Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #1)(37)
“Be serious,” I admonished him, but not before laughing at the absurdity of the image. “Can you picture such a thing? I’d be thrown into the Tower and they’d have the key tossed in the Thames for good measure. Good riddance, indeed.”
“Fear not! I’d find ways of springing you from your tower prison, fair lady.”
I shook my head. “Wonderful. You’ll end up in the next cell, dooming us both.”
Thomas laughed heartily for a few beats, his gaze straying to my lips and staying there. I swallowed, suddenly remembering we were alone, and I couldn’t find one good reason why I shouldn’t kiss him. I was already trouble in society’s eyes. Might as well embrace my role and have a bit of adventure in the process. Cousin Liza would demand every last detail… a bit of gossip might be fun.
Checking my reaction, he slowly closed the distance between us, my pulse quickening as his expression shifted to a sweet unguardedness. Yes, I thought. This was right. I couldn’t think of a more perfect first kiss.
A clattering noise from the kitchen downstairs broke the spell. He abruptly sat straighter in his chair, flipping the notebook open with intense interest; the temperature in the room chilled at least twenty degrees.
I blinked at how quickly he shut himself off. I’d half a mind to have a fire made in here, not that it’d help his frigid demeanor.
Straightening my shoulders, I collected my thoughts. Well, then. I could be just as fickle as Thomas, if that’s how he wanted our association to be. We needn’t laugh or even be friends. In fact, I should never have warmed to him to begin with. I couldn’t believe how close I’d been to kissing him. Deplorable beast that he was.
Though, if I were truly being honest with myself, I would admit it was nice having an acquaintance as abnormal in society’s eyes as I was. Father hadn’t allowed friends into our home while we were growing up, what with influenzas and potential pox contaminations, so I’d never had a best friend before and missed out on those sorts of relationships.
Even with all Father’s efforts, disease still found its way into our home.
He hadn’t realized how difficult it would make things once I was old enough to accept my own invitations for tea. Now I needed my aunt and cousin to come in and make friends for me. I couldn’t be vexed with Father, though. He did the best he could, even when his best was detrimental.
“I’ll take that.” I snatched another journal from Thomas’s side of the table. It seemed he’d grabbed nearly all of Uncle’s journals before arriving here and was hoarding them along with his manners.
He didn’t bother lifting his head from his own work. Of all the… I set my jaw, and reread the same few sentences, forcing my brain to find a connection between the victims. Two prostitutes, Miss Smith, and a coachman-turned-sailor. Most of whom had a connection to Father, I realized with a start. The only person who couldn’t be traced to him was Miss Annie Chapman, and she’d been slain in the most brutal manner.
Everything pointed to the fact that Miss Chapman didn’t know her killer, but the others likely did. I swallowed hard, knowing there was something we needed to do immediately.
“Excuse me.” I stood, gathering my skirts like silent witnesses, and headed out the door without waiting for Thomas to stand. If he wanted to treat me so coolly, then I’d show him the same lack of respect. I needed no man to empower me. I had my father to thank for that much; his absence in most everyday things had prepared me well enough to stand on my own.
Walking swiftly down the hallway, I paused, listening to sounds of voices drifting up from ornate metal vents in the floor. Once I reached my father’s study, I halted to the sound of someone knocking at the front door. Drat. I crept back down the hall and slipped into the well-lit drawing room while the first footman greeted the caller.
Last thing I needed was to get caught rummaging through Father’s things, but suddenly recalling something Thornley mentioned had my mind spinning with new questions.
Thomas continued to pore over his notes. I paid him little attention, straining to hear who was calling on us at this hour. Footsteps approached, and I pretended to lose myself in reading. The first footman entered the room, waiting for my acknowledgment. I looked up, eyes innocent and wide. “Yes, Caine?”
“There’s a Mr. Alberts here to see you, Miss Audrey Rose. Says he works for your uncle and brings an urgent message. He apologizes for the late hour. Shall I send him away?”
I shook my head. “It’s not like Uncle to send someone over unless it’s important.” Especially if Father intercepted any correspondence he’d want to keep private.
Something must have happened. Perhaps he found a link to the crimes and couldn’t wait until morning, or maybe he’d discovered our murderer’s identity.
Anticipation raced through my core, erasing all else from my thoughts. “Send him in straightaway, please.”
The footman disappeared, emerging again with my uncle’s servant in tow. The man gripped a worn derby hat, nervously twisting the brim round and round, looking as if he’d just encountered something awful.
My heart turned to lead, dully thudding in my chest. Perhaps he was simply afraid of encountering my father. Uncle certainly barked loud enough over the last few years about his cruel brother, the miserable Lord Edmund Wadsworth, who hid his darkness behind his pompous title. I hoped that was the cause of his anxiety.