Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(102)
I waited for the worry to creep in, to hinder my own investigative skills. I almost felt relief, like I finally understood a part of his game I hadn’t known existed before. If Jack the Ripper wanted me, then we could find a way to deceive him into thinking he’d won. I hadn’t shared this idea with Thomas; judging from the wildness in his eyes and the promise of violence, I didn’t deem
it necessary just yet. I would let him calm himself before broaching that subject.
And then we’d come up with a plan together.
“She was missing for a week but doesn’t show signs of decay…” Thomas muttered observations aloud to himself, not expecting an answer. “A young person, dying in their sleep with no indications of disease or trauma. He killed her but how? And why return her to her chambers? What purpose does that serve?”
He paced faster, slowly becoming one with our killer, placing himself in the role of a demon. While he continued his descent into the mind of a murderer, a wide-eyed maid brought a tea service with stacks of lemon and raspberry tarts, pausing to consider which surface she might set it on. Her eyes lingered on the nearly naked corpse, and though her expression was perfectly blank, her throat bobbed with suppressed emotion. No one enjoyed the dead being on display, at least not in the way we set them like meat to carve.
“There, on the sideboard, please,” I said, my tone as calm as possible. “Thank you.”
After she’d retreated up the stairs, I made my way over to the teapot, pouring three cups. A hint of Earl Grey and rose cut through the slight odor of death. I put two rose-scented sugar cubes in Uncle’s cup and four in Thomas’s, knowing the extra sweetness seemed to aide him in his deductions. I was too rattled for sugar and left mine plain. I set the silver tongs and bowl aside, carefully bringing one cup and tart over at a time. It gave me something to do while turning over my own thoughts. If I could convince Thomas of my safety, perhaps we could set a trap. Would the Ripper be able to walk away from an opportunity to snatch me?
“Thank you.” Uncle took his cup, sipping immediately. He’d practically finished the whole thing by the time I’d handed Thomas his. I glanced at the clock. We’d missed supper ages ago.
Thomas paused his pacing only long enough to shove in a few bites of his pastry before washing it down with tea. “Do we know who she was with or what she was doing prior to her death? There was mention of her possibly collecting wages from her old employer.”
“The police were sorting that out when I was told to take the body. They also sent word to the Pinkertons, so your associate will be informed by them.”
“We’re missing something.” Thomas seemed more agitated by the second.
“What else? Was there anything in the room that shouldn’t have been? Anything the landlady commented on, even in passing.”
“Roses,” Uncle said. “She mentioned a vase full of fresh roses on the nightstand.” Thomas didn’t so much as breathe as he swung around, his gaze landing on me. Either unaware of the sudden tension in the room, or maybe because of it, Uncle handed me and Thomas aprons. “Focus, the two of you.
Let’s see what answers we can find on our own.”
I glanced at my untouched tart before setting it aside. It was just as well that I complete this portion of our work without a stomach full of sweet lemon curd. I placed my hands on the flesh like I’d been taught, pressing my blade hard enough for the skin to part like ruby waves as I dragged my scalpel from shoulder to sternum and exposed the red layers of flesh.
A sense of calm entered the room as I repeated the process on the other side, my Y incision nearly complete as I slid the blade down the torso. Without waiting for further instruction, I doused my rag in carbolic acid and wiped my weapon down before sinking it back into the flesh. In moments I’d removed the heart and viscera, handing them off to Uncle to be weighed and cataloged by Thomas.
He caught my eye briefly, looking up from his notes, his expression unreadable. I glanced at the liquid matter splattered up my pale sage velvet sleeves like tiny embroidered petals. Just as quickly as he’d studied me, he was back to his own work, his brow crinkled in deep concentration. Perhaps I’d imagined that his attention was directed toward me.
Once we’d taken note of every detail, I pulled the tray with the stomach close, preparing to do a full dissection of it. I’d be looking for any signs of poison. A drop of perspiration hit the metal surface, quickly followed by another.
I jerked my attention up. Uncle removed a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted at his brow. It was quite cold in the basement of this house, especially in the dead of winter.
Petals of red bloomed over his cheeks. Not embarrassment. He appeared to be suddenly burning up with fever.
“Are you feeling all right?” I asked, trying to keep the concern from my voice. The last thing I wished to do was annoy Uncle. “Thomas and I can handle this if you’d like to rest—”
“It’s nothing. I forgot my overcoat again and caught a chill.” Uncle waved off my worry. “Mind your work, Audrey Rose. Stomach contents. Open it up now; unfortunately we haven’t got all evening to study this body. General Inspector Hubbard will be here within the hour, and he’ll expect answers. I suggest we try not to anger him again.”
“Very well, sir.” I picked up another scalpel, readying myself for the dissection of the stomach. I tried ignoring Uncle’s hands as he gripped the edge of the examination table, his knuckles as white as the bones I’d just exposed. In quick, careful motions, I opened the outer layers of the organ.