WADSWORTH RESIDENCE,

BELGRAVE SQUARE

13 SEPTEMBER 1888

Nearly two hours and several dainty ahems of approval later, my aunt finally retired to bed, satisfied she’d sewn inappropriateness from me one stitch at a time.

It now didn’t seem to bother her I’d found a murdered man, so long as I’d created pretty violets and swirling vines to make up for breaking social taboos.

She’d also insisted on having my newest maid add a bit more “powder and polish” to my after-bath routine. When I’d argued that it was unnecessary, I could do fine on my own, she crossed herself and refilled her wine, instructing the maid to attend to my beauty needs each day from there on out.

I resisted the urge to wipe the excess kohl from my eyes, especially when Thomas kept tossing smug glances my way. I enjoyed applying makeup as any other girl my age would, only I did so with a lighter hand.

“Police say a gear was used to slash his throat open.” Thomas fidgeted in his seat in our drawing room. I refused to let him smoke in the house, and he was more twitchy than usual while filling me in on the investigation. He slid one of Uncle’s medical journals over to me, his fingers lingering a bit near mine before he fiddled with his own notebook.

“How on earth did someone do that much damage with a simple gear?” I asked, moving around in my own chair with discomfort.

It was strange having Thomas in my home without supervision, even though we’d spent time roaming London and Reading by ourselves and my aunt and cousin were only a few floors above us.

I figured once we started discussing the murder, things would become less awkward, but that was proving to be another falsehood.

“Turning something like that into a weapon isn’t hard.” He lifted his teacup but didn’t sip before setting it down again, his gaze snagging on mine. “It’s made of metal and has sharp ends. Any madman or drunk can manage killing someone with it. I, myself, have sharpened quite a few.”

I did not have the mental energy to ask why he had experience or need to sharpen gears. Letting that slide, I kept my focus on the case, drumming my fingers along the journal. “At the first two murders there were gears. It’s a bit too much of a coincidence to be unrelated to our own investigation. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Dear Wadsworth. Your association with me is growing more beneficial by the hour. Your intelligence is quite… attractive,” Thomas said, raising his brows suggestively and taking in my newly plaited hair. “Let’s have some wine and dance inappropriately. You’ve already dressed the part for me—let’s take advantage.”

He offered his hand, palm up, a wicked grin set upon his face.

“Thomas, please.” I batted his hand away, blushing furiously. Dancing with Thomas alone without a chaperone would be scandalous and was far too tempting. Plus it wouldn’t solve this mystery any faster, I reasoned. “Aunt Amelia would perish on the spot if she walked in on such… impropriety.”

“Hmm. Her untimely end would excuse you from any more embroidery lessons, would it not? Perhaps we should skip the dancing and passionately embrace instead.”

“Thomas,” I chided. I told myself the sooner we discovered who the murderer was, the sooner I’d be rid of Thomas Cresswell and his devious ways. We’d be kissing in back alleys before I knew it. Then my reputation would truly be in the gutter. I didn’t appreciate the twinge of disappointment I felt at the thought of not spending as much time with him.

“Very well, then.” Thomas leaned back, sighing. “I believe someone was spying on us in the shipyard. They must’ve overheard us talking about Mr. Dunlop. It’s the only logical conclusion that works. If we can identify him, I’m positive we’ll have found our murderer.”

“And if I had a crown I’d be queen,” I said, unable to stop myself. “Honestly, Thomas, how ridiculous a statement. If, if, if. We need something a bit more secure than a simple if, if we’re to stop a vicious murderer.”

The irony of my last statement was not lost on Thomas. A slow smile crept across his mouth as he leaned forward, our faces dangerously close. “If I purchased a crown, would you run round Buckingham Palace in nothing but your petticoats, demanding the guards let you through?”

“Be serious,” I admonished him, but not before laughing at the absurdity of the image. “Can you picture such a thing? I’d be thrown into the Tower and they’d have the key tossed in the Thames for good measure. Good riddance, indeed.”

“Fear not! I’d find ways of springing you from your tower prison, fair lady.”

I shook my head. “Wonderful. You’ll end up in the next cell, dooming us both.”

Thomas laughed heartily for a few beats, his gaze straying to my lips and staying there. I swallowed, suddenly remembering we were alone, and I couldn’t find one good reason why I shouldn’t kiss him. I was already trouble in society’s eyes. Might as well embrace my role and have a bit of adventure in the process. Cousin Liza would demand every last detail… a bit of gossip might be fun.

Checking my reaction, he slowly closed the distance between us, my pulse quickening as his expression shifted to a sweet unguardedness. Yes, I thought. This was right. I couldn’t think of a more perfect first kiss.

A clattering noise from the kitchen downstairs broke the spell. He abruptly sat straighter in his chair, flipping the notebook open with intense interest; the temperature in the room chilled at least twenty degrees.

I blinked at how quickly he shut himself off. I’d half a mind to have a fire made in here, not that it’d help his frigid demeanor.

Straightening my shoulders, I collected my thoughts. Well, then. I could be just as fickle as Thomas, if that’s how he wanted our association to be. We needn’t laugh or even be friends. In fact, I should never have warmed to him to begin with. I couldn’t believe how close I’d been to kissing him. Deplorable beast that he was.

Though, if I were truly being honest with myself, I would admit it was nice having an acquaintance as abnormal in society’s eyes as I was. Father hadn’t allowed friends into our home while we were growing up, what with influenzas and potential pox contaminations, so I’d never had a best friend before and missed out on those sorts of relationships.

Even with all Father’s efforts, disease still found its way into our home.

He hadn’t realized how difficult it would make things once I was old enough to accept my own invitations for tea. Now I needed my aunt and cousin to come in and make friends for me. I couldn’t be vexed with Father, though. He did the best he could, even when his best was detrimental.

“I’ll take that.” I snatched another journal from Thomas’s side of the table. It seemed he’d grabbed nearly all of Uncle’s journals before arriving here and was hoarding them along with his manners.

He didn’t bother lifting his head from his own work. Of all the… I set my jaw, and reread the same few sentences, forcing my brain to find a connection between the victims. Two prostitutes, Miss Smith, and a coachman-turned-sailor. Most of whom had a connection to Father, I realized with a start. The only person who couldn’t be traced to him was Miss Annie Chapman, and she’d been slain in the most brutal manner.

Everything pointed to the fact that Miss Chapman didn’t know her killer, but the others likely did. I swallowed hard, knowing there was something we needed to do immediately.

“Excuse me.” I stood, gathering my skirts like silent witnesses, and headed out the door without waiting for Thomas to stand. If he wanted to treat me so coolly, then I’d show him the same lack of respect. I needed no man to empower me. I had my father to thank for that much; his absence in most everyday things had prepared me well enough to stand on my own.

Walking swiftly down the hallway, I paused, listening to sounds of voices drifting up from ornate metal vents in the floor. Once I reached my father’s study, I halted to the sound of someone knocking at the front door. Drat. I crept back down the hall and slipped into the well-lit drawing room while the first footman greeted the caller.

Last thing I needed was to get caught rummaging through Father’s things, but suddenly recalling something Thornley mentioned had my mind spinning with new questions.

Thomas continued to pore over his notes. I paid him little attention, straining to hear who was calling on us at this hour. Footsteps approached, and I pretended to lose myself in reading. The first footman entered the room, waiting for my acknowledgment. I looked up, eyes innocent and wide. “Yes, Caine?”

“There’s a Mr. Alberts here to see you, Miss Audrey Rose. Says he works for your uncle and brings an urgent message. He apologizes for the late hour. Shall I send him away?”

I shook my head. “It’s not like Uncle to send someone over unless it’s important.” Especially if Father intercepted any correspondence he’d want to keep private.

Something must have happened. Perhaps he found a link to the crimes and couldn’t wait until morning, or maybe he’d discovered our murderer’s identity.

Anticipation raced through my core, erasing all else from my thoughts. “Send him in straightaway, please.”

The footman disappeared, emerging again with my uncle’s servant in tow. The man gripped a worn derby hat, nervously twisting the brim round and round, looking as if he’d just encountered something awful.

My heart turned to lead, dully thudding in my chest. Perhaps he was simply afraid of encountering my father. Uncle certainly barked loud enough over the last few years about his cruel brother, the miserable Lord Edmund Wadsworth, who hid his darkness behind his pompous title. I hoped that was the cause of his anxiety.

“You have a message from my uncle?”

He nodded, throwing glances toward Thomas as he did so, his unease growing. “Yes, Miss Wadsworth. It’s—it’s something terrible, I’m afraid.”

Uncle’s servant wrung his hat until I was convinced it’d be torn in half.

“Do speak freely, Mr. Alberts,” I said. “What news do you have of my uncle?”

He swallowed hard—his Adam’s apple a bobbing buoy in his throat. “He’s been arrested, miss. Scotland Yard’s taken him away in a Black Maria and everything. Told us he’s the one responsible for them deaths in Whitechapel. Said he’s gone mad.” He paused, steeling himself against the rest of his news. “A witness come by an’ identified him. Said he’s the one she seen skulking about the murder. Superintendent said they’re taking everyone suspicious in on account of… on account of how awful them… ladies… were cut up.”

Notes Thomas had begun scribbling slipped through his fingers, the pages fluttering to the ground like ash after a fire. “What kind of nonsense is this?”

Alberts shook his head, dropping his gaze to the floor, a tremor going through the entire length of his body. “They’re rummaging through his laboratory right now. Looking for more evidence to keep him locked away. Say it’s only a matter of time before he’s found guilty and executed. They say he’s… he’s Leather Apron.”

“Caine, please fetch my coat.” My attention shifted to Thomas, who was momentarily taken off-guard, his mouth hanging wide and his eyes blinking disbelief away. We needed to get to Uncle’s laboratory now, before they destroyed his life and all his research. “Alberts, thank you for informing us of this—”

“Politeness be damned, Wadsworth!” Thomas bellowed, quickly moving across the room and into the hall. “Let’s hurry while there’s still a laboratory to save. You”—he pointed at the second footman lingering in the hall—“ready the Hansom cab as if your very soul depends on its velocity.”

He grabbed my overcoat from Caine, offering to place it round my shoulders, but I yanked it from his grasp. When the second footman hadn’t moved, I nodded at him. “Please do as Mr. Cresswell has so rudely demanded.”

Thomas snorted as the footman scampered off to do my bidding. “Oh, yes. I’m the villain. Your uncle is being hauled off, his scientific findings most likely being destroyed by barbarians, yet I’m the rude one. That makes perfect sense.”

“You’re infuriatingly rude. Being boorish and snapping at people won’t get the job done any quicker, you know.” I pulled my coat on and fastened the buttons with deft fingers. “We wouldn’t still be waiting here for the carriage if you’d asked them nicely to fetch it.”

“Any other words of wisdom I should take into consideration, my dove?” he asked flatly.

“Yes. As a matter of fact. It wouldn’t kill you to be kinder to people. Who knows?” I said, tossing my hands in the air. “Maybe you’d finally find someone who could tolerate you. And, anyway, how twisted your first concern is of the lab and not my uncle’s life. Your priorities are hopelessly in disarray.”

“Perhaps I don’t want any friends,” he said, moving toward the front door. “Perhaps I am content with speaking the way I do and care only what your opinion of me is. My first concern is not of your uncle’s laboratory. It’s of their reason for taking him in.” Thomas rubbed his forehead. “Thus far they’ve arrested four other men I can think of. For the offense of drinking too much and flashing a knife. My concern is whether they’ve taken him to a workhouse or to an asylum.”

“Neither is pleasant.”

“True,” Thomas said, “but he’s less likely to be dosed with ‘tonic’ in a workhouse.”

In the next moments, our sleek Hansom carriage pulled around the front of my house, the single black horse looking dangerous. The beast snorted, sending puffs of steam into the already foggy evening. I hoisted myself into the carriage, not bothering to wait for Thomas or the coachman to help.

We needed to hurry. There was no telling how much damage the police were actually doing to Uncle’s precious work. And if what Thomas said was true regarding the asylum… I couldn’t finish the thought.

Thomas hopped into the small enclosure, his attention riveted on the road ahead of us, the muscles in his jaw tense. I couldn’t tell if he was worried about Uncle, or upset I’d insulted him. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

The coachman cracked the whip and we were off, flying through the streets at a gloriously fast pace. We wove in and around larger horse-drawn carriages, moving as agilely as a panther through the urban tangle of London’s streets. In what felt like mere minutes, we were pulling up to Uncle’s home in Highgate.

I leapt from the cab, my skirts adding bulk and weight to my already heavy footsteps. Police filed in and out of Uncle’s home, removing boxes of paperwork. I ran up to a young man who seemed to be in charge.

“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded, hoping I might shame them into stopping. If only for a little while. “Have you no respect for a man who’s assisted in finding criminals most of his life? What could you possibly want with my uncle?”

The constable had the good grace to blush, but stuck his impressive chest out a bit more when Thomas ambled up the steps, an obnoxious swagger in his stride. The constable turned his attention back on me, his light eyes showing a hint of remorse. No salty tears spilled from those oceanic blues, though.

“I’m truly sorry, Miss Wadsworth,” he said. “If it were my decision alone I’d send everyone on their way. Believe me when I say I’ve got nothing against your uncle.”

He smiled shyly, something strangely out of character for a man who had the build and confidence of an Olympian.

“In fact, I’ve always admired the sort of work he’s done. Orders came from high up, though, and I can’t ignore them, even if I wanted to.”

It was hard to imagine someone who spoke so well choosing the life of a simple policeman. I narrowed my eyes, noticing the extra decorations on his uniform; he was a high-ranking officer, then. He was no simple policeman, he was of nobility to hold such an esteemed office at his young age.

My gaze traveled back up to his face. The fine bones and sharp angles of his cheeks and square chin made him quite handsome. He was most certainly highborn. Facially, he looked like a younger, more handsome version of Prince Albert Victor, sans mustache.

“What did you say your name was?” I asked.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “He didn’t, Wadsworth. But you already knew that. Get on with your flirtation so we might get on with our actual purpose for being here.”

I glared at Thomas, but the young man paid him no mind. “I apologize for my rudeness, miss. I’m Superintendent William Blackburn. I’m responsible for the four hundred eighty constables here in Highgate.”

His name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place where I’d heard it. Perhaps I’d read it in some paper with connection to our murders.

Thomas interrupted my muddied thoughts. “Seems you’ve employed every last one of them to trample through this home,” he muttered, shoving aside an officer before marching in to assess the situation himself.

I wanted to strangle him for being so rude. Superintendent Blackburn might be able to give us answers we’d otherwise not be privy to. For all his superior intelligence, Thomas could be downright obtuse when it came to dealing with people. If I had to befriend the devil in order to help Uncle, so be it.

I found myself apologizing. “He’s a little high spirited, please forgive his impolite behavior. He can be quite…” I trailed off.

Thomas Cresswell was not charming to anyone other than me occasionally, nor was he polite on a good day. Mother would have instructed me to not utter a word when a kind one couldn’t be discovered, so that’s precisely what I did.

Superintendent Blackburn gave me a sheepish grin and offered his arm. I hesitated for only a moment before looping mine through his. Play nice, Audrey Rose, I reminded myself.

“I’ll escort you inside and try my best to explain the reason behind your uncle’s arrest.” He paused and looked around before leaning close, an almost familiar scent lingering on his skin. “I’m afraid it doesn’t look very good for him, miss.”