Capturing the Devil

by Kerri Maniscalco

  “I assure you, Lady Everleigh, I’m handsome enough to hopefully make up for less appealing qualities.”

  I closed my eyes, preparing for Grandmama to crack him in the kneecaps with her walking stick. Instead she laughed. “Good. I like you. Now, let’s see if we can shift that trouble to your father for a while.”

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” Thomas held a hand against his heart. “He’s a very tactical man. Any upset in his carefully plotted plan will cause the greatest distress. And that happens to be something my sister and I are quite skilled at.”

  “Hmmph,” was all Grandmama responded with.

  Moments passed dreadfully slow, agitating my grandmother further. I held my breath as she stamped the floor with her walking stick periodically, muttering what I imagined were curses in Urdu.

  While I couldn’t hear it from the foyer, I imagined the lamppost outside hissed at the sleek black hansom that suddenly halted before the walkway. I held my breath. A curtain twitched back, though the occupants were cloaked in shadow, hidden from view. It was strange, coming to someone’s home after midnight without there being a party or other occasion to do so. Perhaps the late hour was a method purposely used to be threatening. Thomas’s father was establishing himself as the dominant figure—one who picked rules that suited him best, regardless of how troublesome it might be for others.

  We waited, my grandmother, Thomas, the butler, and I, standing like soldiers preparing for war. Daciana and Ileana had taken over reading the journals, assisting us and also keeping themselves out of what was sure to be an unpleasant greeting.

  No one moved from the carriage. Another moment ticked by. Then another. The seconds on the clock ticked, ticked, ticked, in time with my heart.

  “What are they waiting for?” I asked, growing almost as annoyed as my grandmother.

  Thomas tapped his hands against his sides. “Father knows stretching a moment out causes anticipation. It unsettles. Any bravado fades when what we expect to happen goes slightly awry.”

  “Well”—Grandmama’s eyes narrowed—“he does not know with whom he’s playing these games. Trying to unsettle a poor old woman.” She shook her head. “What has the world come to?”

  At this I grinned. Grandmama might be older, and her arthritis brutal, but she wore those years like burnished armor. Only a fool would think her an old helpless lady. She was the woman who taught my mother to sharpen her mind as if it were a blade.

  Mercifully, the coachman hopped down from his seat, consulted with someone inside, then made his way to the front door. The butler waited until he knocked before opening it.

  “Yes?”

  The young man removed his cap, twisting it in his hands. “I’ve come to fetch Mr. Cresswell for his father.”

  Grandmama elbowed in front of the butler, scowling. “Do you believe he’s a hound, boy?”

  “Ma’am, I—O-of course not. It’s just—”

  “I will not have any guest who’s staying under my roof be treated thusly. You may come back at a more decent hour.” She nodded to her butler and he gladly slammed the door in the poor coachman’s face. “Now let’s see how your father enjoys such hospitality. The rudeness of some men is eclipsed only by their arrogance. Come”—she hit the ground with her walking stick—“let’s go back to bed. We’ll receive the duke in the morning. First thing, I’m sure.”

  Liza crawled under my covers, eyes wide as I told her each detail of Thomas’s father’s arrival. “The nerve!” she whispered. “He ought to fear your grandmother and her stick. The way she swings that thing about.” She shook her head. “How do you think it’ll go?”

  I yawned, rolling onto my side. The sun was nearly up, which meant I needed to join it. The Duke of Portland would arrive soon, no doubt.

  “He’s a Cresswell,” I said. “There’s no telling how it’ll play out.”

  Much too soon, Liza helped me into a rather complex gown for the early hour.

  Considering the laboratory work that needed to be done with Uncle, it was hopelessly impractical. It was meant to be worn after my wedding—Daciana had insisted I change for the evening dinner celebration, so it was a dreamy, whimsical thing. Much too pretty for breakfast. Though I agreed it was best to appear as regal as possible while meeting Thomas’s father for the first time. No matter the pain he caused, I wished to make a good impression.

  If only to make him regret his meddling.

  “Two interlocking braids pinned at your crown will show off your mother’s locket.” Liza lifted my hair to demonstrate the effect. “See?”

  “Beautiful,” I agreed, clutching the necklace. It comforted me, knowing Mother would be there in some fashion, offering me strength.

  Liza had just finished pinning the last piece of hair up when Thomas entered my room. He stopped short, attention immediately going to my hips. The gold lace fit snugly against my body, allowing the tulle skirts to fluff out around it. The effect was like a sunrise peeking through a wispy cloud. Judging from his expression, Thomas approved.

  I spun the engagement ring around my finger, frowning. “Oh. I-I keep forgetting to give this back.”

  I awkwardly tugged it off, but Thomas shook his head. “That belongs to you. Plus, my father ought to see it on your finger. Where it will remain, regardless of his demands.” He glanced at my cousin, who busied herself by fluffing her own skirts.

  She met his look, brows raised. “Would you care for a moment alone?”

  I went to say it was unnecessary, but Thomas responded quickly. “Please. Thank you.”

  As she closed the door behind her, I found it hard not to run into his arms. He, too, had dressed meticulously well this morning—his suit smart and fashionable.

  “Before you meet my father, there’s something I’d like you to know.” He didn’t hesitate as he crossed my room this time; confidence was back in each step. He paused before me. “If you’ll still have me, there is nothing in this world, no threat mighty enough, to keep me from you. I want my father to see us, a united front, and know we will not be broken.”

  “Thomas—”

  “I’m rejecting Miss Whitehall directly after this meeting with my father. Yesterday, I visited a barrister originally from London and discussed the possibility of forgery. I did not write that letter. I heard from him earlier and I cannot be held accountable, nor does the engagement stand in court.” Thomas took my hand in his. “When we go downstairs, I will be introducing you as my wife-to-be.”

  The Duke of Portland, Lord Richard Abbott Cresswell, reminded me of a slightly older, more cunning version of Thomas. He was intimidating not only in stature but in the intelligent gleam in his eyes as well. A flutter of unease settled under my skin. His dark hair was a shade or two lighter, but the structure of their faces was unmistakable. He eyed me as if I were a vase full of freshly cut flowers. Pleasing, but not worthy of much attention aside from a cursory glance.

  I tried not to fidget on the settee Thomas had guided us to. My father and grandmother were fanned out to either side of us, sitting regally in two high-back chairs. The duke was on the settee directly across from us. Sir Isaac, unimpressed by Lord Cresswell, curled up near Thomas’s feet. All we needed was a painter to capture this most uncomfortable joining of our families. I must have been close to hysterics, because the thought almost made me laugh.

  “Was all of this”—the duke motioned around the room—“truly necessary? I’d have thought you’d outgrown your theatrics by now. Miss Whitehall’s family certainly won’t approve of such behavior. Private matters do not require an audience. You ought to have some couth. It’s a wonder Miss Wadsworth’s family have tolerated you thus far.”

  “On the contrary.” My father set his tea down. “We find your son to be most agreeable, Your Grace. He’s been a pleasant addition to our household and has brought out the best in my daughter.”

  “As she has in me, Lord Wadsworth,” Thomas said, the picture of impeccable manners. I imagined by his use
of “lord” he was reminding his father that my family was also part of the peerage. “Which is why I’m so thrilled you traveled all this way, Father. Now you’ve had the pleasure of meeting your soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Miss Audrey Rose. Shame you’ll miss the wedding. You’re leaving for England when?”

  The duke adopted the regretful look of someone who hated that they had bad news to share, though a certain glint in his eyes belied the fact that he might enjoy delivering it. He turned that calculating gaze on me. “You’re exceptionally lovely, Miss Wadsworth, and I wish I could welcome you into our family. I truly do, but I’m afraid Thomas is already promised to another. Most unfortunate—and embarrassing—to drag your family into this, though I’m sure you understand I cannot deny the marquess’s wishes. It would be most… impractical.”

  I drew in a breath, hoping to leash myself before I sprang across the parlor and strangled the duke in front of too many witnesses. How impractical indeed to marry for love. Were my title that of a duchess or marchioness, I was sure he’d welcome me quickly enough.

  It was my grandmother—who believed leashes were meant for mutts, not people—who spoke first. “I trust you’re knowledgeable about the peerage system in India,” she said, lifting her chin in challenge. “The very one Her Imperial Majesty was so kind to implement after that messy war business between our countries.”

  Thomas clutched my hand in his. Grandmama’s tone was cordial enough, though the way she sat taller in her chair and clicked her walking stick when she said “war” hinted otherwise. Lord Cresswell blinked slowly, realizing he was approaching a trap of some sort, but unable to locate an escape. “Indeed. Her Majesty was right in knighting a few deserving families.”

  “Mm. Were you aware she also granted a baronetcy to a select few?” she asked, a catlike purr in her voice. The duke shook his head. “Ah, well. I suppose foreign affairs are quite boring to a man such as yourself. You must be extremely busy, ordering people about.”

  “When I’m not traveling the Continent, I spend most of my time in London.” He smiled wanly. “I find the city air suits me more so than the country. Sadly, there are too many pig farms for it to be pleasant in the summer.”

  “I imagine keeping company with pigs would be loathsome,” Grandmama said.

  Thomas held my hand so tightly I nearly lost feeling in my fingertips. I stole a glance at him, noticing the unencumbered glee on his face. He might have just fallen in love with my grandmother. My father called for another tea service, looking like he wished for brandy instead.

  “Well”—Lord Cresswell clapped his hands together—“this has been lovely. I’m afraid I must take my leave with my son and—”

  Thomas pulled out the letter he’d received from the barrister, passing it over to his father with smug satisfaction. “Apologies, Father, but I’m afraid you’ll be traveling back to England alone. Unless you’d prefer to stay here. I could always send this information to the House of Lords. I’m sure forgery and blackmail aren’t qualities they openly enjoy in the peerage.”

  I watched Thomas’s father closely, expecting to see an outward sign of defeat. Or fear. Thomas had practically declared him a criminal in front of my family. The scandal alone could cause quite a nasty issue for him. He calmly folded the letter back up and slid it across the table, his expression neutral.

  “Oh, Thomas. You really ought to pay better attention to detail.” He stood, straightening his suit jacket. “That letter was no forgery. You left a curious amount of signed sheets in your room prior to leaving for Romania. I simply filled out the rest according to your verbal wishes.”

  “That’s a lie! I never—”

  “You never carelessly discarded sheets of your signature in one of our homes?” he asked. “Never? Not even on that atrociously messy writing desk of yours?” He shook his head. “Honestly, Thomas. Do you know what the staff might have done with that? They could own you. You must take greater care with your things.”

  Thomas clenched his hands at his sides. “Why worry about anyone else when I have a father such as yourself? Is this all a lesson, then? If I admit you’ve proven your point will you cease the engagement with Miss Whitehall?”

  “It’s abysmal, you know. Carrying on with this charade. Don’t pretend as if you didn’t beg me to send that correspondence for you.”

  “I’m carrying on a charade?” Thomas asked, anger lacing his voice. “Yet you’re the one lying to everyone in this room.”

  “You’re a degenerate. No matter how often I try to shape you into respectability, it’s in your blood. Do try and show the Wadsworths some respect and pretend you’re a gentleman.”

  “How disappointing.” It must have taken a monumental force of will, but Thomas managed to shift his anger into something else faster than I could inhale my next breath. He held his hand up, inspecting his nails with a look of boredom etched into his features. “I’ve been called more scathing names, mostly by you. Surely you can do better than ‘degenerate’?”

  The duke inclined his head at my father. “It was nice meeting you, Lord Wadsworth. Lady Everleigh. I’m sorry it was under such dishonorable circumstances.” He shifted his attention back to me and Thomas, a flash of triumph in his gaze. “I’ll give you a few hours to say your good-byes. Miss Whitehall and I will meet you at the docks promptly at six. Good day.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  A SWIFT DEPARTURE

  GRANDMAMA’S PARLOR

  FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY

  8 FEBRUARY 1889

  “Well.” Grandmama stood, waving off Father’s offer of assistance. “That was as delightful as I’d imagined. Your father is as arrogant as you are, my boy, with none of your charm. Edmund, help me fetch my nib and ink. I’ve got correspondence that needs attention.”

  My father and grandmother went off in search of the writing supplies, leaving me and Thomas alone in the aftermath of the duke’s exit. I looked at the grandfather clock’s looming form. It was nearly ten. We had less than eight hours to find a way out of this abysmal situation, or Thomas would be forced onto that boat, heading back to London. Without me. I could no sooner imagine him leaving than I could picture solving this Ripper case alone.

  “No wonder you hated Mephistopheles,” I said, rearranging my gold and cream skirts for the fourth time. “Your father is like an older, crueler version of him. Without the fun bargains and circus costumes. He twists everything in his favor.”

  “Not exactly twists.” Thomas leaned his head against the settee. “He searches for weakness the way I inspect people’s shoes for scuff marks and deduce where the wearer has been. His powers of observation are—honestly, they’re better than mine. He’s always teaching lessons, always pointing out places I’ve failed. Moves I’ve left open. I should’ve burned those papers. I thought since he’d sent me to the Piccadilly flat, they’d be secure. He never visits that place.”

  I folded my hands in my lap to keep from fussing with my skirts anymore. “Why did you have blank papers with your signature?”

  He was quiet a moment. “I was practicing.”

  “Practicing.” I didn’t pose it as a question, though he answered it.

  “Before we left for Romania, I requested an audience with your father. I knew how much he worried over you, so I included all the reasons why studying abroad would suit you. I wanted—I was unsure of how to sign it once I’d written it out. I didn’t want to sound pompous, but I worried he might not take me seriously as a suitor in the future, should I simplify too much.” He blew his breath out. “I’d never worried about such foolish things before. I must have signed ten different pages, all near the bottom so I could lay my letter on top, getting a good feel for how it would read. In the end, I signed ‘Thomas’ on the letter I sent your father. Who knew my name could cause such trouble?”

  “It’s been causing trouble for me since we met,” I teased.

  Thomas didn’t return my smile. Instead he faced me, his expression deadly serious. He took my hand
s in his. “Let’s run away, Wadsworth. We can elope and change our names. We’ll write to your family once we’re settled. If we leave now, there’s nothing my father can do to stop us. In a few years we can return to England. By then Miss Whitehall will surely have found a better match. And if not? She will not be able to do anything since we’ll be married.”

  My immediate response was Yes! Let’s run away at once. Temptation coursed through me. It would make our lives so much simpler to run. We could stay in America, settle into a new town or city, begin a new life. Perhaps in a few years we could build our own agency, one where we assisted with forensic cases and seemingly unsolvable mysteries. I longed to say yes. I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything else. And yet…

  “I-I cannot, Thomas.” I hated the words, but they were still as true today as they had been yesterday. “Running away… it would not prevent my family from being ruined. We’d solve your issue only to guarantee mine. Can you deny that?”

  He clenched his jaw but shook his head.

  “And what about Jack the Ripper?” I asked, gently pulling my hands free. “Would we run away from solving that, too?”

  He shrugged. Thomas would set fire to the case—and the world—if it meant we could be together. Not out of malice or uncaring, but out of his love and devotion to me. It wouldn’t be easy for him, but he’d do it. No matter how much I wished otherwise, I couldn’t turn my back on it or my family—I’d be turning my back on understanding my brother and on speaking for all of the women who lost their lives. And all the others who were sure to die in the future if we didn’t stop him. Thomas might believe he could walk away from it now, but I knew he’d come to regret it. Just as I would.

  “Do you remember what we talked about, once we’d reached New York? About our work?” I asked.