Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper #1)(15)

“Well, then? What news have you? Who knows what?”

A servant removed Thomas’s long overcoat and hat before disappearing up the narrow staircase. Those uninterested in forensic studies never liked lingering down here for long. Too many dark and hideous things lurked in glass jars and on stone slabs.

Thomas eyed the drawing on the board before answering, purposefully not looking in Uncle’s direction. “No one saw or heard a thing out of the ordinary, I’m afraid.”

I narrowed my eyes. Thomas didn’t sound very upset by this news.

“However,” he added, “I tagged along with the inspectors while they made some inquiries. Paltry as they might be. This one jester pelted me with questions regarding your work, but I didn’t offer much. Said he might call on you later this evening.” He shook his head. “Screws and gears were discarded near the body. And… a few witnesses have stepped forth.”

Uncle inhaled sharply. “And?”

“Unfortunately, the best description we received came from a woman who saw only a man from behind. She stated that the two of them were speaking, but she couldn’t make out more than the deceased agreeing to something. As she was a prostitute, I’m sure you can fill in the lurid details.”

“Thomas!” Uncle shot a glance in my direction; only then did my classmate acknowledge me standing in the room. “There’s a young lady present.”

I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Uncle Jonathan to worry about prostitution being too much for my feminine persuasion, yet think nothing of me seeing a body spliced open before I’d even had my luncheon.

“Sincere apologies, Miss Wadsworth. I hadn’t seen you there.” Thomas was nothing but a filthy liar. He cocked his head, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips as if he were privy to my thoughts. “I did not mean to offend you.”

“I am hardly offended, Mr. Cresswell.” I gave him a pointed look. “On the contrary, I am highly perturbed we’re even discussing such fatuous things when another woman has been slain so brutally.” I ticked off each injury on my fingers, accentuating my point. “Gutted with her innards tossed over a shoulder. Posed with her legs up, knees facing outward. Not to mention… her missing reproductive organs.”

“Yes,” Thomas agreed, nodding, “that was rather unpleasant, now that you mention it.”

“You speak as if you’ve witnessed it firsthand, Mr. Cresswell.”

“Perhaps I have.”

“Thomas, please,” Uncle scolded. “Do not goad her.”

I turned my annoyance on Uncle. “By all means, let’s continue wasting time speaking of my potential discomfort at her occasional profession. What is your issue with prostitutes anyhow? It’s not her fault society is so unjust to women.”

“I—” Uncle Jonathan stepped back, placing a palm to his forehead as if he might be able to rub my tirade out with a few soothing strokes. Thomas had the gall to wink at me over the cup of tea he’d poured himself.

“Very well.” He raised an exaggerated eyebrow at Uncle. “The young lady has made her case, Doctor. From this point forward I shall pretend she’s as capable as a man.”

I glared harder. “Pretend I am as capable as a man? Please, sir, do not value me so little!”

“Also,” he continued before I exploded, setting his teacup down on its matching blue and white Staffordshire saucer, “as we’re now treating each other like equals and peers, I insist on you calling me Thomas, or Cresswell. Silly formalities needn’t apply to equals such as we.” He grinned at me in a way that could be considered a flirtation.

Not to be outdone, I lifted my chin. “If that’s what you want, then, you’re permitted to call me Audrey Rose. Or Wadsworth.”

Uncle stared up at the ceiling rose, sighing heavily. “Back to our murder, then,” he said, removing spectacles from a leather satchel and securing them on his face. “What else have either of you got for me besides the promise of a splitting headache?”

“I have a new theory on why this act was more violent than the last,” I said slowly, a new puzzle piece slipping into place in my mind. “It occurred to me the scenes appear to be tainted with… revenge.”

For once, I held their attention—as if I were a corpse with secrets to divulge.

“During our lesson you said first-time killers most likely start by murdering those they know.” Uncle nodded. “Well, what if the murderer knew Miss Nichols and couldn’t really let himself go as wild as he’d hoped? It’s as if he wanted to exact revenge, but couldn’t bring himself to do it once it came down to it. Miss Nichols was not as viciously mutilated as Miss Annie Chapman had been, leading me to believe Miss Chapman was unknown to our murderer.”

“Interesting theory, Niece.” Uncle absently stroked his mustache. “Perhaps Miss Nichols was murdered by her husband or the man she was living with.”

Thomas took up my uncle’s favorite habit of pacing in a wide circle around the room. With each movement he made, the scent of formalin and bergamot wafted through the air, creating a strange aroma that was both unsettling and comforting.

“Why is he taking their organs, though?” he muttered to himself. I watched silently as the gears twisted and ground their way through the maze of his brain. He was fascinating to study, no matter how much I pretended to detest that fact.