Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #1)(57)
“What is the meaning of that question?” I demanded, anger swelling back up inside me. I could not believe he really thought so little of me. So much for telling each other the truth no matter what.
“I was not insinuating you had anything to do with writing the letter, Wadsworth,” he said. “Truly, you must harness those blasted emotions of yours. They’ll just get in the way of our investigation.”
I did not feel like having this conversation again. He might be able to act machinelike during our horrid investigations, but ice and stone were not the material forming my blood and bones. “Then what, exactly, were you insinuating?”
“Someone who was wearing Hasu-no-Hana two nights ago was in close proximity of that letter.”
I closed my eyes. “You can’t be serious, Thomas. That’s your major discovery? You think you can identify our murderer by a perfume scent? How can you be sure someone working in the General Post wasn’t wearing it?” I tossed my hands in the air. “Perhaps the letter carrier had it next to another letter written by someone’s secret lover. Maybe they spritzed their envelope in their beloved’s favorite scent. Did you ever stop to think of that, Mr. I Know Everything?”
“You were wearing the very same fragrance two nights ago,” he replied softly, staring at the ground, all hints of arrogance gone. “The night you visited the asylum and followed me to the Necropolis. I smelled it on you in the alleyway. I went to several shops trying to find the exact scent…” He looked at his hands. “I wanted to purchase it for you.”
If he’d reached out and slapped me, I would’ve been less shocked. This was what my only true friend in the world thought of me; I was a monster waiting to be unleashed. Maybe he was right. I certainly didn’t feel like crying, or begging for him to believe me. I didn’t even feel good about his admission of wanting to buy a gift for me. I felt like drawing blood. His blood in particular.
“So you are suggesting I had something to do with this!” I half yelled, walking away before turning back. He still wouldn’t meet my glare. “How dare you? How dare you think such reprehensible things of me. It’s the most popular scent in London! For your blasted information, both my aunt and cousin were wearing the very same fragrance. Are you implying one of them wrote the letter?”
“Would your aunt try to protect Dr. Wadsworth? Or perhaps your family’s reputation?” He took a deep breath. “She’s very religious, is she not?”
“I cannot—” I shook my head. “This is absurd!”
I was through with him.
If he thought I or my aunt or my cousin mailed the letter, so be it.
A new, twisted thought made me smile; Jack the Ripper had done me a favor. His letter, whatever the motive, cast a glimmer of hope for Uncle. At least he had a fighting chance now.
“You know what? You were with me that night, too, Thomas. Perhaps my magic perfume wafted over all your belongings. I wouldn’t be surprised if you wrote the bloody letter yourself.”
I turned on my heel, a springy bounce in my step, and hailed a carriage, leaving Thomas all alone with his accusations and incredulous stares, blissfully unaware of the horror about to take place in the next nights.
Mitre Square, c. 1925
TWENTY
DOUBLE EVENT
MITRE SQUARE,
LONDON
30 SEPTEMBER 1888
A crowd of angry men and women surged against a barricade made up of police bodies, fear driving their emotions into boiling rage.
I pulled my shawl closer, covering my face from both the early morning chill and from people standing near. I did not wish to be recognized; my family had had enough to deal with as it was.
Father had finally come home last night after almost a month away from his precious laudanum, and I didn’t want anyone informing him I’d sneaked out of the house and run here as quickly as I could.
Testing his paranoia was something I hoped to avoid at least until Uncle was freed. Not to mention, I didn’t want him rushing to marry me off if I proved too difficult for him to handle. He’d probably already picked a nice, suitable young man who lived far away from the city streets of London. I hated the idea of being trapped away in some gilded cage in the country, but I couldn’t fault my father for trying to protect me.
Misguided as his attempts were.
I raised my attention to the surrounding buildings: tall brick monsters that were cold and unmoving. The enormous letters naming the Kearly & Tonge building silently watched the chaos going on below, and I watched the building. If only those letters could speak of the secrets they witnessed last night. I tried absorbing every detail I could, the same way Thomas or Uncle would do, were they here. I hadn’t spoken to Thomas in two days, the sting of his accusation still very much in the forefront of my mind.
Mitre Square was the perfect place for a killing. Buildings formed a massive courtyard, keeping prying eyes from main thoroughfares away. From rumors sweeping through the crowd, it was an even better place for a double murder.
Jack the Ripper came back with a vengeance after nearly a month of peace. He hadn’t made idle threats in the “Dear Boss” letter. Jack had promised violence untold, and that’s precisely what he’d done.
A few men near the front of the crowd shouted for blood, igniting people around them into a blazing fury.