As we followed members of the Columbian Guard deeper underground, we passed rooms filled with props and excess items for the fair. A riot of flowers was in one, buckets of creamy white paint and an odd-looking spray contraption in another. Electrical devices and popped-corn machines and things to delight—all polished and ready to go. There were boxes of Cracker Jack, which everyone had been eating the last time we were here. A scent of caramel mixed with salt followed us as we wound down and through another corridor.
Even being in the bowels of the grand city above, I felt awed by the majesty of it all. Then there was the secret chamber we were headed to. The one not mentioned in any pamphlet or newspaper. Beneath the beating heart of the Court of Honor was a command station larger than an army’s. Within its well-fortified walls, there was a morgue.
The lead guard paused outside a door with no name etched onto it. Unlike the others, it was closed, the lights out within. I knew where we were before he set his key in the lock and ushered us into the cool space. He flicked a light on, the slight buzz the only sound in the room. I scrunched my nose at the sharp scent. It smelled of bleach. My eyes watered and my throat burned. I wondered if they’d spilled a ten-liter jug or if they’d purposely used so much.
Whatever their reasoning, it was strange. Almost as if they were trying to scrub any stains from the glistening streets, even this far below.
Thomas blinked but, other than that, showed no discomfort. He was alert, his attention sweeping the room from ceiling to floor to the large drawers set into the far wall. The ones that held bodies, no doubt. I moved my own focus around, absorbing as much as I could of the sterile space. Everything here was white as well. The tiles that extended from the floor to the top of the walls. Everything was built of cool, smooth stone except for the ceiling.
A hose mounted on one wall featured an ornate crank, the only bit of beauty in an otherwise blank canvas. I caught a glimpse of familiar medical tools and aprons peeking out from an open closet door. Three silver tables were evenly spaced, the holes on top of them indicating they were meant for postmortems. A silver pail sat positioned under each and I fought my revulsion as I pieced together its purpose. I didn’t see any sawdust, and the stench of bleach made sense. Bodily fluids would funnel into the holes and get collected in the pails.
The guard who’d unlocked the door cleared his throat. “Dr. Rosen will be here shortly to answer your questions.”
With that, he stepped back toward the door, nodding to someone on the other side. Thomas and I both flinched as he shut the door behind him, locking it with a click that seemed to thrum in my chest.
I slowly inhaled and exhaled, ignoring the burning in my throat. I hated cages. “Why would they lock us in here?”
Thomas was quiet a moment, considering. Finally, he said, “I wonder if it’s not us they’re concerned with keeping in, but keeping others out.”
“Do you believe our murderer is employed by the fair?”
Thomas shrugged. “Until we examine the body, we won’t know if it’s the same person who’s killed in New York and London. Should we open the drawer and see what we find?”
A sense of calm radiated around me as I moved toward the drawers. My cane clicked loudly in the small room, though my pulse no longer raced in time with it. I paused at the only drawer with a label: Miss Trudy Jasper. The missing woman who’d worked for Mephistopheles.
I set my cane down and pulled the drawer handle. At first it wouldn’t budge; then Thomas came over and we both managed to open it with our combined effort.
A marble-white body greeted us. Her hair was a lovely shade of auburn, reminding me a bit of flames. Her eyes were closed, though I imagined them being a wondrous hazel for some reason. No one had bothered covering her, and her wounds were immediately visible.
I was grateful I’d set my cane down or else I’d have knocked it over as I gripped the edge of the floating metal drawer holding her up. I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to stop the images I was seeing. Memories ran wild.
Suddenly, I was no longer standing in this strange crypt below the White City. I was back in London, in a foggy alleyway. The moon hung suspiciously low in the sky—yellow like a cat’s eye, watching the chaotic world below as if it were a mouse to toy with.
“Audrey Rose?”
Thomas’s voice was strained, like I imagined his expression to be. I shook my head, not quite ready to answer him. I wasn’t weak. I was overcome with the truth that sat before me. There was no doubt left in my mind that my brother’s confession had been true. Nathaniel wasn’t Jack the Ripper. I knew that because this woman’s wounds were almost exactly like Miss Eddowes’s. The second, unfortunate victim of the infamous double event. Even a cursory glance told me that much. I was certain a detailed inspection would prove my theory correct.
I wrenched my eyes open. I would not let him win. Jack the Ripper had left this body for us, knowing our tenuous connection to her—this was a proclamation and a dare. He felt untouchable and he mocked us. I slowly straightened up, giving Thomas a tight smile as I walked around the body, collecting each detail of her vicious demise.
A small bruise on her left hand—a detail that hadn’t been known about Catherine Eddowes until her body had been washed. Part of Trudy’s right ear had been cut away, again, just as Catherine Eddowes’s had been. The familiar black stitching of the postmortem Y incision seemed to sag along with her skin over her abdomen. I’d wager my soul her kidney was missing, along with at least a foot or two of her intestines.
I swallowed hard. It was as if I was looking upon the body of Miss Eddowes all over again. I finally dragged my gaze up to her throat. An angry slash had ended her life. Her carotid had been cut, indicating she’d have bled out quickly. Other injuries were inflicted after death.
I glanced up, noticing that Thomas had already been watching me carefully. I wondered if he worried that this was becoming too much. If he felt the need to shelter me from the storm he thought was raging within. He had no way of knowing I was not afraid.
Blood pounded furiously in my veins. Months of devastation slithered into my bones, wrapping around my senses until all I saw was red. Anger. It was a beast that couldn’t be tamed.
I’d believed beyond a doubt that my brother had been the devil. I’d ached at his death but felt justice had been served. I’d found peace, believing he could never harm another. No matter how much that thought had ripped my heart out and tortured me. I had spent months warring with my own sense of right and wrong, believing the world ought to know he was the monster who’d stalked Whitechapel streets and that they were safe from him forever.
I’d held my tongue, worried my father would not withstand the pain of such a public scandal. He’d been so fragile then. And selfishly, a part of me wanted to protect Nathaniel from hatred and scorn, even in death. I knew him only as my devoted brother, after all. I loved him.
I slid my gaze back to the body on the table. Trudy, like the women who’d come before her, did not deserve to die.
Thomas hadn’t taken his attention from me, his concern obvious. I knew he recognized that Trudy’s wounds were done by the Ripper as easily as I had. Before I could assure him of my composure, the lock slid free. A man with a crisp apron walked in. If he was surprised by our youth, he didn’t let it show. This must be Dr. Rosen, then, an old pupil of Uncle’s.
“Mr. Cresswell and Miss Wadsworth, I presume?” he asked. We nodded and he seemed to be going through the motions of formality. He glanced at the body, his expression unchanged. “I’m Dr. Rosen. Dr. Wadsworth sent a telegram this morning.”
I nodded. “He sends his apologies, but he was unable to accompany us.”
“Indeed. I see you’ve already helped yourself to the body.” Dr. Rosen indicated the table.
There was no reproach in his tone, only cool fact sharing. If anything, he seemed pleased to not prolong our visit. He reminded me of Uncle in that sense. I had a feeling he got along better with
the dead. He walked over to the closet with the supplies and emerged with a piece of torn paper. Everything seemed to move through quicksand after that. I watched as his arm slowly extended, the paper changing colors in the light as he lifted it up. Then I realized it wasn’t shifting colors at all—what I was seeing were bloodstains.
Thomas was the only thing not suspended in quicksand; he moved seemingly with inhuman speed around the table, snatching the letter before the doctor handed it to me. I was grateful for his ability to read me. I needed a moment to collect myself. The body, the note—it brought about a strange ringing in my ears. Thankfully, it lasted only a few seconds, hardly noticeable to anyone but my very observant former fiancé.
He waited until I’d gathered up my emotions in my fist, then stood beside me so we could read the note together. The script was familiar—it had haunted my dreams on more than one occasion. It was not my brother’s handwriting. It was Jack the Ripper’s.
“These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume.” A rose by any other name does not deserve to live. Why do you think that is?
I stared mutely at the note. I’d expected poor grammar and another reference to Milton. That seemed to be Jack’s favorite back in London. I couldn’t decide if I was more disturbed by the fact that he was quoting Romeo and Juliet or that he’d written it in blood. What on earth was he suggesting now? I glanced up at Thomas, but he’d gone deathly pale. In fact, I could have sworn Miss Jasper’s corpse had more color, even drained of its fluids.
Unaware of or unconcerned with the reaction the letter had brought about, Dr. Rosen slid the mortuary drawer closed, removing the mutilated corpse from our sight. “The note was tucked into her bodice. We found it only after she’d been brought here.” He seemed to deliberate on his next words. “It had actually been nailed to her body along with a rose.”
Thomas had been otherwise distracted by the note, no doubt reliving the taunts sent to the police last autumn. At this, his attention snapped up.
“Where?” His clipped tone was neither polite nor merely inquisitive. I’d never heard him demand anything before. He could be arrogant and slightly obnoxious during an investigation, yes, but there was always a lightness to it. There was no such levity in his voice now. He sounded exactly like the dark prince he was. “Describe precisely where it was on her person.”
Dr. Rosen faced us, crossing his arms against his chest. “It was nailed to her heart.” He glanced from Thomas to me, coming to some other decision. “It’s not going to be mentioned in the papers. You are here as a favor I owe Dr. Wadsworth. Do not make me regret my generosity.” He nodded to one of the guards who was peering in through a window cut high in the door. “Speaking of, I’ve heard there’s another body en route to your residence as we speak. A young woman who worked here, actually. Since she wasn’t found on the fairgrounds, they didn’t wish for me to examine her. You might want to hurry along. I’m sure Dr. Wadsworth will be waiting.”
I thanked Dr. Rosen for allowing us in to see the body, though Thomas hadn’t uttered a single word after demanding the information about the note. He kept to himself as we followed members of the guard back through the corridors, only reacting when I seemed to slip over the smooth floor in my haste to get out of the underground metropolis. He kept his hand at the small of my back, as if simultaneously assisting me and reassuring himself I was still there. I doubted he was aware he was even doing it. His mind seemed a hundred miles away.
I waited until we were tucked into the carriage before inquiring into his black mood. He sat across from me on a bench seat and turned dark eyes on me. I shivered.
“What’s gotten into you?” I asked. I was disturbed that our doubts had been eradicated about Jack the Ripper, but there was something else happening with him.
He’d shifted back into that strange Thomas. The one who didn’t move, who seemed to be frozen on the outside while a molten core seethed within. It took a moment, but he finally released the tension he’d been holding. He stretched his legs out in the carriage, but it still wasn’t entirely large enough for him to be comfortable. He was careful to avoid hitting my leg, though I wasn’t sure if it was out of worry over hurting me or his desire to not touch me. Either way, I recognized it for what it was: a show of nonchalance he didn’t feel.
“Thomas?” I asked again. “Tell me.”
He leaned forward and I instinctually met him halfway. Instead of whispering in my ear, he rapped the window of our carriage, grabbing the attention of our driver.
“Sir?” the driver called.
“North Side. Near the theater district. I’ll show you where when we’re close.”
“Yes, sir. North Side it is.”
Thomas settled back against his seat, watching me absorb our change of destination.
“Shouldn’t we head straight to Uncle?” I tried not to let trepidation slip into my tone. “We really shouldn’t dally. You know how he gets when there’s a body to inspect.”
Something I’d never seen directed at me flashed in Thomas’s features before he reined himself back in. Anger. A leash I hadn’t realized he’d been wearing slipped, if only for a fraction of a breath. Thomas was furious.
“I’m sure he’ll understand. Especially when we inform him there’s no longer any doubt Jack the Ripper has returned. Nor will he mind when he discovers our murderer has set his sights on someone else. Likely, he’s been coveting her from the start.”
His jaw clenched so hard I worried he might chip a tooth. I reached for him, trying to soothe his black mood. “Thomas…”
“A rose was nailed to her heart, Wadsworth.” He seemed to be on the verge of combustion. I realized his anger was not directed at me. He was ready to attack the man responsible for all these deaths. I sat back and pulled my overcoat close. I wouldn’t want to encounter this Thomas in a darkened alley. This Thomas seemed utterly lethal and unpredictable. “Do you find it a bit odd? That he’d leave such a dramatic gift?”
“A gift?”
“Yes. A gift. He’s sent you his own morbid bouquet. Presented with a corpse you would never mistake for anyone’s work but his own.”
Thomas released a breath. The action brought some of his self-control back. I knew he would never hurt me, but it was still jarring to witness him transform into someone so deadly. It all crashed into clarity for me—Thomas would no longer simply slip inside the mind-set of a murderer, should anything happen to me. He’d become one. He would destroy those who hurt me, and he’d feel nothing in the process of his methodical slaughter. I wanted to chide him for that, but knew I’d feel the same way should anyone hurt him. I’d disembowel the world and bathe in its blood if someone murdered him.
We were a twisted pair indeed.
“Audrey Rose. Who has a Shakespeare production happening? Who knew where that body was being kept?”
“Thomas,” I started slowly, trying to shove my own suspicions away again, “we know he didn’t commit the murders on the Etruria.”
“He didn’t commit those particular crimes, but there were other crimes on that boat.” Thomas shook his head. “I’m not saying he’s responsible, but I want to see his reaction when we deliver this news.”
On that much I could agree. It was best to unleash Thomas and his deductions on Mephistopheles; it would settle both of our minds and help our investigation.
We didn’t speak for a while, both of us lost in thought. I knew Thomas’s reaction was one of worry. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to me. But I couldn’t bring myself to believe that the rose and note had been intended just for me. This seemed more directed toward Thomas. I believed it was sent to rattle him enough to make mistakes.
Jack the Ripper had had plenty of opportunities to attack me if he wished to do so. From London to the Etruria, New York, and now here in Chicago, I hadn’t always ventured out with an escort. If he truly coveted me, as Thomas feared, he would have made himself k
nown. He knew my brother; that much I was certain of. He had cause to be in my home. I couldn’t imagine him staying his murderous hand for this long.
Unless I was never his intended target.
We rolled to a stop outside of the theater we’d visited just last week. Thomas cursed under his breath. The door and windows were boarded up; lights were out. A crudely painted sign said FOR RENT.
Even though I’d worried this might happen, I’d still hoped the ringmaster might change his mind and wait until we investigated his missing performer’s death. But Mephistopheles hadn’t wasted any time packing up his carnival and moving on to another city, leaving the bloody chips to fall where they may.
FORTY-THREE
COLD AS ICE
GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
16 FEBRUARY 1889
I stared at the body, the flesh the color of freshly fallen snow. I gently pressed my fingers against her jaw, turning her head slightly to search for marks. My skin burned from the coldness of death. Not one blemish or laceration or outward wound to be seen. I set my cane against the wheeled table holding our postmortem tools. We needed to call upon Noah soon. This woman had been identified as Miss Edna Van Tassel, one of the missing women he’d been investigating.
“Was she exposed to the elements?” I asked. It was unlikely, given there weren’t any signs of frostbite present. No blackened digits or blistering of the skin. She appeared as if she’d simply fallen asleep and never woke up.
Uncle shook his head. “No. The general inspector said the woman who owns the boardinghouse where she rents a room didn’t see her for breakfast, so she went looking. The landlady was quite put out that she’d let food go to waste and marched upstairs to give her a scolding. When she entered her room, she found it empty. A few days passed and she phoned Miss Van Tassel’s family, wanting them to collect her things.”
I inhaled. “Then her family explained she hadn’t returned home.”
“Correct.” Uncle nodded. “Then they hired the Pinkertons through connections they had.”
Capturing the Devil Page 30
