Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(14)
I know there’s a strong chance you’ll not be pleased by my deeds, but I have one final confession to make. I liked to fancy myself as Jekyll, really. My colleague, well, let’s call him Mr. Hyde, is returning to America soon and he’s promised to continue our work there.
I love you, no matter what anyone may say—know that as truth. I’m sorry for what I’ve done, but I swear you will soon see the value of my work, even if you disagree with the methods. One day you’ll understand the truth of who Jack the Ripper is. Do not forget about my journals, dear sister. I wrote them for you and our family’s legacy.
Love forever and always,
Nathaniel Jonathan Wadsworth
SIX
A VICIOUS DISCOVERY
THOMAS’S ROOMS
FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY
21 JANUARY 1889
There were two of them.
I trembled violently, almost crushing the letter in my fist as I leapt from the edge of the bed. Pain lashed up my leg like a fiery whip, reminding me to be gentle with my body, though there was no protecting my heart. I tried to ignore the angry throbbing by reading the note again. And again, my pulse raced with each treacherous sentence.
There were two of them.
It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. And yet… I couldn’t breathe. I could barely think through the cacophony in my head. I wanted to claw my corset off and set it on fire. I wanted to run from this room and my life, and never look back.
“Audrey Rose?”
I held up a hand, stalling Thomas from whatever he was about to say. An enormous pressure kept building under my ribs and the air suddenly felt too thin or too heavy. This had to be a nightmare. Soon I’d wake from it and all would be well. Soon I’d remember my beloved brother was Jack the Ripper and he was dead and my family was shattered, but we were slowly piecing our lives back together. We were broken but not defeated. We were—I pinched my arm and cried out. I was awake and this was happening. I swallowed hard.
I could not accept this letter. I couldn’t. The implications were too much to bear. Without preamble, I dropped onto the mattress, head spinning. Though
perhaps it wasn’t my mind that was under attack—my heart was close to breaking. Again. How many times would this case haunt me? How many secrets did my brother keep? Just when I thought I’d solved one mystery, another took its place, more brutal and vicious than the last.
I focused on drawing in a slow breath and exhaling. A feat more difficult than it should’ve been. Jack the Ripper hadn’t committed his crimes alone. His reign of terror was not yet complete. That thought ripped the rest of my heart from my chest. Jack the Ripper was alive.
All this time… all of these months I’d convinced myself that his horrors were over. That his death might offer a bit of solace to the spirits of those he’d slain, though keeping his secret didn’t offer me the same peace in return. Every ghost of the past I’d worked to fight against, every demon in my imagination
— everything was rallying against this news, clawing its way up my throat, taunting me with an I told you so. His death was one more lie to choke down.
Tears burned my eyes.
Jack the Ripper was two depraved, twisted men acting as one. And I knew—I knew with every molecule of my body that he’d been with us on the Etruria.
That crime was too much like him for me to have overlooked it. I committed the same mistake I had during our first case—I ignored the facts because I didn’t want to see them for what they were. I drew in one ragged breath after another.
Jack the Ripper lived. I couldn’t stop repeating it in my mind.
“Wadsworth… please, say something.”
I clamped my mouth shut. If I opened it now, I might start screaming and never stop. I didn’t know who my brother or the real Ripper was. I barely recognized myself in this moment. Who else in my life wasn’t what he or she appeared to be? I closed my eyes, forcing myself to become a solid block of ice on the inside. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.
“On the ship,” I said through gritted teeth. “He’d sat in the shadows, night after night, watching, lurking, probably enjoying the chaos of another career murderer putting on a show.” I shook my head, anger filling the space where hurt had resided moments before. I wondered if my rage was hot enough to set others on fire. “Does he know me? Was he stalking me across the sea, or was it simply a twist of fate that our paths crossed once more?”
I set the letter down and gripped the rose knob of my cane until my fingers went numb. I wanted to bash it into the Ripper’s skull. I wanted—
Thomas slowly placed his hand over mine. He held it there until the violence left me. “There’s more, I’m afraid. In his journals.”
I fought a bitter laugh. Of course there was more. It seemed this nightmare was only just beginning. Each time I thought I closed a chapter, there was a new twist waiting to reveal itself. I didn’t bother asking for details. If there was more, it involved another person, and another tragic loss of life. Another brutal murder to add to the Ripper’s blood-soaked résumé.
“Who?”
“A Miss Martha Tabram. She was a prostitute who earned a living in the East End.” Thomas watched me carefully before rummaging through the stack of journals, finding the one he’d been reading. “Nathaniel saved several newspaper clippings discussing her death. Apparently she’d been stabbed thirty-nine times with two different knives. One was thought to be a pocketknife, and the other was described as a dagger. Judging from what we know of the other Ripper killings, it was probably a long, thin surgical knife.”