealing as we made our way down the promenade, arm in arm.

  T
HREE

  ACE OF CLUBS

  AUDREY ROSE’S QUARTERS

  RMS ETRURIA

  1 JANUARY 1889

  An attendant braided my hair and helped me into a cotton nightgown with lace-trimmed sleeves without uttering a word—while the majority of passengers still believed Miss Prescott’s murder was an elaborate show, most of the crew aboard the ship seemed to hold their breath along with their tongues, unsure if another nightmare would soon be unleashed.

  Once she’d gone, I released an exhausted sigh and glanced around. My chambers were handsomely appointed with a marble nightstand, a carved vanity, a small table and chairs, and a wardrobe that would have pleased King Louis with all its gold embellishments. However, the industrial-sized bolts and steel surrounding the small window couldn’t hide the truth of where I was. Despite the lavish dressings, a chill seeped in through the cracks.

  Our luxurious ship was nothing more than a floating prison.

  I pulled a pair of thick stockings on and lay on my bed, knowing sleep was the last thing I’d accomplish with so many thoughts spinning through my mind. I picked up the Ace of Clubs I’d found staked to Miss Prescott’s body and inspected it. What connection did it have to this murder? I mulled over a few potential clues, the most prominent having to do with magic tricks.

  Sleight of hand was something I’d not given much thought to before, though I’d seen street magicians roll cards across their knuckles in London. They must practice for long hours to make it appear so fluid a motion, their deception flawless to an untrained eye. Not too different from a cunning murderer.

  Crime scenes were filled with their own sort of sleight of hand. Murderers tried fabricating scenes, manipulating them to cover their true intentions and identity. Mephistopheles was gifted in the art of misdirection, something based in fact, not fantasy. He made a person look one way when they ought to do the exact opposite. If he hadn’t been onstage when Miss Prescott was killed, he’d be the most likely culprit.

  I sat up, heart racing, as I finally understood my earlier preoccupation with the young ringmaster. I wanted to learn his very particular skills—utilizing that part of my brain while placing myself in the minds of deviants and murderers would be most beneficial. Something niggled around the edges of my mind, some hazy, far-flung idea that would be nearly impossible to pull off. If I could mislead Thomas Cresswell, make him believe the impossible—that my feelings had shifted—then I’d know for certain I was an expert at that art form…

  Abandoning that plan, I settled back into my pillows and flipped the Ace of Clubs over, searching for significance. It was sliced through its center and stained with dried blood, but the back had the most interesting design. A raven—dark as ink—opened its wings against a silver moon. Vines and thorns were intricately woven around the card’s edges in thick black strokes. On both the top and bottom center, a strange double eight lay on its side, overlapping itself.

  I avoided touching the place where the knife had torn it, still in denial that Miss Prescott had been slain right beside me and I hadn’t been any the wiser. If only Uncle hadn’t—

  A soft knock came at the door connecting my room and my chaperone’s, startling me from my ruminations. I pushed myself up, deposited the card on my nightstand, and wrapped an embroidered orchid dressing robe about me. Gooseflesh rose, though it wasn’t from surprise. The watered silk was cool and smooth as liquid against the parts of my skin not covered by my nightgown.

  “Come in.”

  “It’s only me, dear.” Mrs. Harvey opened the door, a small tea service balanced on her ample hip. “Thought you could do with something warm. I also brought my traveling tonic just in case you’d like something a bit warmer.”

  I smiled, recalling the clever name she’d given her spirits when we’d traveled to Romania last month. Her engraved flask teetered on the tray. The sharp scent of alcohol was detectable from where I sat and I decided it would indeed warm me quickly. And perhaps burn a hole through my stomach in the process.

  “Tea will do for now, thank you.” I went to join her at the small table, but she stopped me with a firm shake of her head. She poured tea, then tucked me back into bed, pushing the steaming cup into my hands. Bergamot and rose immediately scented the air, relaxing me at once. “Thank you.”

  “There, there, child.” She plopped down beside me and took a generous swig of her tonic. “No need to thank me. I was simply in need of a bit of company myself. Makes the traveling tonic go down easier.” Her gaze drifted over to the card on my nightstand. “Wealth.”

  “Pardon?” I asked, wondering if she’d already been sipping her tonic.

  “My husband used to dabble in cartomancy—reading fortunes in playing cards—in his youth. It was how we met.” A wistfulness entered her expression. “He was dreadful at it. God rest his soul. Though he was quite talented in other areas.”

  “How are you faring?” I asked, quickly changing the subject. I didn’t wish to find out which talents she was dreamily recalling. “It’s been quite a day.”

  “I don’t know how you and my Thomas do what you do and keep your wits about you,” she said, snapping back to the present, “but I’m proud of you both. You make a fine pair, you know. In your apprenticeship and in other ways. Has Thomas made his intentions clear?”

  I stuck my face in my cup, hoping the steam could be blamed for the flush creeping onto my skin. “Yes… well… that is, I believe he wishes to speak with my father.”

  “He’s not conventional. Lord help him, he’s got much to learn about using those manners of his, but his heart is good.” Mrs. Harvey took another sip, eyeing me over her spectacles. “You will make him very happy, Audrey Rose. But, most important, I believe he will also make you very happy.” She wiped at wetness in the corner of her eye. “It’s not proper… but… here.”

  Without saying more, she handed over a folded note. There was no name on it and no envelope. I looked up quickly. “What’s this?”

  Mrs. Harvey gathered her flask and moved toward the door, lifting a shoulder. “I haven’t the slightest notion what you mean, dear. I’m simply an old woman who came to say good evening. I sleep like the dead, so you’ll have to shout if you need me. I most certainly wouldn’t hear if your door opened and closed.”

  With a wink, she closed the door to our chambers, leaving me gaping after her. Clearly she hadn’t been as unaware of Thomas’s flirtations last month as she had appeared. Without thinking too hard on how he’d convinced her to take part in this new scheme, I unfolded the paper. A short message in neat script greeted me. I wondered who’d written it until I read it.

  My pulse thrummed at the proposition contained in one small line. It wasn’t the first time Thomas had requested we meet somewhere at such an indecent hour. Unchaperoned. This time, however, we weren’t in a mostly empty boarding school in Romania, far from inquisitive eyes. If we were to be caught alone here amongst the upper class—I’d be deemed a trollop, my reputation destroyed. Then again, perhaps Thomas had deduced a new theory or discovered another clue that might unveil Miss Prescott’s murderer. My wretched curiosity whirled with possibilities.

  I stared at the note a moment more, biting my lip, surprised Thomas would have an attendant take down such a personal message. I could pretend as if I’d never received it. Do the polite and decent thing expected of me. But that path was so utterly dull. I thought of Thomas’s lips on mine, imagined his hands tangled in my dark hair, our breath coming in short gasps as his hands slowly traveled over me, exploring and teasing.

  Acceptable or not, I craved his touch.

  My eyes snapped to the small clock ticking away on my nightstand. It was nearly midnight now. I glanced down at my silk robe and lace-trimmed nightgown, the ruffles on my sleeves falling across my fingers. There wasn’t enough time to get dressed and rush all the way to the starboard side of the boat without being seen. Yet showing up in my current state would cause embolisms should I run into anyone else who’d decided on a midn
ight stroll. Which sounded precisely like the sort of deviant plan Thomas would make.

  “Scoundrel.” I smiled, then tossed my winter cloak on, grabbed a scalpel from my medical bag just to be safe, and hoped for the best as I crept out my door.

  During daylight hours, the Etruria inspired feelings of grand travel and frivolity, what with its massive masts and large steam funnels. Hardwood floors had been buffed and polished until sunshine gleamed like diamonds from them, and the roof above the promenade deck was a beautiful addition to the pearly corridor of first class.

  At night those same features felt haunted, dangerous. The overhang was more akin to an open mouth, waiting to chomp down on guests; the same shining floors were now reminiscent of a salivating tongue. Lifeboats secured to the wall were actually perfect hiding places instead of quaint miniatures. The immense sails snapped around as if they were wings of some enormous sea creature hunting fresh meat. Smokestacks exhaled, the fog lingering around the railing, watching. Anything might be lurking in the mist. Or, more appropriately, anyone.

  “Foolish,” I whispered, pulling my fur-trimmed cloak tighter as icy fingers meandered down my skin. If Miss Prescott hadn’t been murdered, I’d blame my overactive imagination for morphing the boat into a gargantuan creature. But there truly could be something hiding in the shadows, hoping to sink its claws into my back next. I decided I didn’t care for sea travel one bit.

  Thomas would do better to choose a more reasonable place for any future clandestine meetings. Preferably indoors, near a fire, far from empty corridors and thrashing waters. Teeth chattering, I hurried down the promenade, attention snagging on anything that seemed out of place, though it was hard to know exactly what didn’t belong. I’d never traveled on such a vessel before.