Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper #1)(5)
“Gentlemen!” Uncle barked. “If you please, I’d like each of you to write down your theories on Miss Mary Ann Nichols’s murder and bring them to class tomorrow.”
Thomas gave me one last devilish grin and turned back to his notes. As I closed my journal and gathered up my things, I couldn’t help thinking he might prove an equally vexing mystery to solve.
Illustration of heart and bladder from Thomas Graham’s notebook, c. 1834
THREE
TEA AND AUTOPSIES
WADSWORTH RESIDENCE,
BELGRAVE SQUARE
31 AUGUST 1888
“Where are you running off to at this hour?”
Father stood near the grandfather clock in the foyer—his tone striking the same nervous chord as the beastly antique—while he checked his pocket watch. Only a handful of years separated Uncle and Father, and up until recently they could have passed for twins. A muscle in his square jaw twitched. Worse questions were coming. The urge to flee back up the grand staircase was suddenly overwhelming.
“I-I promised Uncle Jonathan I’d join him for tea.” I watched him inhale a sharp breath and added quietly, “Turning down his invitation would’ve been rude.”
Before he offered any more thoughts on the matter, the parlor door swung open and my brother waltzed in like a beam of sunshine set against the backdrop of a gray day. Taking quick note of the situation, he pounced.
“I must say, everyone appears so downright cheerful this afternoon, it’s rather disturbing. Give me a proper scowl, good man. Ah—” he smiled at the glare Father leveled at him— “that’s the spirit! Excellent job, Father.”
“Nathaniel,” Father warned, his glassy focus darting between us. “This matter does not concern you.”
“Are we terrified to let the girl out of the protective bubble again? Heaven forbid she catch pox and perish. Oh, wait,” Nathaniel cocked his head. “That’s happened before, hasn’t it?” He dramatically grabbed my wrist, checking for a pulse, then staggered back. “By God, Father. She’s quite alive!”
Father’s pale hand shook, and he blotted at his brow with a handkerchief, which was never a promising sign. Nathaniel usually managed to diffuse Father’s anxiety with a well-placed quip. Today wasn’t one of those days. I couldn’t help noticing extra lines around Father’s mouth, dragging his lips into a near-permanent frown. If he’d only let some of his endless worry go, it would erase a decade from his once-handsome features. Strands of gray hair were also slipping in between his ashy-blond locks more and more lately.
“I was just telling Father I’m on my way to the carriage,” I said as pleasantly as I could manage, feigning ignorance of the volatile atmosphere. “I’m meeting Uncle Jonathan.”
Nathaniel clapped his gloved hands together, a sly smile spreading across his face. He couldn’t resist assisting me with my chosen medical studies. Mostly because my modern stance—on why girls were equally capable of having a profession or apprenticeship—offered endless amusement.
My brother’s love of arguing made him an excellent barrister-in-training, but his fickle attention would lead him elsewhere soon enough. His prior whims included a few months studying medicine, then art, then a horrendous effort with a violin—which went badly for all who had the misfortune of hearing him practice his scales.
Though, as heir to our family legacy, he needn’t learn a trade at all. It was merely something to pass idle hours and afternoons besides drinking with his pompous friends.
“Ah, that’s right. I recall Uncle saying something about tea earlier in the week. Unfortunately, I had to decline his invitation, what with my studies and all.” Adjusting his gloves and smoothing his suit, Nathaniel stepped back and grinned. “Your dress is exceptional for today’s weather and special occasion. Seventeen now, right? You’re stunning, birthday girl. Don’t you agree, Father?”
Father scrutinized my ensemble. He was probably searching for a lie to prevent me from traveling to Uncle’s home, but he wouldn’t find one. I’d already packed the carriage with a change of simpler clothing. If he couldn’t prove I was going to practice unholy acts upon the dead and risk infection, he couldn’t very well stop me.
For now, I was dressed in proper afternoon tea attire; my watered-silk gown was the same shade of eggshell as my silk slippers, and my corset was tight enough to remind me it was there with each painful breath I took.
I was suddenly grateful for the rose-colored gloves that buttoned up to my elbows; they were a fashionable way to hide how much my palms were sweating.
Father ran a hand over his tired face. “Since it’s your birthday you may go there for tea and come straight back. I do not want you going anywhere else. Nor do I want you engaged in any of that”—his hand fluttered about like an injured bird—“that activity your uncle is involved with. Understood?”
I nodded, relieved, but Father wasn’t through.
“Should anything happen to your sister,” he said, staring at my brother, “I will hold you responsible.”
Father held Nathaniel’s gaze for a moment longer, then stalked from the room, leaving us in the wake of his storm. I watched as his broad form disappeared down the hallway and until he slammed the door of his study shut with one backward swipe of his hand. I knew he’d light a cigar soon and lock himself away until morning, thoughts and memories of Mother plaguing him until he fell into a troubled sleep.