Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(93)

“He’s very nice,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll both be exquisitely happy.” She sighed dreamily. I wanted to ask further regarding her sister’s worries about him

being interested in her money but didn’t wish to upset her again. At any rate, he had several businesses, so it appeared he was doing quite well on his own. “You mentioned your understudy has not been heard from. Is that something she normally did? Disappear for a few days?”

“Oh, no. Trudy wanted that role too much. She’d been a patient understudy, but you can always see the longing, you know?” She rearranged her skirts.

“She’d stare at the stage as though it was the very source of her life. The electricity machine Mephistopheles crafted—when she watched it, it was like she’d seen an angel. I can’t imagine her giving it up, not now. And I cannot understand why she’d leave without telling anyone.”

“Did she travel anywhere out of the ordinary?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Trudy never liked to go anywhere alone—she’d even have one of the other performers walk her to the streetcar after a show. She was always so cautious.”

“Was she afraid of being followed?”

Minnie lifted a shoulder. “I’m not sure why she insisted on being escorted to and from her boardinghouse. I imagined it was because her family’s beliefs of a woman being unaccompanied was a sin. I guessed there were some rules she didn’t want to break.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“A few days ago, when I was married,” Minnie said. “She came to the courthouse to be my witness.”

I mulled the information over. It was hard to ignore that if she was actually missing, she was yet another young woman connected to Mephistopheles’s show. We’d cleared the Moonlight Carnival of wrongdoing on the Etruria, but this coincidence was a bit much. As well as him being present on the ship, in New York, and now in Chicago, where the succession of crimes was occurring—

that was a coincidence as well. And I knew precisely what Uncle said about there being no coincidences when it came to murder.

I started thinking of the enigmatic ringmaster and his stage name, of how it was based on Faust. In that legend, Mephistopheles was a demon in the devil’s employ, sent to steal souls. That character used trickery and deceit to get what he wanted, manipulating everything in his favor. Much like the ringmaster did with his midnight bargains. Could Thomas have been correct about his fears? Was Ayden truly a devil hiding in plain view?

And if Mephistopheles wasn’t the White City Devil, was there a chance he knew who was and aided him? There had been a circus in London during the

Ripper murders; my brother and I had attended it. Chills ran icy fingers down my spine. It wasn’t such a stretch of the imagination to think the ringmaster had been present there, too.

“Audrey Rose?” Minnie waved her hand near my face, brow crinkled. “You appear as if you’ve seen a ghost. Should I ready the carriage for you?”





FORTY

INFERNO

GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS





15 FEBRUARY 1889


“Mr. Cresswell left this for you, miss.”

“Is my uncle in?” I asked the maid as she assisted me out of my cloak.

“No, miss. He and Mr. Cresswell both stepped out. Would you like some coffee?”

“Tea, please. I’ll take it in the library.”

Americans drank coffee the way the English indulged in our tea. Thomas was thrilled, guzzling nearly three cups per day. Sometimes more when I wasn’t around. The extra caffeine was the last thing he needed, though his buzzing about was a nuisance I adored. I smiled, recalling the way he’d used to smoke to get that jolt. Thank goodness he’d given that habit up.

I peeled my gloves off, then headed for the library, reading the note written in his hurried scrawl. He and Uncle were meeting with a coroner to consult on a case. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, perhaps a death caused by being exposed to the elements. They’d return soon.

Lost in my own thoughts, I swore I felt a frostbitten kiss along my spine as I traveled the length of the corridor. It was dreadfully chilly at this end of the house.

When I got to the library door, I reached for the handle and hesitated. The iron knob felt like a block of carved ice. Trepidation entered my senses. Even if a fire hadn’t been lit, the handle was much too cold for being indoors. Before I

lost my nerve, I pushed the door open. I held fast to my cane, ready to wield it at whatever lurked inside the room.

Sheer curtains fluttered toward me, two pale arms reminding me of phantoms searching for their next victim to haunt. Panic seized me in its grip. Someone had broken into Grandmama’s home! I bet they’d—I shut my eyes. My imagination was at it again, no doubt.

Gathering my wits, I glanced around, noticing the freshly polished wood, and a stick that was likely used to beat dust from the rugs sitting against the wall.

Bits of the mystery unwound. No malicious entity or murderer had entered our home. This room was simply cleaned. The window had been cracked to let the scent of cleanser and mustiness out. Nothing more.

I exhaled, my puff of breath like a storm cloud as I closed the window and drew the curtains. One day I’d harness my wild imagination. I flicked the curtain back, staring down into the street. Night had fully fallen, cloaking the city in shadows. Lamps offered orbs of warmth, though I couldn’t help thinking of them as glowing eyes, ever watchful, waiting for me. A pale face shimmered before me, two horns twisting above its head. A demon.