Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(68)

“Honestly?” I snorted. “I didn’t realize you were so well versed in religion.”

Thomas placed my hand in the crook of his arm, steering us toward my uncle,

who’d just exited the station. “I enjoy causing discord when forced to attend parties. You ought to hear the arguments that break out from uttering something so supposedly blasphemous. The one question no one can answer is always, if Adam had been warned, why didn’t he pass the message along to his wife?

Seems he was more to blame than she was. Yet Eve is always the villain, the wicked temptress who cursed us all.”

“Who are you?” I asked, only half jesting.

He stopped walking. “I am the man who will love you unto forever.” Before I could collapse from either swooning or chiding him for his flirtation, he quickly added, “I’m also a student of observation. And a brother. The truth, Miss Wadsworth, is I’ve watched my sister navigate the world of men. Doing so with more grace than I ever could, were I in her position. I’ve watched you do the same. Biting your tongue when I’d want nothing more than to bite the offender. I delight in pointing out areas where man has failed, even if it changes only one mind. Or if it changes none. At least I feel as though I’m fighting on the side of women, not against them. Everyone needs to take responsibility for their own failures.”

I clutched his arm a bit tighter. “You’re remarkable when you choose to be, Cresswell.”

He looked at me, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “I long to live in a world where equal treatment is not something in need of commending.”

Uncle stuffed his hands into his cloak, turning his face away from the increasing wind.

“Streetcars are available, but I’ve hired a carriage due to our trunks.” He lifted his attention to the man still hollering about Satan. His jaw tightened as the man pointed to our group, cursing my family for bringing me to this den of sin.

Uncle sighed. “You’re not to go out unaccompanied under any circumstances, Audrey Rose. We’re no longer on familiar ground, and I’ll not worry about your whereabouts while we’re investigating this case. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Satan is coming for you! He’s coming for you all. Every last sinner among you will be burned alive!” The man charged a young woman, waving a cross in her face. When she didn’t flinch, he sank to his knees. “Angel of vengeance!

Have you come to save us?”

I took an involuntary step closer to Thomas as the woman grabbed her skirts and ran out of the man’s way. He was clearly suffering from some affliction of the mind if he truly believed angels and demons walked amongst us.

“Here’s our transportation.” Uncle motioned to a carriage. “Let’s be on our

—”

“Professor,” Thomas began, “would it be all right if we met you there in an hour? I’d love to see the Sanitary and Ship Canal.”

“I suspect you’re asking permission to take my niece. To the sanitary.” Uncle pinched the bridge of his nose when Thomas nodded eagerly. “One hour.”

Thomas helped Uncle into the carriage, probably promising his firstborn to get us both home safely within the hour. Once the horses rode off, Thomas held his arm out for me, his smile near contagious. I hesitated only a moment before accepting it.

“We really need to work on your wooing skills, Cresswell,” I said. “I’m afraid visiting a sanitary canal isn’t the most romantic way to court someone.”

He chuckled as we made our way down the street, steering us far away from the religious man’s bell ringing. I noticed how tense his muscles were beneath my hand. “It’s one of the most remarkable feats of engineering—they’ve reversed the flow of the river away from Lake Michigan.”

“Since when have you become so enamored with engineering?” I looked up at him, brow arched. “It doesn’t quite fit in with your science and deductions.”

“Miss Wadsworth!” An almost familiar voice cried out. “Mr. Cresswell!”

Startled, I searched the crowd, which was turning out to be an impossible task. Five o’clock in Chicago was dreadfully busy. People rushed from sleek metal trains, green-and-cream-colored streetcars, and all manner of carriages both swift and more leisurely. Sidewalks bustled with workers emptying from the buildings, depositing dozens more into the already crowded walkways. We stood there, parting the crowd as if we were rocks jutting out from a raging river.

No one came for us. Thomas shrugged, then gently guided me to the nearest building.

“In Bucharest,” he said by way of explanation, “my mother used to say, ‘If you get lost, stay put. It won’t do any good if you’re running about like a plucked goose.’”

I crinkled my brow. “Aren’t geese plucked after they’ve been killed?”

“There, there, Wadsworth.” Thomas patted my arm. “I didn’t have the heart even at eight to tell my mother the error of her statement. Although,” he said, as if coming to some new realization, “perhaps the absurdity of the image was meant to stick in my mind.”

Finally I spotted a familiar young man with dark skin and a bright smile working his way toward us, moving against the flow of the crowd. Mr. Noah

Hale. Our friend from the forensic academy in Romania. I couldn’t believe our luck!