Capturing the Devil

by Kerri Maniscalco

  “Of course.”

  I swore I was about to stick a scalpel into my own chest and twist it. “Then you must know our work has to come first. We cannot run from this case. Not when we’ve got so much left to do. We started it together; we must find a way to end it.” I glanced toward the window, watching snow fall in heavier flakes. “If your father won’t be reasoned with, perhaps Miss Whitehall will change her mind once she sees how important your work is to you. Maybe she doesn’t care if you hate her, but she might mind a husband who would rather dissect cadavers than touch her. Surely she will hate the whispers around London about your disinterest.”

  He was quiet for a moment, absorbing my words. I hoped he didn’t see it as a refusal of him. I’d give anything to have a simple life together. He exhaled.

  “I loathe when you’re reasonable.” He crossed his arms, though his lips quirked. “One day it’d be nice if you agreed with one of my grand romantic gestures.”

  “One day when I’ve got nothing better to do, I might.”

  He narrowed his eyes and sat forward, his new look intent. “Relationships are about compromise, are they not?”

  I was immediately wary of where he was heading with this. “Yes, but… our short-lived courtship is technically over.”

  He swatted away the technicality as if it were a fly. “Our marriage is compromised because of my father and his disinheritance threats. Let’s think this through. If I cannot find proof of his deception, I have only one option, according to my father. I am legally bound to Miss Whitehall and will be on the next boat. Which leaves”—he glanced at the clock—“in a few hours.”

  Still suspicious, I nodded. “True.”

  “Your theory that the Ripper has moved on to another city… if we had a good reason for leaving New York—one your uncle would agree to—we might slip away before my father realizes I won’t be at the docks and comes to collect me. Correct?”

  “Thomas…” Involving Uncle in this mess was the last thing I wished to do.

  “Audrey Rose,” he said urgently, “if we can deduce where he’s gone and continue our investigation there, it’ll give us a legitimate reason to delay my departure. We’d have more time to solve the Miss Whitehall issue without ruining your family’s name. Otherwise I have two options. I’ll either be disowned and hunted if I don’t get on that ship tonight, or I will be legally bound to another. Is that something you can honestly live with?”

  I closed my eyes, envisioning Thomas stepping onto a boat, greeting his father and soon-to-be wife. The image was so crisp, so lifelike, I gasped. “Your father will not simply give up and travel back to London. He’ll come looking for you. And who knows what he’ll do then?”

  Thomas took my hands in his again, his face earnest. “I will deal with his wrath. I need to know this is something you want.”

  “Of course I want you.” How he could think I wanted anything else was beyond common sense or logic. A fresh wave of panic flooded my system. “What happens if we can’t find a good lead for the Ripper? What if we don’t have any other city to investigate by the time you have to leave?”

  Thomas hugged me close. “We’ll figure something out.”

  I shook my head. “Uncle will not leave here on a whim. I know him. He’ll need convincing evidence to prove there’s a good reason to go.”

  “We have a few hours.” Thomas sounded a bit uncertain about this desperate plan for the first time. “We’ll find something. We have to.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  He was quiet a moment. “Then I’ll run. I’ll disappear so thoroughly my father will never have a chance to find me.”

  We gazed at each other, absorbing that fate. If Thomas ran away from his father and responsibility, he’d also be leaving me behind. My head swam with worry, but I also needed to do something. Time was slipping away from our grasps.

  “Let’s hurry. We’ll tear the journals apart if we need to. Or we’ll scour the notes from Miss Tabram’s case. There’s got to be a clue somewhere.” I accepted Thomas’s hand as he helped me up. We made our way into the corridor arm in arm, and I wondered if his heart was beating as furiously as mine was. “What if—”

  “None of those, Wadsworth.” Thomas patted my hand. “When. When we find the information, we’ll tell your uncle. When we’re far away from here, we’ll worry about consequences. For now, let’s focus on our immediate concern. I’ll go speak with your uncle and tell him our theory about the Ripper leaving New York. You start in on our notes or journals.”

  Daciana stood near the newel-post, clutching it tightly. Dark circles marred the skin under her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping much since the wedding went to hell. “Ileana and I would like to help. We’re quite good at finding hidden clues. It’s…” I had the impression she was choosing her next words carefully, but I was buzzing with too much worry to reflect on it. “We’ve had practice with the Order. If you’d like, we’ll handle the journals and you can take the last murder case. It’ll help if we all split the work.”

  Thomas considered this for the space of a breath. He nodded sharply, a slight gleam in his eyes. “Thank you, Daci. The journals are in Audrey Rose’s chambers. You’ll both need to hurry; there are… a lot.”

  The Cresswell siblings held each other’s gazes for a minute, silently communicating. A moment later, Daciana grabbed her skirts and dashed up the stairs, calling to her love as she rounded into the corridor.

  Thomas kissed my head and went in search of my uncle while I collected notes from both Martha Tabram’s murder and Miss Carrie Brown’s. Even though the police had arrested Frenchy Number One, I knew he was not the man responsible. This was our Ripper and he was only just starting his newest murder trail. I settled into a sitting room on the first floor with pages of notes scattered around me.

  I tried not to look at the clock, but all I could hear was the wretched tick tick tick of the second hand counting off our remaining hours. Time was not our ally. It seemed to rush more quickly than my pulse. At some point Thomas joined me in the sitting room, his own pile of notes in larger disarray than mine. Uncle had agreed to changing locations, as long as we provided a good argument for where. The Ripper case haunted him, too, and he wished to end it.

  Somehow, despite focusing all of my energy on our task and willing the clock to slow, there was only one hour remaining before Thomas needed to leave. Every muscle in my body was taut, ready to snap. He sat back and heaved a sigh.

  “I need to pack my trunks, Wadsworth. I can’t risk staying any longer, or else my father will undoubtedly be here and I’m sure he’ll have hired assistance with getting me to that boat. He won’t trust that I’ll get there on my own.”

  He pushed himself into a standing position, defeat obvious in the lines around his mouth. Everything about this felt wrong. I stood, heart racing.

  “Let’s run,” I said, a sob ripping through my words. Thomas froze for the space of one moment before he lifted me into his arms, holding me tightly to him. If Thomas and I eloped, it would help calm the scandal. As would the fact that we were in America and the rumors would be delayed. It wasn’t ideal, but it could work. It had to. Then we could still pursue Jack the Ripper leads together. “Are you certain we have enough time to pack?”

  Thomas let me go and looked at the clock, his face grim. “Barely. Pack lightly. We’ll meet in twenty minutes. I’ll have the coachman ready a carriage now.”

  He kissed my cheek and ran for the door. I didn’t linger. I made my way upstairs as fast as my leg would allow, pulse pounding in time with the seconds. I shoved dresses and brushes and unmentionables into a trunk, relieved I’d left a decent portion tucked away already. I finished with a few minutes to spare and called down for a footman to retrieve my trunk. While I waited, I scribbled a note to Liza and then one to my father. I didn’t have time to say good-bye, nor did I want to involve them in our scheme.

  I was already waiting for Thomas in the corridor downstairs when he grabbed our trunk
s, helping the footman move more quickly.

  “Are you ready?” he asked. I nodded, too afraid to say anything more. I couldn’t believe we were running away. Wrong and right mingled together until I was no longer certain which emotion was the dominant one. He seemed to feel the same. He jerked his chin in an impression of a nod, then indicated the back exit. “Let’s hurry. We don’t want—”

  “Wait!”

  Daciana and Ileana raced down the stairs, nearly tripping in their haste to reach us.

  “We’ve found it!” Daciana said, panting. “We know where he’s heading.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  SATAN’S COMPANIONS

  GRANDMAMA’S MAIN PARLOR

  FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY

  8 FEBRUARY 1889

  “Who?” Thomas asked, setting our trunks down. “Father? I believe even the Vatican knows where Father’s heading. He’s made it abundantly clear.”

  “Jack the Ripper.” Ileana seemed slightly more reserved in her judgment. “We’re almost certain,” she amended. “The clues seem to point to a certain city. Here.”

  She handed me one of Nathaniel’s journals, open to a page with yet another quote. I read it, immediately recognizing it as another passage from Frankenstein. My shoulders slumped as I read aloud.

  “‘I beheld a stream of fire issue from an old and beautiful oak which stood about twenty yards from our house; and so soon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak had disappeared, and nothing remained but a blasted stump. When we visited it the next morning, we found the tree shattered in a singular manner. It was not splintered by the shock, but entirely reduced to thin ribbons of wood. I never beheld anything so utterly destroyed.’”

  I gave the journal to Thomas. He raised a brow. “You’ve divined a location based on this?” His tone was skeptical. “Perhaps you ought to pursue fortune-telling. I know just the carnival in need of those services. Maybe you’ll convince the world that vampires, witches, and demons do roam the earth.”

  Ileana and Daciana shared a long look, one that spoke of shared secrets. I narrowed my eyes. What did they know of vampires and other legends that made them uncomfortable? They hadn’t seemed scared of folklore back in Romania. Finally, Daciana turned our way, handing another journal over. “Don’t be too impressed with us yet. Here’s this.”

  “‘Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.’” Another quote from our favorite gothic novel. The underlined bits didn’t seem worth noting before, and, frankly, I wasn’t as excited as Daciana and Ileana appeared to be. If anything, the heavy weight of defeat settled like a royal mantle around my shoulders.

  I chose my next words carefully. “This is… interesting, but I’m afraid my brother was rather enthralled with this novel. He often quoted it.”

  “At first, we also feared it was nothing, but look closer,” Daciana urged, handing over another journal. “Read this next.”

  I was enchanted by the appearance of the hut; here the snow and rain could not penetrate; the ground was dry; and it presented to me then as exquisite and divine a retreat as Pandemonium appeared to the demons of hell after their sufferings in the lake of fire… It was noon when I awoke, and allured by the warmth of the sun, which shone brightly on the white ground, I determined to recommence my travels.

  I glanced up at Daciana’s hopeful expression, wishing I could muster the same level of enthusiasm. I didn’t want to be rude, but we were wasting the last of our moments on nonsense. Thomas and I needed to sneak away before it was too late. “Fire and traveling through snow… I’m afraid I don’t see the connection.”

  Daciana turned to her brother. “And you?”

  “Demons holidaying in a city of fire?” he asked, sounding annoyed. “Isn’t that what Hell is? Or perhaps it’s a quaint description of their summer home.”

  She grabbed the journal back, then motioned to Ileana to set them down in the order in which we’d read them. Like a professor teaching unruly students, she marched over to them, one by one, pointing out the significance. “Look at the dates of each. Now, when read in order, the underlined passages refer to people traveling to a place. Where was there a great fire in this country? What also has ‘white’ as a nickname now?”

  “A great fire? How should I—” Understanding dawned. I’d read an article in the paper this week about Olmsted’s contribution to the fairgrounds in Illinois. How magnificent and enchanting they were. The White City. The Great Fire. Thomas and I exchanged our first hopeful look in days. I shifted my attention back to Daciana, finally sharing her and Ileana’s excitement. “Chicago. The Ripper is heading to the World’s Columbian Exposition.”

  Of course. It had been the talk of the world for months—a place where scientific invention and industry could shine and draw hundreds of thousands of visitors. There would be so many people wandering around, it would be—

  A horrible realization sank in, the thrill extinguishing as quickly as it had come. Whoever brutalized and stalked the gaslit streets of London was about to unleash more terror in a new city. He was done with New York for now. His sights were set on an even bigger stage. One where victims could be snatched away easily. The World’s Fair would prove a most intriguing place for murder and mayhem.

  With a heavy heart, I headed for the door. “I’ll tell Uncle to purchase tickets for Chicago.”

  Thomas nodded. “Hurry. We don’t want to run into my father and Miss Whitehall. Though it would be rather satisfying to watch them from the window of our departing train.”

  “No. Don’t even think such foolish nonsense.” Daciana’s tone brooked no arguments. “I will go to the ship and tell Father you’re right behind me. It’ll give you some time to flee without him coming straightaway. You two need to be on the next train to Chicago or you won’t be leaving New York of your own free will. And you cannot run into Father or he will hunt you down and drag you back.”

  “Bring this with you.” Grandmama emerged from her parlor and nodded to the butler. He darted forward and handed Daciana a telegram. “It’s for your father.”

  Thomas knitted his brows together, shock registering in his features when he noted the sender. He had much to learn about my grandmother. I was glad he’d already set our trunks down or he might have dropped them on his feet. “Is that from… the queen?”

  “Of course it is.” Grandmama stamped her walking stick. “Her Imperial Majesty was quite fond of my husband. Especially after he’d made the introduction to my family.” She turned her rich brown eyes on me, as cunning as always. “You haven’t told him, have you?”

  I felt Thomas’s attention on me, carefully watching each emotion I was trying to control, and contemplated hiding under my skirts. He was far too observant to miss anything. “I didn’t see any reason I ought to share your personal affairs, Grandmama.”

  She harrumphed. “My father was granted a title of raja. He lent money to Englishmen of the East India Company. We had much influence over commerce.” She shook her head. “My granddaughter will inherit all my property once I’m gone, boy. She may not hold the title of marchioness, but her dowry could purchase your father’s precious title a thousand times over. I simply requested Her Majesty’s blessing on your engagement. To my granddaughter.”

  “And?” I prompted, knowing there was more. There always was with Grandmama.

  “I might have suggested a new wing dedicated to the queen would be nice at Oxford. Victoria can’t resist such things. Now, off with you”—she motioned for us to leave, eyes sparkling with triumph—“I need some peace in this house.”

  Ignoring her wishes, I kissed each of her cheeks. “Thank you, Grandmama.”

  Thomas and I were not free to marry yet, but she’d done all that she could to assist our endeavor. Now it was up to Thomas’s father and the queen. I didn’t have much faith in either of them, but it was certainly the best we could hope for, given the circumstances. Now we’d simply need to wait and see. But we’
d wait and see from an undisclosed location, hopefully too far for the duke to find us.

  “Be brave.” Grandmama cupped my cheek lovingly. “Now, go, save the world and that devilish prince of yours.”

  These violent delights have violent ends

  And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

  Which as they kiss consume.

  —ROMEO AND JULIET, ACT 2, SCENE 6

  WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

  Map of Chicago, circa 1900

  TWENTY-NINE

  THE SECOND CITY

  THE CENTRAL DEPOT

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  10 FEBRUARY 1889

  I’d read all sorts of unpleasant things in the newspapers about Chicago—how it smelled of slaughtered hog, smoke, and excrement. Some said the streets ran red with blood and black with ash. And it wasn’t at all uncommon to come across a severed head or limb on the tracks—a daily danger to those who stood too near the rail cars. It was a city to be feared and avoided.

  While some of those things were true, I found Chicago rather enchanting despite the tang of smoke in the air. There was an essence of grit mixed with hope that slipped into a person and made them believe they, too, might become whoever they wished to be. Anything was possible. Here was a city that had experienced destruction—it had burned to ash and had risen much like the mythological phoenix. It seemed to toss its arms wide, both challenging and welcoming. Come forth and enter if you dare. Come and live freely.

  Welcome to Chicago.

  I stood outside the train station, eyes wide, taking in buildings that reached toward the sky. They gleamed like blades in the setting sun. Chicago. I swore the city inhaled and exhaled in time to the trains chugging into and out of it. It was like a mechanical nervous system, the lines of tracks a constant movement of life. Wind whipped playfully at my hair despite it being an icy breeze that set my teeth chattering. Young women hurried along the streets, holding small leather cases, dressed smartly in long dark skirts. It hit me at once. They were alone. I blinked, completely and utterly taken with the notion of women traveling, without a chaperone, to work. I leaned on my cane, gaping. Surely this had to be a dream.