Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(71)
“Oh, Tesla’s here, all right.” Noah grinned. “He’s showcasing his polyphase system. He’s got fifteen feet of coil and oscillators in the electrical building.
Steam hisses and sparks fly. It’s incredible. Last time I was there, a woman stood frozen for nearly an hour. She thought she’d seen God.”
“I imagine it would seem like that.”
I glanced from one building to another. There was so much to do and see and I wanted desperately to do it all. It would be daunting, trying to hobble over so much ground, especially in heavy crowds. I’d hate to hold my companions back.
Thomas watched me in that uncanny way of his. “Taking a boat ride across the pond would be fun. I’m up for it if you are, Wadsworth.”
I bit my lip. We’d sent word to my uncle, asking if we might stay out a little while longer to visit the fair, and he’d instructed us to spend no more than two hours at the exhibition. We’d already been waiting an hour for the nightly illumination; judging from the size of the crowd, by the time we crossed the bridge and made our way to a boat, that’d take at least another hour alone. I wanted to go very badly, but I wanted to respect Uncle’s wishes.
“Perhaps next time, Cresswell. Much as I wish to spend eternity in this heavenly city, we have a devil to catch.”
Our carriage rolled to a stop outside a prim house that seemed to sneer at our
arrival. I raised my brows. It was an interesting design; each arch was ornamented, reminding me a bit of—
“Is it me, or does it look like a witch owns this property and is gouging out children’s eyes and setting them in jars for her spell work as we speak?”
“Thomas,” I chided, swatting his arm. “It’s very… gothic.”
He snorted. “How magnanimous of you, Wadsworth. The spires look like fangs.”
“Don’t be snippy about the house,” I warned, “or it might bite you back.”
Ignoring Thomas’s further commentary, I pushed his assessment aside. It was a grand estate—a favor from Grandmama. She’d made the arrangements for us, claiming to know the perfect location for our endeavors. I had no idea she owned property here, but she was full of surprises. It was much too large for the three of us, though after leaving the chaos and clamor of our families behind, the extra space would feel welcome. A much-needed respite from meddling dukes and vengeful fiancées. I smiled to myself. Grandmama always knew what I needed.
I accepted Thomas’s arm as we got out of the carriage, tottering only a little until I secured my balance with my cane. I exhaled, my breath steaming in front of me, startled to see we weren’t alone. Uncle paced outside our temporary home, either unaware or uncaring of the snow that had started falling in earnest.
Thomas and I exchanged glances. Uncle hadn’t seemed to notice our arrival, either. His focus was directed inward, his hands clasped behind his back, his lips moving with words we couldn’t hear. Thomas cleared his throat, and Uncle swiveled to us, his expression stern. Whatever magic and merriment I’d felt upon leaving the White City vanished. Thomas helped me up the stairs, his attention split between ensuring I didn’t slip over the slick cobblestones, and my increasingly irate Uncle.
“Professor? What is it?”
“I spent the afternoon walking from one police station to the next, all across Chicago.”
I drew my overcoat closer, trying to ignore the bits of frosted ice that pelted my skin. I’d no idea how long my uncle had been out here, but he’d catch his death if he didn’t get inside.
“Uncle, we should—”
“It’s the lack of bodies that troubles me.” He stopped moving long enough to stare at the soft glow of a lamppost. “Do you know what I find most disturbing?”
“That you’re not frozen solid after standing out here without a coat?” Thomas asked. “Or is that only me?”
Uncle flashed him a warning look before turning to me. “Well?”
“I-it isn’t t-that unusual for a-a city, i-is it? P-perhaps t-the b-bodies are i-in tthe canal,” I said, fully chattering. I leaned on my cane, the cold biting into my leg unmercifully. “May we please discuss this in the house? M-my leg—”
“There are no bodies. No body parts,” Uncle said, motioning us all inside.
Thomas kept his hand on the small of my back as we stepped through the ornate front door. “Even in a city of this size, corpses have a way of turning up. Miss Brown’s body, for example, was discovered within hours of her murder. Why, then, are there no corpses?”
A footman helped me out of my coat. “Tea service is waiting in the drawing room, Miss Wadsworth. Your grandmother also arranged for assorted pastries.”
I moved as quickly as I could into the room, standing before the fire, soaking in its warmth, mind churning over possibilities. “Our murderer… he might have some laboratory secreted away where he keeps the bodies.” I accepted a cup of tea Thomas offered, shifting to meet his and Uncle’s worried expressions. “He could dismember them, then toss them into the river. Or any of the canals or lagoons of the Columbian Exposition.” I glanced at Thomas. The earlier beauty of the fair now took on a sinister aura. “There were many waterways. Perhaps they’ve gotten tangled up in the underwater mechanics.”
“Theories are good, Audrey Rose, but facts are better at this juncture. There’s no bloody clothing, no scarf or coat or bit of torn fabric or skirt or shoe—not one clue or trace of evidence that any crime close to the Ripper murders has been committed here.” Uncle collapsed into an overstuffed leather chair, twisting his mustache. “Does that sound like the work of the Jack the Ripper we know? The very one who mailed letters written in blood to detective inspectors? The one who made a game of hacking off body parts and organs?”