Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper #1)(19)

“It seems… you must realize how much—” Thomas shook his head. “Hurting you wasn’t my intent. I apologize, Miss Wadsworth. I thought perhaps I could…” He shrugged and fell silent, leaving me to wonder what he thought he could do by bringing up such a terrible subject.

I inhaled deeply, curiosity getting the better of my anger. “All right. I’ll forgive you this once.” I raised a finger at the look of hope blossoming in his features. “Only if you tell me, truthfully, how you knew that.”

“I believe I can manage that. It was quite easy.” He pulled his chair around the table, toeing the line of what polite society deemed decent. “You simply need to hone your powers of deduction, Wadsworth. Look at the obvious and go from there. Most people ignore what’s right before their eyes. They believe they see, but oftentimes only view what they want. Which is precisely how you missed your father’s opium addiction for so long.”

He patted the front of his jacket and pants pockets, knitting his brow when his search returned no results. “It boils down to mathematical equations and formulas. If the evidence is e and the question is q, then what equals a to get to your answer? Simply look at what’s before you and add it up.”

I drew my brows together. “You’re saying you figured all that out by simply watching me? Excuse me if I find that extremely hard to believe. You can’t apply mathematical formulas to people, Cresswell. There’s no equation for human emotion, there are too many variables.”

“True. I’ve no formula I can work out for certain… emotions I feel around you.”

That lively spark was back in his countenance. Leaning away, he folded his arms across his chest and grinned at my deep blush.

“However, upstairs when your brother said your father would be gone, you smiled, then immediately frowned, causing one to believe you were covering up your elation at being left alone for a few weeks. You didn’t want to seem an insensitive monster, especially since your poor father is unwell.”

“How did you see that?” I asked, eyes narrowed. “You’d already left the room.”

Thomas didn’t reveal the answer to that question, but a flicker of amusement was there and gone, so I knew he’d heard me. Spying scoundrel.

“Now, when I mentioned your poor relationship,” he continued, “your eyes darted to that ring you were absently turning round your finger. Judging from the style and fit, I deduced it was not originally your ring.”

He paused again, rechecking his suit pockets. I hadn’t the faintest idea what he was looking for, but his agitation was growing. He shook his hands out.

“Whose ring was it, one might ask? Considering the somewhat old-fashioned style, it’s not hard to believe it belonged to someone old enough to be your mother,” he said. “Since you sneak about in the late-night hours and spend time in this laboratory, coming to the conclusion your mother is no longer living and your father doesn’t know your whereabouts wasn’t hard.”

Thomas bit his lip, seeming lost for how to continue. Now I understood the way his mind worked. Cool detachment was a switch he flipped while working out problems. I braced myself for something unpleasant and waved him on. “Go on. Out with it.”

He studied my face, gauging my sincerity. “What kind of father doesn’t know where his daughter is? One who doesn’t have the best relationship with said daughter because he’s likely too consumed by his own grief or addiction to really care.”

Thomas sat forward, intrigue and possibly even esteem lighting his gaze. “How might a young woman such as yourself become obsessed with the macabre? By bearing witness to a scientific act of desperation meant to save a life. Where would you come into contact with that, I wonder?”

He purposely glanced around the room, driving his point home. “See? All the answers I sought were plainly visible. I didn’t know until now your uncle was involved with your mother’s…” He trailed off, realizing he was straying close to a sensitive subject. “Anyway. You simply need to know where to look for the questions. An easy mathematical formula applied to Homo sapiens. And behold! Science reigns over nature once more. No emotions needed.”

“Except you’re wrong,” I whispered, shaken by the level of his accuracy. “Without humans and nature, there’s no such thing as science.”

“That’s not exactly what I mean, Wadsworth. What I’m talking about is trying to solve a riddle or crime. Emotions play no role there. They’re too messy and complicated.” He leaned on his elbows, staring into my eyes. “But they’re good in other situations, I suppose. For instance—I’ve not yet figured out the formula for love or romance. Perhaps I shall learn one day soon.”

I gasped. “Would you talk this indecently if my uncle were present?”

“Ah, there you are,” he said, picking up a journal and ignoring my last question. I lifted my chair from the ground before reading through my uncle’s notes again.

Or pretended to, at least.

I stared at Thomas until my eyes crossed, trying to force some clue to rise to the surface about him or his family. The only thing I could deduce was that he was unabashedly bold, his comments bordering on impropriety.

Without lifting his head from his own journal, he said, “Not having any luck figuring me out, then? Don’t worry, you’ll get better with practice. And, yes”—he grinned wickedly, eyes fixed on his paper—“you’ll still fancy me tomorrow no matter how much you wish otherwise. I’m unpredictable, and you adore it. Just as I cannot wrap my massive brain around the equation of you and yet adore it.”