Stalking Jack the Ripper

by Kerri Maniscalco

  A flash of pain crossed his face, rendering me almost sorry for having said it. Then I recalled he was responsible for holding Uncle in an asylum lovingly referred to as Bedlam—refusing him any visitors—and any trace of an apology fizzled away on my tongue. I lifted my chin, commanding myself to remain impassive.

  From the corner of my eye, I watched Nathaniel fidget with his cuffs. He was getting more upset by the second, and that was something I did care about. His evening shouldn’t be ruined by this intruder. He looked at me, a silent question in his gaze, and I nodded. Might as well get this over with.

  “After you, Sister.” Nathaniel stood, then motioned for me to do the same.

  Gathering my skirts in my fists, I moved into the aisle, not waiting to see if Blackburn was following. Once we made it to the main room, Blackburn took my elbow, guiding Nathaniel and me into a smaller area sectioned off by elaborately painted wall screens, serving as the menagerie.

  When we were no longer working our way through the crowd, I yanked myself free from his grasp, then crossed both arms over my chest. “I’m capable of walking from one room to the next on my own, Superintendent.”

  His brows raised a fraction. I didn’t care if I was being petty. I didn’t care what he thought about me, and I certainly didn’t care he was fighting a smile that very instant. I scowled again, wishing on every last saint he’d be struck down for being so blastedly annoying. He coughed into his fist, then glanced at the oddities surrounding us, only succeeding in aggravating me more.

  “Planning on getting to the point of your rude interruption soon? Or am I supposed to be swooning and batting my lashes at my uncle’s captor and my father’s enabler? If that’s the case, I’m afraid you’ll be waiting until your bones turn to dust.” I smiled. “Or, at the very least, until you perish and I’m tasked with dissecting your body to check for a heart.”

  “Audrey Rose, please,” Nathaniel whispered, looking horrified. “Don’t aggravate the person responsible for holding Uncle under arrest and keeping Father’s secret.”

  “It’s quite all right.” Blackburn nodded toward Nathaniel. “She’s got every right to be upset.”

  Blackburn glanced around, making sure the three of us were alone, then drew in a deep breath. An uncomfortable feeling niggled the edge of my brain.

  “Don’t.” I shook my head, begging him to keep whatever toxic words he was about to say to himself. “I don’t want to hear anything you’ve come to say. I’ve got more than enough to worry about as it stands.”

  “Audrey Rose.” My brother reached for me. “You mustn’t—”

  “I needn’t know a single thing more.” I cut my brother’s protest off. “Not tonight.”

  It was childish and I knew Blackburn wouldn’t travel all this way only to leave without delivering the message. Still, I hoped he’d spare me an ounce of grief.

  His eyes filled with compassion, which was so much worse than his pity.

  “I thought it fair to warn you, Miss Wadsworth,” he said. “There haven’t been any more murders since your uncle’s been in the asylum. Some people are keen to find him guilty. They want this whole mess to be done with.”

  He watched my reaction closely, but I was numb; incapable of responding. It was as if I’d left my body and was watching the conversation take place. Blackburn stared at his feet. “He’s tentatively scheduled to hang on the thirtieth of September.”

  “That’s barely five nights from now!” Nathaniel said, ripping me from my shadowy haze. “How can they possibly hold a trial and execution so quickly?”

  “Hardly seems legal,” I said, searching my brother’s face for help.

  “That’s because it isn’t.”

  Blackburn took another deep breath. “Your brother’s correct. There will be a trial but it’ll be far from fair. They’ll find your uncle guilty and hang him before the ink on his execution order is dry. The public is out for blood, members of Parliament have made proclamations… your uncle’s the perfect target.” Blackburn ticked off each of Uncle’s offenses. “He was in possession of bloodstained gears we found near the bodies. Someone of his appearance was seen with the last victim. He has no alibi for either murder. Worst of all, he possesses the skill it took to extract organs.”

  “For goodness’ sake, is that all?” I waved a hand in the air. “I possess those very skills. Perhaps I’m the murderer.”

  I paced in the sectioned-off room, my hands clenching at my sides. I felt like a wild animal, forced to dance around for people’s amusement, and loathed it. Maybe I’d free every last baboon, horse, and zebra in this circus before leaving this evening. Jumbo, too, while I was at it. Nothing should suffer so incredibly at the hands of another.

  I turned my attention back on Blackburn. “Can’t you stop this madness? Innocent people cannot be hanged, it’s grossly unjust. Surely this can’t be the end.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, avoiding my eyes as if he’d contract some wretched disease simply from looking upon me. Maybe he could. Hatred was drenching my entire being with its oily residue.

  “They’ve only just closed out the inquest of our former servant,” I said, mostly to Nathaniel. “There’s got to be some way of repealing this… abomination to our ruling system. They’ll have to finish the inquest of Miss Annie Chapman, at least. Shouldn’t that offer a bit more time?”

  Nathaniel bit his lip, seeming uncertain. “I’m still learning the intricacies of the law. I’ll consult my mentor.” I stared at him, willing him to make everything better. My brother held his hands up. “I’ll call on him now, see if I can get this all sorted out. Try not to worry, Sister. I swear I’ll do everything I can to save Uncle. You believe me?”

  I nodded. It was all I could do, but it satisfied my brother enough. He turned his attention on the superintendent, his voice cold. “Will you see my sister home? I assume you’ll give her a decent police escort, especially after dropping all this into our laps.”

  It was useless telling Nathaniel I could hire my own carriage home or look for Aunt Amelia and Liza and travel with them, so I kept my mouth shut while he made arrangements with the superintendent.

  When my brother was gone, Blackburn cocked his head, a movement showing a new calculating side I hadn’t noticed before but knew existed. “Did you say Miss Mary Ann Nichols was your former servant, Miss Wadsworth?”

  Excitement radiated from him. I didn’t trust him or his new mood, and promptly pressed my lips together. Last thing I wanted was to give Scotland Yard another reason to point their spindly fingers at my family.

  Undeterred, he stepped closer, filling the space with his enormous presence, forcing me to meet his inquiring gaze. I swallowed a coil of fear away.

  There was something dangerous about him, though it could simply be because he held Uncle’s life in his hands.

  “You do realize I may be the only person in London other than your family who cares whether or not your uncle lives. Won’t you help me solve this case?” Blackburn asked. “Miss Wadsworth… I’m entrusting you to help free your uncle and apprehend the murderer.”

  He ran a hand through his fair hair, ruffling his already unruly locks. I wanted to help Uncle more than anything; I simply wanted to do it on my own, without involving the person who’d arrested him to begin with. Though it was flattering he respected my intelligence and amateur sleuthing enough to involve me at all.

  When I still hadn’t uttered a word, he grabbed my elbow, spinning me about. “If you don’t want to assist me, let’s see someone you do want to help.”

  “If you don’t let go of me this instant,” I said between clenched teeth, “I’ll be forced to employ a terrible fighting tactic my brother taught me upon your manhood.”

  Wrestling against his grip, I realized too late he’d eased off because he was smiling. I huffed, tugging my arm completely away. Threats weren’t meant to be amusing. I imagine he wouldn’t be grinning if I’d actually committed my defense technique, and I wished I’
d just done it. “Where is it you think I’m following you to?”

  “Bedlam, Miss Wadsworth.”

  SEVENTEEN

  HEART OF THE BEAST

  BETHLEM ROYAL HOSPITAL,

  LONDON

  25 SEPTEMBER 1888

  Rumors of Bedlam being haunted by monsters were true.

  At least, they felt real enough as we moved swiftly down cold stone corridors. I held fast to my silky skirts, keeping them as close to my body as I could while walking by cells of criminals and the insane.

  Arms stuck out like tree branches, searching for things to root themselves to. Or perhaps they were searching for a way out of this dank hell. Blackburn did not hold on to me or offer his arm, trusting I could fend for myself in this abysmal place.

  Cries of tortured souls went up all around us, but we pressed on. The stench of unwashed bodies and chamber pots in desperate need of emptying was enough to turn my stomach inside out. The farther we sank into the asylum, the fouler the air became, until I was terrified of adding to the sickness surrounding us.

  “This way,” Blackburn said, leading us down another bleak corridor.

  My mind spun with uncontrollable thoughts. One of the most terrifying being how to explain my whereabouts to my aunt should Nathaniel return home before I did.

  “It’s a bit farther,” Blackburn said over his shoulder, his footsteps clapping against the flooring as if a giant bell were tolling the hour during an otherwise silent night. “Criminals are kept in the heart of the beast.”

  “How charming.” Chills struggled to unleash their demonic fury across my arms and back. I didn’t enjoy thinking of this place as a living, breathing organism, one containing anything akin to a heart.

  Hearts usually conveyed compassion, and this place had long since lost that quality. The only beat keeping it going were wails of the damned. I didn’t know how Blackburn could stand frequenting a place like this without it tarnishing his own soul.

  Inmates sobbed to themselves, speaking in made-up languages and screeching like animals in a menagerie. How my uncle was surviving this mess, I wasn’t sure, but he was a strong-minded man. If anyone could be thrown in Bedlam and come out sturdier, it was Uncle Jonathan. He probably found a way of studying different mold specimens growing in patches along the dank walls and floor.

  The thought made me smile in the face of fear. That’s precisely what Uncle would do in this situation. He’d turn it into a giant experiment to pass the time, never realizing he was actually set inside against his will. I’d probably have to coax him to leave once the time came for it.

  He’d say, “Arrested? Are you sure? Perhaps I might spend another day going over my findings first.”

  Then I’d tell him why that wasn’t a good idea, and he’d throw a fit. Once he was invested in an experiment, nothing else mattered.

  We walked as quickly as we dared, but I still spied broken men pacing in their cages, looking as feral as panthers. These men were different from the insane. There was a certain air of calculation in their fixed gazes. I didn’t want to think of what they could do to me if they were to escape, and sped up until I was practically tripping on Blackburn’s heels.

  I focused on other things to occupy my mind. I was grateful Nathaniel had departed to speak with barristers prior to our excursion here. I hoped he was already finding ways of repealing Uncle’s arrest. He’d put his all into the finest details of the law, never surrendering until he found success.

  Finally, we stopped in front of a cell that had only a few rusted bars set into solid stone near the top. Enough to pass food and water trays in, I assumed.

  Blackburn removed the ring of keys from his belt—which were handed off from a watchman when we signed in—and motioned for me to stand back. He was a fool if he thought I’d be anywhere but right there when he unlocked the door. I couldn’t wait to see Uncle.

  Superintendent Blackburn nodded as if he’d already predicted my response. “Suit yourself, then.”

  With a creak and a groan that would wake things better off left sleeping, the cell swung open in a mocking gesture of welcome. Blackburn stepped back, allowing me to cross the threshold first. What a kind gentleman he was.

  A horrid noise emanating from the shadows raised gooseflesh along my arms. Suppressing a flutter of panic, I marched into the lair of a scientist, where the haunting giggles of the newly insane greeted me, freezing at what I saw.

  “What in the…” I hardly recognized the creature my uncle had become.

  Crouching in the corner of his little stone cell, he rocked back and forth while unearthly laughter poured from cracked lips. An upturned jug of water sat beside him, having run dry a long time ago from the look of it.

  “What has happened to him?” I grabbed on to the nearest bar, steadying myself against shock. How did he unravel so quickly? Surely he couldn’t have lost that much of his mind in just a few short weeks.

  Something was very wrong. Blackburn said nothing.

  When Uncle wasn’t cackling, he mumbled something too low for me to hear. Someone had only given him a thin shift to wear, and it was stained brown and yellow. What little food he’d been given had mostly ended up on his clothing.

  “How anyone can treat a person this way is beyond my comprehension,” I snarled. “This is… this is beyond unacceptable, Mr. Blackburn.”

  Satan himself must lord over these lost souls. I didn’t know what could be worse than Hell, or this place, but wished a thousand terrible deaths on the blackguards responsible for such cruelty. These were people and they deserved to be treated as such.

  Grabbing a threadbare blanket from the floor, I shook it out, allowing dust motes to swirl in the pale light streaming in from the bars on the door. The cell was in the supposed heart of this place, yet there was a chill here that hadn’t been present in the humid corridor. I approached my uncle slowly, not wanting to startle him, but desperately curious to learn what he was repeatedly whispering.

  The closer I got, the thicker the odor clung to molecules in the air. It smelled as though he hadn’t bathed in the last two weeks and was using the floor to relieve himself. I fought a bout of rising nausea. His blond mustache was long and unkempt, meeting new facial hair growth in haggard tangles. There was something strange about his eyes, apart from their unfocused, mad glaze. He looked terrified.

  After draping the blanket around his shoulders, I knelt down, inspecting him closer. That’s when I noticed the upturned bowl of slop and strange consistency of it. My blood turned icy as the Thames in winter, freezing the rivers and tributaries of my veins in sickening waves. I’d kill whoever did this. I would slay the miserable beast so violently, I’d make our Whitechapel murderer seem like a harmless kitten playing with a ball of intestinal string once I was through with them.

  “He’s been drugged.” I glared at Blackburn as if he had a personal hand in the matter. Which, since he’d arrested him, it could be argued he had.

  He slowly crossed the room and crouched beside me, avoiding my accusing stare. It wasn’t uncommon for the so-called insane to be given tonics to calm their minds, but my uncle was neither insane nor in need of such medication.

  “God only knows what this powder is capable of,” I said. “Can’t you at least protect him while he’s in here? What good are you, or do you simply excel at being terrible?”

  Blackburn flushed. “In a place like this, intoxicants are often the only way of keeping the peace…” His voice trailed off as I glared at him. “It’s inexcusable, Miss Wadsworth. I assure you, it wasn’t done with malice. Most everyone here is dosed with… experimental serums.”

  “Wonderful. I feel so much better.” I tugged a ribbon from my hair, then tore a length of fabric from the bottom of my skirts and scooped some of the goo into my makeshift cloth bundle before tying it. I’d bring it back to Uncle’s laboratory and test it for poisons or lethal toxins. I didn’t trust anyone with telling me the truth. It might be a harmless tonic given to “most everyone
” or it might be something worse.

  Anyone who could administer something like this to a healthy man was too foul and tainted to be trustworthy. Blackburn fell into that same category.

  Sitting back on my heels, I peered into my uncle’s face. “Uncle Jonathan, it’s me, Audrey Rose. Can you hear me?”

  Uncle was awake but might as well have been sleeping with his eyes open. He didn’t see me or anyone else in the room, only whatever images were playing in his own mind. I waved my hand in front of his face but he didn’t so much as blink.

  His lips moved, and I could just make out what he’d been repeating since we first stepped into his cell. He was saying his full name, Jonathan Nathaniel Wadsworth, as if it were the answer to all the mysteries of the universe.

  Nothing useful then.

  I gently shook him, ignoring the wave of disappointment crashing around me.

  “Please, Uncle. Please look at me. Say something. Anything.”

  I paused, waiting for some sign he’d heard me, but he only chanted his name and giggled, rocking back and forth so hard it was aggressive.

  My eyes pleaded with him to look at me, to respond, but nothing broke the trance he was in. Tears of frustration welled up. How dare they do this to my uncle. My brave, brilliant uncle. I clutched his shoulders, shaking him harder, not caring how abysmal I must look to Blackburn. I was a terrible creature. I was selfish and scared and didn’t care who knew it.

  I needed my uncle. I needed him to help me exonerate him, so we could stop a madman from a murder spree that surely wasn’t over yet.