Stalking Jack the Ripper

by Kerri Maniscalco

  My brother smiled, the pleasant memory lighting his whole mood. “Truthfully, I’ve stayed in touch with him. He couldn’t continue as a coachman after being turned out by Father without a proper reference. I’ve met him a few times to play chess, wagering money and purposely losing, just to help him out some. His circumstances are sadly reduced, and I cannot help feeling responsible somehow. These days he works the deck on the Mary See.”

  “Another life condemned to hard times, thanks to Lord Edmund Wadsworth and his own eccentricities,” I said. I wondered what the coachman could’ve possibly done to end up a lowly deckhand. His only crime was probably being too kind to my brother.

  It seemed when Father dismissed servants, their lives were never the same in the very worst of ways. At least Alistair was still breathing. Miss Nichols would never inhale the unwholesome air of the Thames again.

  Misinterpreting my silence, Nathaniel wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a comforting embrace. “I’m sure he’s happy enough, little Sister. Some men live for the kind of freedom that comes with swabbing the decks of a great ship and hauling cargo chests. No responsibilities. No need to worry about teas and cigar rooms—white tie versus black tie and all that upper-class nonsense. The rush of wind through their hair.” He smiled wistfully. “It’s a noble life.”

  “You speak as if you’d like to throw away your good name and swab the decks yourself.”

  Nathaniel would make a terrible sailor, and we both knew it. He might entertain the notion of leaving behind the finer things in life for freedom, but he cherished his imported brandy and French wine too much. Giving all that up for cheap ale in dank public houses wouldn’t suit him in the slightest. I smiled just picturing him sliding up to a bar, ordering something as common as a pint, his hair in complete disarray.

  Before he teased me back, our coachman approached, bending to whisper something in my brother’s ear. Nathaniel nodded, then stood, brushing down the front of his tailored suit. “Afraid we must end our lunch early. Word has come that Aunt Amelia and cousin Liza have arrived. I assume you’re in no hurry to get on with your ‘proper lady’ duties. Will you be all right if I leave you here to finish your luncheon?”

  “I hardly need a babysitter,” I said. “But you’re right. I’d like a little time to enjoy my remaining freedom.”

  I grinned, knowing full well that if Nathaniel had it his way, aside from my maid and the footman who were present, I’d have a bodyguard, governess, nurse, and any other attendant he could think of watching out for me.

  “Go,” I said, shooing him away. He stood there tapping his sides, uncertain. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to enjoy the fresh air for a bit, then I’ll head home.” I crossed my heart. “I assure you I won’t be sitting down to tea with any brutal killers between now and supper. Stop looking so worried.”

  A smile warred with a frown but eventually beat it out. His lips twitched. “Your assurances somehow leave me feeling anything but comforted.” He tipped his hat. “Until this evening. Oh,” he paused, eyeing my clothing. “Might want to change into something a bit more… suitable for Aunt Amelia’s tastes.”

  I waved good-bye, uncrossing my fingers from behind my back once he’d disappeared from view. I’d most certainly head home and change out of my riding habit and into a new dress. That was, after I made a detour to the docks to speak with the mysterious Alistair Dunlop and sort out secrets he might be harboring on the Mary See.

  “Honestly, I don’t know why you insisted on bringing that wretched beast with us,” I complained to Thomas as the leash nearly tripped me for the third time. “It’s hard enough maneuvering around in these cursed heels without the added obstacle of having my limbs tied together every five seconds by a nearsighted dog.”

  Thomas eyed the silver buttons lining the front of my black riding habit, coaxing a scowl from me. His look implied my choice of attire—including a pair of matching breeches—should make for an easier time walking about.

  “I’d like to see you carry on with a corset digging its bones into your rib cage,” I said, returning the favor and eyeing his clothing. “And manage a skirt still covering most of your breeches and whipping around your thighs in this wind.”

  “If you’d like to see me out of my breeches, simply ask, Wadsworth. I’m more than happy to accommodate you on that front.”

  “Scoundrel.”

  He’d supposedly been taking the lop-eared, brown-and-white mongrel for a walk around the lake when he happened upon my picnic—an excuse I’d found highly suspect. Especially when he’d happened to run into me while John, the footman, was repacking the hamper. Thomas had snatched a few pieces of braised pork for his canine companion to snack on. I sent the empty hamper home along with John and my maid, both of whom looked only too pleased to be escaping one of my schemes.

  When I pointed out the unlikelihood of the coincidence, Thomas stated it was serendipity and to be thankful for his “gentlemanly company while parading around in front of pirates and ruffians.”

  He should be thankful I didn’t accidentally stab him with my hat pin. Though I was secretly pleased he’d sought me out.

  The cobbled street was wide yet awkward to navigate with so much commotion going on. Men hoisted chests off the side of large ships, the wooden boxes dangling precariously from ropes above their heads. Barrels of wine were rolled into warehouses, along with large metal bins of tobacco; women shouted out specials on what they were selling a few streets over—everything from baked goods to mending torn sails.

  We crossed from one basin into another separating the next set of ships. Shop after shop was dedicated to maritime adventures, boasting in the windows golden compasses, sextants, chronometers, and all other ship-themed paraphernalia one could desire. I watched a custom house officer check cargo coming off the nearest vessel, the brass buttons on his jacket winking in the afternoon sun.

  He smiled, tipping his cap as I neared, causing my cheeks to pink.

  “Come now.” Thomas snorted. “He’s not nearly as handsome as I.”

  “Thomas,” I hissed, jabbing him with my elbow. He feigned injury, but I could tell he was pleased my attention had been restored to him.

  Stores gave way to shabby houses piled together like nesting rats. Refuse stunk up the gutters in this neighborhood, mixing with the scent of dead fish washing ashore. Thank goodness for the strong breeze coming in off the water, whipping my onyx locks and testing the fit of my velvet hat.

  “Toby,” he said, responding to a question I didn’t ask, while observing the cacophony going on around us. “He’s more intelligent than half the police force at Scotland Yard, Wadsworth. You should be kissing the very ground I walk upon for bringing such a fine animal. Or perhaps you could just kiss my cheek. Give the officers and ruffians a bit of a thrill.”

  Ignoring his attempt at improper flirting, I watched the dog waddle down the road and onto the dock, amazed it hadn’t walked itself right off the piers. It was the clumsiest animal I’d ever encountered. I much preferred cats and their insatiable curiosity. “Is Toby your family’s dog, then?”

  Thomas counted off boats, reading names under his breath as we made our way down to the Mary See.

  “I borrowed him.” He stopped in front of a new basin of ships, the forest of masts looming high above our heads, swaying and creaking with the rolling tide.

  This section was noisier; I could hardly keep a thought in my head without it turning into some sailor’s boisterous tune. Nathaniel would be horrified if he knew I was hearing such vile language, making it all the more appealing, somehow.

  Goats bleated and exotic birds cawed from the deck of one ship, encouraging me to crane my neck until I caught a glimpse of brightly colored macaw feathers flapping against a cage. On the very same boat, an enormous elephant trumpeted, stomping its feet as a slew of deckhands tried unloading it.

  Names on the crates suggested they were part of the traveling circus arriving in town. Up until the last few w
eeks, I’d been looking forward to attending the event with my brother. The human curiosities attractions were world famous and boasted of several “must-see-to-believe” acts.

  “I’ve heard rumors of a man who swallows fire,” I said to Thomas as we passed the ship. “And another who’s got four legs, if such things are to be believed.”

  “You don’t say,” he said. “Personally, I’d rather stay in, reading.”

  Queen Victoria was a great fan of the circus, and would make an appearance on opening night. Everyone who thought themselves important—and some who actually were—would be in attendance.

  “Look,” I pointed to the ship we’d been seeking, “there it is. The Mary See.”

  “Stay close, Wadsworth,” he said. “I don’t care for the look of these fellows.”

  I peered up at Thomas, a subtle warmth spreading through my limbs. “Be careful, Mr. Cresswell. Someone might think you’re beginning to care for me.”

  He glanced in my direction, drawing his brows together as if I’d said something particularly strange. “Then I should like to meet that person. They’d be quite astute.”

  Without uttering another word he walked forward, leaving me gaping after him a moment, stunned. What a horrid liar he was! I gathered myself and hurried after him.

  The ship was the size of a small man-made island of steel, gray and desolate as a normal London day. It was easily twice the length of every other ship at dock, and the crew looked twice as mean.

  As we approached the captain, a burly man with black eyes and broken teeth, docile-seeming Toby took on the ferocity of a dire wolf, baring his canines and growling loud enough to be intimidating.

  The captain took a look at the dog, then passed a quick glance over us. “This ain’t no place for a young lady. Move along.”

  I had half a mind to bare my teeth as Toby had—it was working wonders for him—but smiled sweetly, showing just the right amount of my pearly whites. Aunt Amelia always said men could be charmed easily. “I’m looking for an Alistair Dunlop. We were told he’s under your employ.”

  The captain—vile creature he was—spit into the water, eyeing me suspiciously. “What’s it to you?”

  Thomas tensed beside me, his hand flexing at his side.

  I smiled again, this time staring purposely at a point over the captain’s shoulder. I tried my aunt’s cunning and polite way; now it was time to do things in my own manner.

  “I’d hate to make a scene and call that charming custom house officer over here,” I said. “Really, one shouldn’t operate such an important ship without the proper documentation for all their cargo. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Cresswell?”

  “Certainly,” Thomas said, letting Toby’s leash go slack. The captain took an unsteady step away from the growling mutt. “Not to mention it’d be catastrophic if men hiring such a ship discovered part of their cargo was being sold on the side. Doesn’t your family know most of the aristocracy in Europe, Miss Wadsworth?”

  “Indeed,” I confirmed while the captain visibly squirmed in his boots, “we do. You come from equally good stock, don’t you, Mr. Cresswell?”

  “Indeed,” he answered, smiling, “I do.”

  A look of pure hatred crossed the captain’s face. Apparently, he wasn’t someone who enjoyed being bested by a clever-mouthed boy and girl. The captain grunted. “He’s making a delivery at the Jolly Jack. Should be unloading round in the alley.”

  ELEVEN

  SOMETHING WICKED

  JOLLY JACK PUBLIC HOUSE,

  LONDON

  13 SEPTEMBER 1888

  Thanks to poor directions given by the unpleasant captain, we wandered down a few dead-end streets before finding ourselves at the disreputable but lively public house.

  A painted wooden sign depicting a grinning white skull on a black flag hung over the door. Inside, men sat hunched over tankards, swigging pints and wiping their mouths with torn sleeves, while women slunk around like wild cats on the prowl. Giving up any pretense of fitting in, I strode through the room with my head held high, stares and whispers rolling in my wake.

  Most highborn women didn’t roam around in all-black riding ensembles with leather boots and gloves. While wearing riding habits when one wasn’t riding was slowly coming into fashion, the color of my attire and material was what set me apart.

  I hoped I inspired a sense of unease, even if it was fleeting.

  Once we reached the back alley, we were met with nothing but the sounds of our own beating hearts and Toby’s panting. I removed my gloves and rubbed behind his furry ears.

  “Do you see him?” I asked, taking quick stock of our surroundings.

  An open crate sat on top of several others that must have been unloaded recently, but there was no one here. I walked over to the wooden box and glanced inside. It was filled with rows of glasses; I imagined rowdy patrons broke a lot of them once they were well into their cups. Not exactly what I expected the captain to be selling on the black market, but profitable for him nonetheless.

  Thomas knit his brows, staring at the crate. “Seems a bit odd that Mr. Dunlop would leave these goods unattended.”

  “Perhaps he’s inside?”

  Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heel and marched back into the noisy pub. I leaned over the scored wooden bar, practically shouting to get the barkeep’s attention. The rotund woman wiped her hands on a dirty dishtowel, running her gaze over me as if I were a complete waste of time.

  So much for fear-inspiring ensembles. Might as well have dressed in my Sunday best and left the leather for butchers.

  “Shot of bourbon, miss?” she sneered, wiping out a pilsner glass with the rag, filling it with dark amber liquid and sliding it to a burly man at the end of the bar.

  I watched him take a deep pull of the drink. I couldn’t control my lip from curling at his ability to ignore the cesspool of filth that had been wiped all around the glass. God only knew what kind of disease he was potentially being exposed to. I longed to take the rag back to Uncle’s laboratory and run a series of tests on it.

  The group of men closest laughed, pulling me into the present. I gripped my fist, digging my nails into my palms for crescent-shaped serenity.

  “Where’s the man who’s delivering the glasses? He wasn’t out back, and his employer has a message for him.” I leaned closer, dropping my voice to a stage whisper. “I suspect it has something to do with the custom house officer who boarded his ship with a contingent of men, looking for stolen goods. They may be heading here as we speak.” I let my suggestion hang in the air.

  Her eyes went wide in her ruddy cheeks. I kept my expression neutral, though I was quite pleased the way the lie came so naturally, and at the reaction it fostered in a woman who looked scarier than some of the sea-wrecked men.

  Swallowing audibly, she pointed toward the door to the alley. “He’s just outside.”

  Producing a large knife from under the counter, she hacked a fish apart on a wooden carving board. “I’ll gut ’im next time I see ’im. You tell ’im next time he see Mary, he better run.” That explained the name of the ship. She waved the knife in the air, hollering at an impatient patron holding his empty mug in her line of sight. “Keep swinging that in me face and it won’t be the only thing I chop off, Billy.”

  I slipped out the door again, shaking my head at Thomas before quickly filling him in.

  Thomas knelt beside a crate, sticking his finger in something wet and rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. I gulped down a rising sense of panic when I noticed what he’d found. “Perhaps he broke a glass and went to get a bandage.”

  Thomas didn’t dignify that with an answer. He stood, leading Toby close to the blood. “Toby, find,” he gently commanded the animal.

  I watched in amazement as the dog obediently sniffed around until he picked up the scent. His tail wagged so hard I thought he’d take off like a bird, flying through the cross streets and alleyways. Thomas let the leash go and we trotted behind
the dog while he ran down one alley, then the next.

  We’d gone only about five streets over when I saw a heap of tattered clothing propped against an abandoned building.

  A man was sitting with his legs outstretched, his chin resting on his chest, eyes closed peacefully. His hand dripped spots of blood onto his shirt. I breathed a sigh of relief. A miserable drunk with a small cut was something I could deal with. Toby stopped a few feet from the man, growling low in his throat.

  “Audrey Rose, wait.” Thomas grabbed for my coat sleeve, but I maneuvered out of reach.

  I thought it odd Thomas finally used my Christian name, but didn’t stop to ponder it or his worried tone. It was getting late in the day. Nathaniel would be expecting me for supper shortly, and I didn’t want to explain why I was only just arriving home after our lunch at the park.

  Walking right up to the indisposed man, I cleared my throat. He didn’t move. I tried again, a bit louder this time with the same results.

  Blasted sailors and their love of all things liquid. I heard Thomas saying something behind me, but ignored him, bending to tap the man’s shoulder. Honestly, I didn’t appreciate all the males in my life thinking me incapable. I’d show every one of them I could handle anything they could, possibly even better.

  I tapped him a bit more. “Excuse me, sir. Are you—”

  I’d barely touched him when his head swung back, revealing a sinister crimson smile slashed across his neck.

  It wasn’t his hand that was cut after all. Someone screamed; perhaps it was me. Though it would have made me happier if it were Thomas Blasted Cresswell.

  Thomas pulled me back, rocking me gently in his arms, and I didn’t even care that it was vastly inappropriate. “Divorce yourself from emotions, Audrey Rose. See it like an equation that needs solving. That’s all it is now. It’s going to be all right.”

  When I looked at my hands I knew that was a horrible lie.

  Everything was most certainly not okay, and this was no mathematical equation; my hands were covered in sticky blood. I frantically wiped them off on my bodice, but it was no use. Blood stained my fingers in a crimson accusation.