MILLER’S COURT,

WHITECHAPEL

9 NOVEMBER 1888

I grabbed on to Thomas’s overcoat, nodding toward the carriage. Where was the coachman? It would be odd if Father took it himself, leading my mind to stray in a thousand directions. Was it possible we’d had it all wrong? Could John the coachman be responsible for the killings? Or maybe Father had Blackburn take him here. I shook my head, clearing it. Nothing made sense.

“If I were committing a murder,” I mused aloud, “why park my carriage outside the scene of the crime? Hardly seems logical.”

“Jack the Ripper, whoever he truly is, doesn’t appear to be thinking logically, Wadsworth. The man just ingested a human organ. Perhaps he feels invincible, and rightly so; thus far he’s gotten away with his crimes.”

I glanced up the street: nothing but lodging homes and litter joined us from our shadowy hiding place. Thankfully, our attackers hadn’t reappeared and I doubted they would. I was fairly certain I’d broken his foot. I would’ve felt bad were it not for their malicious assault on us.

Most of the lights were off given the late hour, all except for the lodging house directly in front of Father’s carriage. Mumbled voices and bright light poured from two windows facing us. One of them was cracked, allowing the sound to travel into the night.

I pointed to two figures walking back and forth. Making out features was impossible, but the broad set to one of them most certainly looked like Father.

“Come,” I said, dragging Thomas into the alley across the street. “Should we fetch the police? Or give it more time?”

Thomas studied the layout of the alley, carriage, and building where the two figures were apparently just talking. The way he scanned the area around us was methodical and exact. After a minute, he shook his head. “Whoever’s in there isn’t arguing. I say we see what happens.”

Something inside me wanted to rush across the street, pound on the door, and scream at Father for all the wrong he’d done, and all the wretched things he still sought to do, and cry for the guilt he was now laying on my shoulders.

“Very well. We’ll wait.” I settled against the cold stones of the building, waiting and watching. Time dragged by one hour for every second, it seemed.

I was freezing and exhausted from the attack we’d already been through, and scared of the encounter I’d yet to have with Father. I couldn’t tell which was making me shiver more. I wanted Father to have an excuse for being here.

I wanted desperately to be wrong about him.

Nearly forty-five minutes later the front door swung open, revealing the two figures from the lodging house—a man and a woman. I strained my eyes, searching for definitive proof it was, indeed, my father standing before us. The couple remained a respectable distance apart, before the man stepped into the lamplight.

Lord Edmund Wadsworth glanced up and down the street, his attention pausing on the alleyway Thomas and I were camped out in, causing my heart to shout a warning. Fumbling in the dark, Thomas grabbed my hand and held it securely between his. The warmth of him steadied my nerves.

I knew Father couldn’t see us, but I cringed all the same. I’d never been more grateful for the blanket of fog wrapping us in its cloudy embrace. Father scanned the area again, then climbed into the driver’s seat of the cab, cracking the reins and lumbering off toward our home.

“Pay attention to the cab,” I instructed Thomas, my own focus flicking back to the woman Father had been speaking to. Now she was standing in the light, speaking to another woman, who’d come from the adjacent building.

I was startled to see how young she was. Though I couldn’t make her out clearly, she didn’t look to be more than in her mid-twenties. Her hair hung down in long, ginger curls and she was taller than most men.

I hated that Father had sought her out. Nothing good could come from their association, even if he wasn’t planning on murdering her. How could my father have so many secrets? After she finished her conversation with the other woman, she reached inside her broken window, then checked the door handle. I drew my brows together. It wasn’t a good idea to lock your door without a key in this neighborhood.

She stumbled down the cobbled street, tying a red scarf about herself, singing a familiar song, its lyrics washing over me as they dripped from her honeyed voice.

The song was “A Violet from Mother’s Grave,” and the way her voice sounded so sweet while recounting such a horrid occurrence sent chills under my skin. Thomas tugged on my sleeve. “Your father’s rounding that corner. Shall we follow him?”

I glanced toward the young woman, then down the opposite way, watching Father turn onto the next street. The same feeling of Death lurking close by caressed my sensibilities. I couldn’t shake the feeling something awful was going to occur.

I shook myself out of my daze, then nodded. I was still frightened of our earlier attack. It was nothing more. The young woman singing her sad song would be safe tonight. The monster was heading home.

“Yes.” I tore my gaze away. “Stick to the shadows, and be quick.”

“City Police have made an official report that a woman was found cut to pieces at a house in Miller’s Court, at ten forty-five this morning,” I said, collapsing onto the ottoman in Uncle’s laboratory, reading the Evening News with utter disbelief.

Thomas watched me over his steaming cup of tea, a folded newspaper sitting across his lap. He’d tried comforting me by spouting a bunch of nonsense about how we’d done all we could, but I disagreed.

Now he said nothing and it was driving me mad.

“I don’t understand,” I said for the fourth time as the same shock kept coming back around, slapping me in the ribs. “We watched Father go straight home. Did he see us, then wait until we’d gone before committing such a vile act? We were so careful. I can’t understand how he slipped by.”

Still, no response from my companion.

“A lot of good you are,” I huffed. “Master puzzle solver, indeed.”

I checked the heart clock, my anxiety growing with each tick and tock. Uncle was called to the scene nearly four hours ago. Taking that long to inspect a body was never a good sign. From what the paper had printed, I could only imagine the horror Uncle had walked into. He’d been instructed to go alone, and I was ready to tear hair from my scalp, strand by strand.

When news broke of the murder, Thomas and I confronted Uncle with what we’d seen. He dismissed Father’s involvement with a flick of his wrist, saying to keep searching for clues. Lord Edmund Wadsworth couldn’t possibly be guilty.

I wasn’t as convinced of his innocence but did as I was told.

A woman was found cut to pieces. I read that same line time and again. Perhaps I was hoping it was a mistake and by the thousandth time I’d read it, it’d simply disappear like magic. If only life worked that way.

“This is impossible.” I tossed the paper aside and watched the clock again, willing it to speed along and bring Uncle back home already.

I was both sick with worry about who’d been murdered, and fighting the dark curiosity of wanting to know what remained of the woman. How had she been cut up? Did the reporter mean her throat was slashed, or were there actual pieces of her flesh missing? I shouldn’t want to know those morbid details. But, oh, how I couldn’t control those unseemly questions from springing up like new blades of grass in my mind.

Given the address in the paper, I was fairly certain Thomas and I had spied the unfortunate victim speaking with Father only hours before. Questions married other questions and had theories for children.

“All the unknowing is driving me mad.” Now I understood how Uncle felt while waiting for Thomas to come back with news that time several weeks prior. If curiosity plagued him the way it did me, it was a terrible affliction to suffer from.

I shoved myself off the ottoman and paced around the laboratory. The maids had done an excellent job putting it back together. One would never know Scotland Yard had nearly ripped it apart in their mad search of Uncle’s belongings.

I walked over to the specimen jars, looking, but not really seeing objects the murky liquid contained. There was no quieting my mind.

“How had Father managed to throw us so easily from his trail?” I asked. “We were so careful, falling a safe distance behind his carriage, moving from one darkened alley to the next until he arrived home.”

Once we hit my street we waited a few breaths before following. We’d just managed to see Father slinking into the house before the lights dimmed.

To be sure he was in for the night, we’d stood guard until three o’clock in the morning. No other murder had taken place that late, so we foolishly assumed it was safe to leave. How very wrong we were. The first rule in tracking a madman should be to never believe their moves were predictable. It was a hard lesson to learn, with astronomically devastating consequences.

I’d never felt like more of a failure in all my life.

“Do you think all that pacing will help the situation out? You’re distracting me from my work, Wadsworth.”

I threw my hands in the air, making a disgusted sound in the back of my throat before walking to the other side of the room. “Must you be so obsessively annoying at all times? I do not criticize you when you walk about in circles, deducing preposterous things.”

“When I pace, it actually results in something clever. You’re just kicking up dust and the scent of formalin and it’s ruining my tea,” he teased. Taking in my sour expression, he softened. “There’s nothing to be done until Dr. Wadsworth arrives. You might as well eat something.”

I tossed him a disgusted look and kept pacing.

He slathered a scone with jam and held it up. “I’ve a feeling you won’t be very hungry later. Especially if they bring her bits and pieces here for further analysis.”

I slowly turned around, noticing he was suddenly standing a bit too close. He didn’t bother stepping back, almost challenging me to stay near him, to not care about propriety during the daylight hours, either.

My heart furiously banged in my chest when I realized I didn’t want to move away from him. I wanted to be even closer. I wanted to stand on my tiptoes and press my lips against his again until I forgot about Jack the Ripper and all the gore.

“You look quite lovely today, Audrey Rose.” He stepped forward, staring down at me, and I fought to keep my eyes from fluttering shut. Thomas drew closer until I was convinced my blood would explode from my body like fireworks splattering across the night sky. “Perhaps you should comment on the excellent cut of my suit. I look rather handsome today as well. Don’t you think?”

“If you’re not careful,” I said, brushing imaginary wrinkles off the front of my riding habit and breeches, hoping the flush in my cheeks would come across as anger and not embarrassment, “you’ll be the one dragged here in bits and pieces.”

Thomas tilted my chin up with a finger, his intent gaze setting my skin aflame. “I do love it when you speak so maliciously, Wadsworth. Gives my heart a bit of a rush.”

Before I could respond, the door of the laboratory slammed open and Uncle rushed in, his overcoat stained dark crimson all over its front and sleeves.

Every other thought leapt from my brain.

After all the postmortems and murder scenes he’d attended, he’d never come home so bloodied before. Uncle’s eyes were unfocused, his spectacles askew on his face, as he tossed his journal down and took over my pacing. Thomas and I exchanged worried glances but didn’t dare speak while Uncle murmured to himself.

“He couldn’t have done it. It’s too much for him to do. None of the other bodies had the skin removed. And the thighs… why cut the flesh from the thighs like that? Surely they weren’t needed for any transplants.”

I was fighting down nausea growing inside me. Uncle flipped through the pages of his journal, stopping on pictures he’d drawn of the murder scene.

A minute later a team of four men ambled down the stairs, carrying a body in a shroud. They deposited the corpse on the table, then quickly exited the way they’d come. The whole lot of them looked as if they’d just returned from a holiday in Hell. I’d never seen such unadulterated fear on anyone’s face before.

Uncle, still muttering to himself, quickly lifted the cloth, revealing what was left of the victim without any warning.

It was as if time halted in its pursuit of racing around the track of the clock. I didn’t want to look but couldn’t prevent myself from slowly peering over his shoulder.

I had no one to blame but myself as I ran from the room, searching for a washbasin to vomit into.

I slowly made my way back down to the laboratory, my knees quaking from anticipating the carnage I’d be facing.

I’d never witnessed such sick barbarity inflicted on a person before. The body was barely recognizable as human. If an animal had torn her apart it would’ve been more pleasant to gaze upon. And less cruel. I could not fathom what kind of terror she must have experienced prior to passing on. Death would have been her welcome friend.

I was glad I hadn’t accompanied Uncle to the scene; this was quite enough to deal with. Reaching the end of the narrow staircase, I steadied myself before turning the knob and entering the twisted nightmare once again. I’d do this for all the women who’d been brutalized, I reminded myself.

My attention skimmed over the corpse before sliding on to Thomas, who appeared only slightly more affected than usual, scribbling notes and practically getting nose-deep in the exposed cavity as if it were a Christmas feast to be savored. He cringed every once in a while but quickly schooled himself into neutrality.

Attuned to my presence, he looked up. “Are you all right?”

Uncle lifted his gaze from the body, waving an impatient hand for me to come assist them. “Of course she is. Hurry, Audrey Rose. We haven’t got the luxury of pondering life all day. For some god-awful reason Superintendent Blackburn wants the body back in two hours. There’s much to do. Now, hand me the toothed forceps.”

Why indeed was the superintendent in such a rush? I tied an apron around my waist, then quickly sprinkled sawdust across the floor, following my postmortem preparations. I doubted we needed the sawdust, as the body appeared completely drained of blood, but proceeding as usual helped my mental state clear.

I grabbed the tray of postmortem tools, handing the forceps to Uncle. I wrapped my emotions together, not allowing a single thread to unwind.

It was time to act like a scientist.

I watched Uncle peel back the skin flap on her thigh, seeing nothing but an anatomical diagram needing to be studied. We’d done the same thing to frog specimens over the summer. This was no different.

“The superficial layers of the skin and fascia have been removed,” Uncle clinically stated. Thomas rapidly transcribed each of his words onto a medical sheet, his pen hungrily lapping up the ink and going back for more. “The breasts have been excised and were found in various positions. One was located under her head, the other was found beneath her right foot.”

I handed Uncle a dissecting knife and Petri dish, taking it back and sealing it once he’d placed a sample inside. He shoved his spectacles up his nose, leaving a smear of blackened blood along the brass. He’d have to address that later. People would start fearing him again if he walked around splattered in gore.

“The viscera were removed entirely and were also scattered about the crime scene. Her kidneys and uterus were found under her head, while the liver was near her feet,” Uncle said. “All the intestines were placed on the left side of the body. The missing flaps of skin—both from her thighs and abdomen—were sitting on a small table and are now resting in two bags for further inspection.”

Uncle paused, allowing Thomas enough time to capture everything down on paper. When he motioned to continue, Uncle did so, reporting from memory everything as if he were reading from a book.

“A great deal of trauma was inflicted upon her face. Several lacerations were noted—at the scene—in various directions, and her mouth had been cut down to her chin,” Uncle said. “Her throat appears to have been slashed down to the bone prior to the removal of her organs.”

Using the forceps, Uncle peeled back the flayed skin, inspecting the hollow cavity once containing the life force of this woman. The corners of his mouth tugged down, and he reached for a handkerchief, blotting at his brow.

He set his jaw, then continued with his findings. “Her heart was surgically removed and was found neither at the crime scene nor in her person. It’s my belief it was removed for attempted transplant by the murderer.”

A large, metallic object clanked to the floor. Uncle motioned for me to pick it up. I grabbed a pair of forceps and lifted the large gear to the table.

“Set it there for the time being,” Uncle said.

Something inside me snapped like a brittle twig used for kindling. This had gone on long enough. Murdering women. Taking organs. Now there were gears inserted into their bodies? Each new crime grew more horrific than the last, as if Jack couldn’t control the animal rage clawing his demonic soul one second more.

What would the next victim look like if he wasn’t stopped immediately?

I refused to find out.

I’d finish this postmortem, then go directly to the source of evil and speak with the devil himself. After witnessing him with this woman last night, all doubt of his guilt was erased. Father had hunted his last victim.

If I had to bring all of Scotland Yard with me, I would. Hope for redemption was as dead as the woman lying on the mortuary slab.

“Wadsworth?” Thomas’s brow creased, his tone implying it wasn’t the first time he’d called my name and was pretending not to worry. I put on an air of annoyance and he replied in kind. “You look about ready to mount a horse and go gallivanting into some epic battle. Might you pass your uncle the bone saw before you run off and save the world?”

I glared, but gave Uncle the bone saw and rinsed the other tools off in carbolic acid. We were almost done. Since the body had been so badly attacked, there wasn’t much for Uncle to sew up. Especially since Scotland Yard wanted another doctor to inspect the cadaver before the evening was through.

“It’s a bit strange. Blackburn demanding the body back so soon, I mean,” I said. “Could he be the killer, working on Father’s orders?”

My uncle stiffened, then lifted a shoulder. “If you’re right about your father’s whereabouts last night, I suppose anything is possible. We need to be open to all theories. And we need to test Blackburn out.”

Uncle placed the skull back together, then got up to wash his hands.

“Are you interested in confronting Jack the Ripper with me?” I asked, checking over my shoulder to be sure Uncle hadn’t heard. I didn’t want him dissuading me from turning Father in. Uncle was still trying to prove Father’s innocence. But I’d seen enough.

Thomas eyed me suspiciously. “Of course I’m interested in confronting the Ripper. What else would I be doing with my time these days? Besides wooing you, that is.”

“I’m heading home shortly. Father should be sitting down to supper within the hour. I plan on—”

Uncle thrust a bag at Thomas’s chest. “Take this directly to Superintendent Blackburn, will you? Best we immediately hand over any mechanisms lest they toss me back in Bedlam. Be sure to gauge his reaction.” Thomas held on to the bloodstained bag, a crinkle in his brow when he glanced from my uncle to me. Uncle huffed. “Get on with it, boy. Make yourself useful and stop staring at my niece like that.”

Thomas laughed nervously. Uncle didn’t appear as if he were feeling particularly jovial, however, and Thomas’s chuckle died in his throat. He nodded at my uncle, then leaned in.

“Please don’t confront him alone, Wadsworth. Act as if everything is normal.” He straightened when my uncle cocked his head. “Do give your father my regards, though. Perhaps even a kiss on the forehead. I’d like to remain on his good side, especially when I inform him I’m madly in love with his daughter.”

Shameless flirt. I watched Thomas run up the stairs, then tugged my apron off and tossed it into the makeshift laundry bin along with the others awaiting their nightly cleansing. Act as if everything was normal indeed. As if I’d listen to that absurd plea! A part of me was sad Thomas would miss the confrontation, but he’d have his hands full with Blackburn. I said good evening to Uncle and trudged up the stairs, letting the door shut tightly behind me, then paused.

It was better this way, actually. It seemed only proper that I’d be the one confronting Jack the Ripper on my own.

Father’s reign of terror would cease before a new day dawned.

Of that much I was certain.