Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #1)(34)
When I looked at my hands I knew that was a horrible lie.
Everything was most certainly not okay, and this was no mathematical equation; my hands were covered in sticky blood. I frantically wiped them off on my bodice, but it was no use. Blood stained my fingers in a crimson accusation.
Somehow, some way, I was responsible for this man’s death.
Nathaniel sat with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, looking more serious than a man facing a firing squad.
When the detective inspector showed up on our doorstep with me covered in blood and shivering beneath a horse blanket, he’d gone deathly pale. My aunt had nearly fainted herself when she’d seen me and ushered her daughter into their rooms, promising a thorough discussion on proper behavior once I was decent.
Something else to look forward to.
Each time I closed my eyes the scene replayed in my mind. The horrid, gaping smile taunting me. I’d heard police mention his neck was almost severed completely.
A few tendons and ligaments were barely saving him from decapitation, a fact I was well aware of. I shivered. There was something infinitely worse about touching a still-warm dead person as opposed to cutting open the cold ones in Uncle’s laboratory.
“Here. Drink this.” Nathaniel pressed a hot cup of tea into my hands. I hadn’t seen him cross the room. I stared at the steam rising off the pale, almost golden liquid.
It was impossible, but I swear I could’ve almost heard the last few strained beats of the man’s heart as he bled out in front of me.
Thomas assured me even if we’d arrived moments after the attack, he’d likely have died almost instantly. There was an agonizing feeling deep inside of me, wondering if I’d held a cloth to his wound instead of knocking his head askance if it could’ve saved his life. What kind of girl was so accustomed to blood she paid it no mind? A terrible one.
“If there’s anything else we can do, Detective,” Nathaniel said, ushering the man from the drawing room. I’d forgotten he was even there.
I heard snippets of conversation as they made their way to the front door. An identification card was found in the man’s pocket, confirming my worst fears: someone got to Mr. Dunlop before I could question him. Guilt wrapped itself so tightly around me, I could scarcely breathe. How many men needed to die before I discovered the truth?
I sipped the fragrant tea, letting the warmth slide down my throat all the way into my gullet, heating me from the inside out.
I knew nothing regarding Mr. Dunlop and his personal life, so I hadn’t the slightest clue who would wish him dead. Was it someone he worked with?
The whole crew of the Mary See certainly appeared capable of murder, but looks had a troubling way of being deceiving. Mother used to read stories from books she’d brought from Grandmama’s. At first I’d turned my nose up at them, thinking nothing good could come from such battered covers. I’d been snobbish and wrong.
The words written between those crinkled pages were magical; like a fairy princess hiding amongst paupers. Mother taught me judging something from its outward appearance was silly, a lesson I tried remembering often.
Recalling the way I’d curl up in her lap brought on a new wave of sadness. How much death and destruction must one girl go through in a lifetime? As the door opened and closed, I blinked tears back, angry with myself for not being tougher.
Nathaniel sank into the high-backed chair across from me, leaning over to look me in the eyes. I half expected him to scold me for venturing out, being reckless as I was prone to be; instead, he smiled.
“You’re the bravest person I know, little Sister.”
I couldn’t stop myself from snorting. I was a sniffling, teary mess—hardly the mark of bravery. Thomas had held me the entire carriage ride home just so I wouldn’t break apart. I’d siphoned his strength and missed it terribly now. Nathaniel shook his head, easily reading my thoughts. Well, I hope not the one regarding Thomas with his arms around me.
“Half the men in Father’s circle wouldn’t have dared to question men who work the docks,” he said. “It takes an extraordinary amount of courage to do what you did.” He dropped his gaze. “My only regret with your outing today is the horror of seeing that man with his—I’m truly sorry you were the one to find him.”
I held a hand up to stall him. I didn’t want to think about finding poor Mr. Dunlop anymore. I lifted my chin, chasing the would-be tears away.
“Thank you.” I stood, setting my teacup down on the table, and hugged my arms to my chest. I needed to get out of this room and clear my head.
Reaching down to gather my skirts, I realized I was still dressed in my blood-smeared riding habit and breeches. Perhaps the news of my grisly discovery wasn’t the only thing that had made my aunt nearly faint.
First thing I needed to do was change into clean clothing. Even the strongest soldier in the queen’s army wouldn’t run around in battered trousers, I assured myself.
Nathaniel got up from his own seat. “Where are you going?”
I smiled. “To change. Then I’m calling on Thomas. There are things I need to discuss with him, and I’m afraid they cannot wait until morning.”
Nathaniel opened his mouth, ready to argue, but stopped himself. I’d just discovered a mutilated man in an alley on the docks. Calling on Mr. Thomas Cresswell late in the afternoon was the least of his worries.