Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #1)(36)

Why was Father taking a sudden interest in marrying me off, and who was the mystery man writing about me? If it wasn’t Thomas, then who was it? An uncomfortable feeling slithered like snakes through my gut. I didn’t like this turn of events one bit and would do everything in my power to stall any courting. I clenched my fists.

“Arranged marriages have gone out of fashion,” I stated, hoping to appeal to my aunt’s vanity. “People would surely gossip about it.”

“First things first,” Aunt Amelia said, clapping her hands and ignoring me altogether. “Time to get rid of those disgusting blood-soaked garments. Then we’ll address the matter of your hair.”

She scrunched her nose as if she were observing a rodent rummaging through rubbish. I cringed. My hair had been the last thing on my mind after finding a man dead.

“Honestly, Audrey Rose, you’re far too pretty and too old to be running around like a tomboy,” she said. “Bring your needle and thread down after your bath; it’s high time we worked on your hope chest.”





TWELVE


FAMILY TIES


WADSWORTH RESIDENCE,

BELGRAVE SQUARE

13 SEPTEMBER 1888

Nearly two hours and several dainty ahems of approval later, my aunt finally retired to bed, satisfied she’d sewn inappropriateness from me one stitch at a time.

It now didn’t seem to bother her I’d found a murdered man, so long as I’d created pretty violets and swirling vines to make up for breaking social taboos.

She’d also insisted on having my newest maid add a bit more “powder and polish” to my after-bath routine. When I’d argued that it was unnecessary, I could do fine on my own, she crossed herself and refilled her wine, instructing the maid to attend to my beauty needs each day from there on out.

I resisted the urge to wipe the excess kohl from my eyes, especially when Thomas kept tossing smug glances my way. I enjoyed applying makeup as any other girl my age would, only I did so with a lighter hand.

“Police say a gear was used to slash his throat open.” Thomas fidgeted in his seat in our drawing room. I refused to let him smoke in the house, and he was more twitchy than usual while filling me in on the investigation. He slid one of Uncle’s medical journals over to me, his fingers lingering a bit near mine before he fiddled with his own notebook.

“How on earth did someone do that much damage with a simple gear?” I asked, moving around in my own chair with discomfort.

It was strange having Thomas in my home without supervision, even though we’d spent time roaming London and Reading by ourselves and my aunt and cousin were only a few floors above us.

I figured once we started discussing the murder, things would become less awkward, but that was proving to be another falsehood.

“Turning something like that into a weapon isn’t hard.” He lifted his teacup but didn’t sip before setting it down again, his gaze snagging on mine. “It’s made of metal and has sharp ends. Any madman or drunk can manage killing someone with it. I, myself, have sharpened quite a few.”

I did not have the mental energy to ask why he had experience or need to sharpen gears. Letting that slide, I kept my focus on the case, drumming my fingers along the journal. “At the first two murders there were gears. It’s a bit too much of a coincidence to be unrelated to our own investigation. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Dear Wadsworth. Your association with me is growing more beneficial by the hour. Your intelligence is quite… attractive,” Thomas said, raising his brows suggestively and taking in my newly plaited hair. “Let’s have some wine and dance inappropriately. You’ve already dressed the part for me—let’s take advantage.”

He offered his hand, palm up, a wicked grin set upon his face.

“Thomas, please.” I batted his hand away, blushing furiously. Dancing with Thomas alone without a chaperone would be scandalous and was far too tempting. Plus it wouldn’t solve this mystery any faster, I reasoned. “Aunt Amelia would perish on the spot if she walked in on such… impropriety.”

“Hmm. Her untimely end would excuse you from any more embroidery lessons, would it not? Perhaps we should skip the dancing and passionately embrace instead.”

“Thomas,” I chided. I told myself the sooner we discovered who the murderer was, the sooner I’d be rid of Thomas Cresswell and his devious ways. We’d be kissing in back alleys before I knew it. Then my reputation would truly be in the gutter. I didn’t appreciate the twinge of disappointment I felt at the thought of not spending as much time with him.

“Very well, then.” Thomas leaned back, sighing. “I believe someone was spying on us in the shipyard. They must’ve overheard us talking about Mr. Dunlop. It’s the only logical conclusion that works. If we can identify him, I’m positive we’ll have found our murderer.”

“And if I had a crown I’d be queen,” I said, unable to stop myself. “Honestly, Thomas, how ridiculous a statement. If, if, if. We need something a bit more secure than a simple if, if we’re to stop a vicious murderer.”

The irony of my last statement was not lost on Thomas. A slow smile crept across his mouth as he leaned forward, our faces dangerously close. “If I purchased a crown, would you run round Buckingham Palace in nothing but your petticoats, demanding the guards let you through?”