Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #1)(28)
I sat straighter, my tone kind but strong. “I need you to tell me how Father knew Miss Emma Elizabeth Smith.”
My father’s former valet stared over my shoulder and through the window, the rain streaking down like tears. It was hard to tell if he was ignoring my inquiry or losing consciousness. I glanced at Thomas, whose torn expression mirrored my own. Pushing a dying man was a horrible thing to do, and if Thomas Cresswell was second-guessing our being here, then I’d really strayed from doing the proper thing.
Perhaps I was the deplorable creature society thought me to be. I could only imagine what Aunt Amelia would have to say or how many times she’d cross herself, telling me to pray for my sins. Religious fiend that she was.
Deciding I’d put him through enough, I stood.
“I must apologize, Mr. Thornley. I see I’ve upset you and that wasn’t my intention.” Releasing my skirts, I clasped his cold hands in mine. “You’ve been a great friend to our family. I cannot thank you enough for serving us all so well.”
“Might as well tell them, Grandfather.”
The young woman who’d answered the door now stood with her arms crossed at the foot of the bed, her voice gentler than I’d have thought possible.
“Clear your conscience before taking that last journey,” she said. “What harm can come of telling her what she wants to know?”
Now I saw the strong family resemblance. They both had the same thick brows that held two enchantingly large eyes, and perfectly high cheekbones. The red tint to her hair hinted at their Irish roots and the handful of freckles tossed across her nose made her more girlish than I’d originally thought.
Without the child marring her demeanor, I’d say she wasn’t much older than I was. Part of what she’d said replayed in my mind.
“Do you know anything about it?” I asked. She stared blankly, as if I’d spoken another language. “About why he’d need to clear his conscience?”
She shook her head, shifting her focus to her grandfather’s restless form. “He hasn’t said anything specific as such. Just frets about at night is all. Sometimes when he’s sleeping he’ll mumble a bit. I’ve never been able to make sense of it.”
Thornley scratched his arms so roughly I was afraid he’d tear himself open. That explained some of the sores—he was giving himself scabs, then picking them until they were infected. It wasn’t leprosy, then. It simply looked like it. I swallowed nausea down in one unpleasant gulp. His pain must be unimaginable.
Grabbing a tin of lotion from the bedside table, his granddaughter hurried to his side and lathered it on his arms. “His organs are shutting down, causing him to itch something terrible. Least that’s what the doctor said.” She applied another generous amount of the cream and he quieted down. “Lotion helps, but doesn’t last long. Try not scratching it so hard, Grandfather. You’re ripping your skin to shreds.”
Thomas shifted in his chair, the telltale sign he was growing antsy to share his opinion. I gave him a withering look that I hoped conveyed the amount of pain he’d be in should he act like his usual charming self around the Thornleys.
He ignored me and my glare.
“What I recall of my studies, it’s all part of the death process,” he said, ticking each symptom off on his fingers. “You stop eating, sleep more, breathing becomes labored. Then body itches begin, and—”
“That’s quite enough,” I interrupted, shooting Thornley and his granddaughter sympathetic looks. They knew the end was imminent. They needn’t hear explicit details of what came next.
“I only thought to help,” he whispered. “Clearly, my services are unwelcome.” Thomas lifted a shoulder, then returned to quietly assessing the room.
We would need to work on his “helping” skills in the future. I turned back to my father’s valet. “Really, anything you can tell me about that time period would be immensely helpful. There’s no one else whom I can turn to for answers. Some recent… events have occurred and it’d ease my mind.”
Thornley’s eyes welled up. He motioned for his granddaughter to come closer. “Jane, my love. Would you mind getting us some tea?”
Jane narrowed her eyes. “Wouldn’t be trying to get rid of me now, would you? You haven’t asked for tea in days.” Her tone was more playful than accusatory, garnering a small smile from her grandfather. “Very well. I’ll go fetch some tea, then. Behave yourself until I get back. Mum will hang me if she thinks I’ve mistreated you.”
Once Jane was out of the room, Thornley took a few labored breaths, then looked at me, his focus clearer than it was a few seconds earlier.
“Miss Emma Elizabeth Smith was a dear friend of your mother’s, Miss Audrey Rose. You probably don’t recall her, though. Stopped coming around when you were still a little thing.” He coughed, but shook off my offer of more water. “She also knew your uncle and father. The four of them were thick as thieves in their younger years. In fact, your uncle was betrothed to her at one time.”
Confusion wrapped its fingers around my brain. The way Uncle’s notes were written made it seem as if he didn’t know the first thing about her. I’d never have guessed she was an acquaintance, let alone someone he’d been close to marrying. Thomas raised his brows; apparently that was something not even he saw coming.