DR. JONATHAN WADSWORTH’S LIBRARY,

HIGHGATE

16 OCTOBER 1888

“I see you’ve thrown yourself another pity party,” Thomas said, breezing into Uncle’s darkened library. Lifting my head from my book, I noticed his clothing was exceptionally stylish for an afternoon apprenticing with cadavers. His finely stitched jacket fit perfectly to his frame. He caught me inspecting it and grinned. “You’ve yet to send out invitations, Wadsworth. Rather rude, don’t you think?”

I ignored both him and his remark, though I knew he was trying to make light of our situation. Eight days had come and gone since we’d spoken with Mr. Lees, and it had been even longer since I’d last seen my father.

While I couldn’t rely on Mr. Lees’s spirit testimony alone, Thomas was moving further down the suspect list every day. He pored over notes and details, day and night. I didn’t think the stress he tried hiding was an act.

Thomas wanted this case solved as badly as I did. During one particularly troubling evening, I shared my fears regarding my father with him. He’d opened his mouth, then shut it. And that was the end of that. His reaction was less than comforting.

Staying true to his word, Father didn’t seek me out, remaining indifferent to my whereabouts. It was so unlike him, letting me out of his sight for days on end, but he’d become a stranger to me and I couldn’t predict his next moves.

I hated thinking or admitting it, but he fit several of Jack the Ripper’s emerging characteristics. He’d been present for each crime, and absent when Jack had seemingly disappeared for those three and a half weeks in September.

Much as I wanted his opinion, I kept these dark speculations from Nathaniel. Worrying him was unnecessary until I had absolute proof Father was, indeed, Jack.

I flipped through a medical tome, reading over several new notions regarding human psychology and crimes. Father certainly had grief issues and plenty of reason to want organ transplants to be successful. That would explain the missing organs.

Though I couldn’t see how it’d help Mother now. Then I remembered his favorite tonic; laudanum might very well explain that delusion.

“You shouldn’t waste your precious energies on such rubbish, Wadsworth,” Thomas said, reading over my shoulder. “Surely you’re capable of coming up with theories of your own. You are a scientist, are you not? Or are you saving all the brilliant work for me to come up with?”

Thomas smiled at my eye roll, puffing his chest up and standing with one foot proudly resting on a chair as if posing for a portrait. “I don’t blame you, I am rather attractive. The tall, dark hero of your dreams, swooping in to save you with my vast intellect. You should accept my hand at once.”

“More like the overconfident monster haunting my nightmares.” I offered him a smirk of my own when he scrunched his nose. He was handsome enough, but he needn’t know I thought so. “Haven’t you got an organ to weigh, people to annoy, or notes to scribble down for Uncle Jonathan? Or perhaps you’ve got another patient to experiment on.”

Thomas grinned wider, folding himself onto the crushed velvet sofa directly across from me. A fresh body, having nothing to do with the Whitechapel murders for once, was lying on the mortuary table downstairs, waiting to be inspected. First glance said he’d lost his life to the harsh English elements, not to some crazed murderer. Winter was making a few surprise appearances before its official start date.

“Dr. Wadsworth was called away on more urgent matters. It’s just the two of us and I’m quite bored of your moping about. We could be taking full advantage of our time together. But no,” he sighed dramatically. “You’re intently reading rubbish.”

I nestled into my oversize reading chair and flipped to the next page.

“Studying the psychological states of humans and how they may or may not relate to deeper, psychotic issues is hardly ‘moping about.’ Why don’t you put that big brain to use and read some of these studies with me?”

“Why don’t you talk to me about what’s really troubling you? What emotional dilemma needs sorting out?” He patted his legs. “Sit here and I’ll rock you gently until you or I or both fall asleep.”

I tossed the book on the floor at his feet, then immediately cringed. I was about to tell Thomas I was absolutely not struggling with any emotional issues and had shown him differently. One day I’d rein my cursed actions in.

I sighed. “I cannot stop thinking my father’s the man stalking the night.”

“The moral dilemma being what, exactly?” Thomas asked. “Whether or not you should turn dear old Father in to authorities?”

“Of course that’s the moral dilemma!” I exclaimed, incredulous at how obtuse he was when it came to basic human concepts. “How can one turn against their blood? How can I send him to his death? Surely you must realize that’s precisely what would happen if I told authorities.”

They’d hang Father. Given who he was, they’d make it as public and brutal as possible. Just because blood might stain his hands did not mean I wanted his on mine. No matter if it was right or wrong.

“Not to mention,” I added aloud, “it would kill my brother.”

I covered my face with my hands. I was not saying the most obvious thing. Not turning my father in would result in more women being slain. It was a horrible predicament to be in and I hated Father even more for subjecting me to it.

Thomas grew very quiet, staring at his own hands. An eternity stood waiting, watching along with me until he banished it from our presence. “What are you hoping to discover between the pages of other men’s theories?”

“Redemption. Clarity. A cure for the demon infecting my father’s soul.”

If there was some way for me to address the issues with his brain, perhaps he could be saved. I listened to the silence stretching between us, the ticking of the clock echoing my own heart’s beat.

I lowered my voice. “If it were your father, wouldn’t you try anything to save him? Especially after already losing one parent? Perhaps it isn’t too late for his salvation.”

Thomas swallowed hard, casting his attention to my book. “Will you be using a prop such as religion to deliver him from his sins, then? Sprinkle a bit of holy water and burn the devil out of him? I thought that was your eccentric aunt’s domain.”

I bent down to retrieve the medical journal, turning back to the last section I’d read. The leather chair squeaked as I shifted my weight.

“I am a scientist, Thomas. Father’s salvation will come in the form of tonics working on his physiology. There are great treatises about the effect of chemicals on the neurological pathways of the brain,” I said, pointing out one of them in the book. “Plus I’ll threaten to imprison him in our home. I’ll keep him in chains, locked in his own study, if he doesn’t agree to have his mind evaluated.”

Thomas shook his head—we both knew that was a lie. A weak knock came at the door before he could respond. We both stared at the footman standing half in the hall and half inside the library, a flush creeping up his collar. I hoped he hadn’t been lingering there long. If anyone learned of Father’s potential identity as Jack the Ripper or the fact we’d suspected him and hadn’t turned him in, we’d all be in a world of trouble ourselves.

“Dr. Wadsworth has requested your presence at Scotland Yard immediately, miss.” When Thomas and I shot each other glances, he amended, “Both of you.”

I didn’t care what I looked like to the men standing around Superintendent Blackburn’s desk, as I covered my mouth with the back of my lace-gloved hand.

The stench assaulting my senses was almost as bad as what the package contained. Possibly worse. I could deal with most anything gruesome and bloody; rotten meat, however, was something I feared I’d never get used to. No matter how many times I was forced into contact with the foul substance.

“Most certainly it’s half a human kidney,” Uncle confirmed, though no one had asked. “While it’s impossible to tell for sure, we must put some validity to the letter that came with it. Miss Eddowes was missing a kidney. This is a human kidney. From the state of decay, it was taken around the same time as hers was and it’s from the left side. Same as our victim. I’ll have to examine it further in my laboratory, but from sight alone there seem to be some… similarities.”

I swallowed my disgust down. Jack was coming undone, it seemed. Thomas passed the newest note from the murderer to me, averting his gaze as he did so. I wondered if he’d tell the police about my father. I wondered if I’d do the same if I were standing in his place. Guilt wrenched itself deep in my gut. Was I allowing sentimentality to stand in the way of justice? That made me as bad as the Ripper.

Except… what if police had already discovered the identity? I stole a glance at Superintendent Blackburn. I knew nothing of him, really, and remained wary in his presence. Perhaps he’d already seen this organ the night it was removed from its owner. He was rather stone-faced given what my uncle was saying. Which made me wonder if Father committed these acts himself or if he had Blackburn carry out his dark deeds. Was his squeamish reaction at the double event a mere act of deception?

I shook myself out of spiraling thoughts, relieved no one was paying me any mind. The letter was written in the same taunting red ink as the other two notes Jack had sent. I’d recognize that cursive in my nightmares, I’d gone over it so many times, trying to find similarities to my father’s own hand.

George Lusk was my brother’s friend and also happened to be the loudest member of the vigilante group Nathaniel was part of, the Knights of Whitechapel. If Father was indeed Jack the Ripper, sending someone close to our family a piece of evidence was rather brazen. Then again, claiming to have eaten the other half of a human kidney sounded as though insanity had overtaken him.

Cannibalism was a new low for the Whitechapel murderer.

I laid the letter back on Blackburn’s cluttered desk. The cursive didn’t look like Father’s, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t taken pains to disguise it. Perhaps whatever evil dwelled inside him had its own handwriting.

“I wonder,” I said aloud, not meaning to.

Thomas motioned for me to speak, but I wasn’t quite ready to. Thoughts and theories were taking shape and forming in my mind. Perhaps if I offered something up, I could study Blackburn’s reaction for deceit. A few seconds later, I began again. “Seems a bit odd, don’t you think?”

“No, Wadsworth,” Thomas said blandly, “sending a kidney through the mail is quite ordinary. I do it at least three times a week to remain fashionable. You ought to try it. Really impress the girls at tea.”

I made a face at him. “What I mean is, let’s say he’s been killing women and trying to perform an organ transplant, why eat her kidney at all? Wouldn’t that be a waste of a harvested organ?”

Blackburn’s color drained as if he were about to be sick. His reaction appeared genuine enough, but he’d fooled me before.

He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s barely two o’clock and I swear I already could use a pint. Is that what you think, Dr. Wadsworth? Jack is using human organs to transplant or sell?”

Uncle stared at the box, nodding absently. “I have a suspicion I cannot shake.” Uncle took his spectacles off, wiping them on the front of his jacket before securing them back on his face. “I fear he might’ve taken an extra kidney, but realized he didn’t need it, then decided to keep it from going to waste.”

A shudder wracked my body. If Father was Jack the Ripper, where was he keeping the organs? It’s not as if they could be stored in jars in our icebox without the cooks and maids seeing them. Was that the true reason why he’d never dismissed Martha, our cook? Was she privy to his monstrous secrets? The thought of having slept in the same house where this kind of horror could have been taking shape a few rooms away was too much.

Blackburn walked around his desk, dropping into the chair behind it and rubbing his eyes. “Perhaps running the estate as my father had wanted isn’t such a bad idea. I can handle a vast amount, but this is a bit much. How horrid can a life of leisure and politics be?”

Thomas ignored the superintendent, seeking my uncle’s opinion out again. He narrowed his eyes, his angular features sharpening his every thought. “Are you saying he’s finished with the killings, then?”

Uncle shook his head, and parts of my skin tried crawling away from my body. He had that bleak look in his eye, the one that spoke of worse things to follow. When he started touching his mustache, I wasn’t at all surprised by his next words. “I believe there’s one final thing he’s in need of, then the murders may stop.”

A police officer walked over to Superintendent Blackburn and handed him a file, whispering some message in his ear before departing as quickly as he’d come. Whatever he said couldn’t have been too important, as Blackburn tossed the paper onto the desk and fixed his gaze back on Uncle. “I’m not sure I want to hear any more, Dr. Wadsworth. But I’m afraid I do not have the luxury of ignorance. Do enlighten us.”

I don’t know how, but I knew, with more certainty than I had any right to, exactly what Jack the Ripper was missing. It’d be the most impressive organ to transplant or steal. The words nearly gagged me on their way out, but I said them anyway. “A heart. He’ll need a heart before he’s through butchering women.”

I felt Thomas staring at me, his gaze searing a hole through my conviction to remain silent, but couldn’t meet his eyes for fear I’d confess everything I suspected to the police right then and there. Consequences be damned.

But the one thread of hope I held fast to was that Uncle hadn’t mentioned a thing about Father to police, either. I’d told him my suspicions last night in the laboratory, and though he was even more skeptical than I was, his face had paled.

Uncle told me not to worry, that we’d uncover the truth soon enough. That Father was simply unwell and everything mounting up against him only a coincidence.

Seeing the truth was never easy, especially when it revealed those closest to us could be monsters hidden in plain sight. If Uncle could hang on to a single string of belief, unraveling as quickly as it might be, that Father was innocent, then so could I.

For now.