Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #1)(38)
“You have a message from my uncle?”
He nodded, throwing glances toward Thomas as he did so, his unease growing. “Yes, Miss Wadsworth. It’s—it’s something terrible, I’m afraid.”
Uncle’s servant wrung his hat until I was convinced it’d be torn in half.
“Do speak freely, Mr. Alberts,” I said. “What news do you have of my uncle?”
He swallowed hard—his Adam’s apple a bobbing buoy in his throat. “He’s been arrested, miss. Scotland Yard’s taken him away in a Black Maria and everything. Told us he’s the one responsible for them deaths in Whitechapel. Said he’s gone mad.” He paused, steeling himself against the rest of his news. “A witness come by an’ identified him. Said he’s the one she seen skulking about the murder. Superintendent said they’re taking everyone suspicious in on account of… on account of how awful them… ladies… were cut up.”
Notes Thomas had begun scribbling slipped through his fingers, the pages fluttering to the ground like ash after a fire. “What kind of nonsense is this?”
Alberts shook his head, dropping his gaze to the floor, a tremor going through the entire length of his body. “They’re rummaging through his laboratory right now. Looking for more evidence to keep him locked away. Say it’s only a matter of time before he’s found guilty and executed. They say he’s… he’s Leather Apron.”
“Caine, please fetch my coat.” My attention shifted to Thomas, who was momentarily taken off-guard, his mouth hanging wide and his eyes blinking disbelief away. We needed to get to Uncle’s laboratory now, before they destroyed his life and all his research. “Alberts, thank you for informing us of this—”
“Politeness be damned, Wadsworth!” Thomas bellowed, quickly moving across the room and into the hall. “Let’s hurry while there’s still a laboratory to save. You”—he pointed at the second footman lingering in the hall—“ready the Hansom cab as if your very soul depends on its velocity.”
He grabbed my overcoat from Caine, offering to place it round my shoulders, but I yanked it from his grasp. When the second footman hadn’t moved, I nodded at him. “Please do as Mr. Cresswell has so rudely demanded.”
Thomas snorted as the footman scampered off to do my bidding. “Oh, yes. I’m the villain. Your uncle is being hauled off, his scientific findings most likely being destroyed by barbarians, yet I’m the rude one. That makes perfect sense.”
“You’re infuriatingly rude. Being boorish and snapping at people won’t get the job done any quicker, you know.” I pulled my coat on and fastened the buttons with deft fingers. “We wouldn’t still be waiting here for the carriage if you’d asked them nicely to fetch it.”
“Any other words of wisdom I should take into consideration, my dove?” he asked flatly.
“Yes. As a matter of fact. It wouldn’t kill you to be kinder to people. Who knows?” I said, tossing my hands in the air. “Maybe you’d finally find someone who could tolerate you. And, anyway, how twisted your first concern is of the lab and not my uncle’s life. Your priorities are hopelessly in disarray.”
“Perhaps I don’t want any friends,” he said, moving toward the front door. “Perhaps I am content with speaking the way I do and care only what your opinion of me is. My first concern is not of your uncle’s laboratory. It’s of their reason for taking him in.” Thomas rubbed his forehead. “Thus far they’ve arrested four other men I can think of. For the offense of drinking too much and flashing a knife. My concern is whether they’ve taken him to a workhouse or to an asylum.”
“Neither is pleasant.”
“True,” Thomas said, “but he’s less likely to be dosed with ‘tonic’ in a workhouse.”
In the next moments, our sleek Hansom carriage pulled around the front of my house, the single black horse looking dangerous. The beast snorted, sending puffs of steam into the already foggy evening. I hoisted myself into the carriage, not bothering to wait for Thomas or the coachman to help.
We needed to hurry. There was no telling how much damage the police were actually doing to Uncle’s precious work. And if what Thomas said was true regarding the asylum… I couldn’t finish the thought.
Thomas hopped into the small enclosure, his attention riveted on the road ahead of us, the muscles in his jaw tense. I couldn’t tell if he was worried about Uncle, or upset I’d insulted him. Perhaps it was a bit of both.
The coachman cracked the whip and we were off, flying through the streets at a gloriously fast pace. We wove in and around larger horse-drawn carriages, moving as agilely as a panther through the urban tangle of London’s streets. In what felt like mere minutes, we were pulling up to Uncle’s home in Highgate.
I leapt from the cab, my skirts adding bulk and weight to my already heavy footsteps. Police filed in and out of Uncle’s home, removing boxes of paperwork. I ran up to a young man who seemed to be in charge.
“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded, hoping I might shame them into stopping. If only for a little while. “Have you no respect for a man who’s assisted in finding criminals most of his life? What could you possibly want with my uncle?”
The constable had the good grace to blush, but stuck his impressive chest out a bit more when Thomas ambled up the steps, an obnoxious swagger in his stride. The constable turned his attention back on me, his light eyes showing a hint of remorse. No salty tears spilled from those oceanic blues, though.