Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #1)(67)

I couldn’t stop stealing glances at Thomas, wondering if the very monster I was hunting was standing beside me. Though his story of his mother’s death and father’s near-immediate remarriage tugged at me emotionally, perhaps that was his intention. For now I’d watch him, but act as if all was well between us.

Thomas held an umbrella over our heads, his attention focused on everyone in the gathering. There weren’t many mourners, and to be honest, none of them appeared the least bit suspicious—except for one bearded man who tossed stares over his shoulder at us. Something about him set caution humming through my veins.

“Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return,” the priest quoted from the book of Genesis, holding his arms skyward. “May your soul rest more peacefully than the manner in which you left us, beloved sister.”

The handful of people murmured a collective amen before dispersing from the plot. Dreary weather kept their sadness at arm’s length and their prayers for the dead short. Moments later the sky opened up and rain flowed freely, forcing Thomas to stand a bit closer with the umbrella.

Or perhaps he was using it as an excuse. He’d been hovering around me as if I were the sun his universe revolved around ever since he’d let me past one of his many emotional walls. Something to ponder another day.

I walked over to the makeshift grave marker, kneeling to run my gloved fingertips across the rough wooden cross, feeling a wave of sadness for a woman I didn’t even know. The city of London pulled together, giving her a proper burial and grave. People were always providing in death what they would not do in life, it seemed.

“Audrey Rose.” Thomas cleared his throat, and I glanced up, spotting the bearded man lingering a few paces off, looking torn between approaching us and fading into the desolate, gray morning. Unable to shake the feeling he had something important to impart to us, I motioned for Thomas to follow me.

“If he won’t come to us,” I said over my shoulder, “we’ll bring ourselves to him.” I stopped before him, extending my hand. “Good morning. My name is—”

“Miss Audrey Rose Wadsworth. Daughter of Malina and—what’s that?” he asked an invisible person to his left. Thomas and I exchanged baffled looks.

Clearly, he was unbalanced, speaking to air. But there was something about him knowing my mother’s name that unnerved me. He nodded to something we still couldn’t see.

“Ah, yes. Daughter of Malina and Edmund. Your mother says you’re welcome to the necklace in the photograph. The heart-shaped locket, I believe. Yes, yes,” he said, nodding again. “That’s right. The one you admired in your father’s study. It’s being used as a bookmark of sorts.”

He paused, squinting at nothing. My heart was very near breaking its way out of my body. Thomas grabbed my arm, steadying me as I swayed on my feet. How could this man possibly know these things? Memories of sneaking into Father’s study and looking upon the photograph of Mother assaulted my senses.

I’d been admiring that locket, wondering where it was hidden…

No one knew about that. I barely even recalled it myself. I took a wavering step back, frightened yet not quite believing this was not some act of deceit. Some illusionist’s manipulation of the truth. I’d read reports in papers of charlatans and tricksters. Unscrupulous fakers making profit by showing audiences what they wanted to believe. There was some kind of smoke and mirrors game being played, and I’d have none of it.

“How do you know these things?” I demanded, regaining my composure.

Calming my still racing heart, I sought to apply logic to the situation. This man must surely be a skilled liar; he did some form of research, then made educated guesses, essentially the same principle Thomas used while deducing the obvious.

Heart-shaped lockets were popular, practically every woman in London owned one. It was an educated guess, nothing more. For all I knew, the necklace was sitting in a forbidden jewelry box, not being used as an expensive bookmark.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he worked for some despicable newspaper. Perhaps Mr. Doyle had sent him to spy on us, desperate to ferret out another story.

“Easy there, Wadsworth,” Thomas said, loud enough for only me to hear. “If you shake any harder I’m afraid you might take flight, killing us in the process. While I do not fear death, it might prove a bit tedious after a while. All that heavenly singing would become rather grating, don’t you agree?”

I drew in a slow, steady breath. He was right. Getting agitated wouldn’t make this situation better. I allowed myself to calm down, before turning my glower back on this liar. He held his hands up, as if he meant no harm—except the harm had already been done.

“Let me begin again, Miss Wadsworth. I—often forget how odd I must seem to non-seers.” He extended his hand, waiting for mine to meet his. Reluctantly, I allowed him to kiss my gloved knuckles before sticking my hands back at my sides. “My name is Robert James Lees. I am a medium. I communicate with spirits who’ve passed on. I’m also a spiritualist preacher.”

“Oh, good.” Thomas wiped his brow in a gesture of relief. “And here I thought you were simply insane. This’ll be much more fun.”

I fought a smile as the spiritualist stuttered over his next words.

“Y-yes, yes, well, all right, then. As I was saying, I speak with the dearly departed, and the spirit of Miss Eddowes sought me out almost every night this week, starting from the night she was slain,” he said. “My spirit guides told me I’d find someone here who could help stop Jack the Ripper once and for all. I kept getting drawn to you, miss. That’s when your mother came through.”