Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #1)(90)

The scent of burnt hair filled the space and I suppressed rolling nausea.

I watched my father slowly collapse to his knees, covering his face with his hands and sobbing, “My precious boy.”

It was too much to take in. I felt myself swaying but had to be sure of one thing before I lost myself. I peered at Mother’s body, relieved she wasn’t moving. Then a terrible sadness crushed me: Nathaniel’s rampage had been for naught.

“Please. Please get up.” I stared at my brother’s ruined hair. I wanted him to stand up and reach for that blasted comb. He needed to fix it. He’d hate it if someone saw him that way. I silently counted to thirty. It was the longest he’d ever gone without addressing disastrous hair. When I reached thirty-one he still hadn’t moved.

I fell to the ground, dry-heaving as realization sank in.

Nathaniel would never care about his hair again. He’d never drink another bottle of imported brandy. He’d never picnic with a hamper from Fortnum & Mason or help me escape Father’s pretty cell. He’d done horrific things, then left me to pick up the shattered pieces of our lives. Alone.

I screamed until my throat was raw. Thomas tried soothing me, but all I could think was: Jack the Ripper was dead. My brother was dead.

I continued screaming until darkness held me in its welcome embrace.





THIRTY


DEATH TO LIFE


DR. JONATHAN WADSWORTH’S LABORATORY,

HIGHGATE

23 NOVEMBER 1888

“Use the larger bone saw to cut the cranium.”

Uncle’s hands twitched, but he didn’t reach for the blade. He knew I needed the distraction more than he needed to perform this postmortem. I took a deep breath and pushed with all my might, moving the serrated edge back and forth.

This time I wore a facial mask to avoid breathing in bone dust.

I’d watched Uncle do this procedure many times now and had learned there were some things I did not wish to be exposed to.

Two long weeks had passed since we’d buried Nathaniel next to Mother. Father was more remote than ever and I was slowly losing myself to insanity. The house felt empty, sullen, as though mourning its own loss. It was amazing how much one person could fill up a space and leave it so hollow when they were gone.

Nothing was the same, nor ever would be again. Not only did I lose my brother, I had to suffer through the knowledge of the murderer he’d been the last months of his life. Lord Edmund covered up Nathaniel’s involvement, I didn’t ask how. One day I’d let everyone know the truth, but the pain was too raw now.

A tear slid down my cheek, but I continued sawing into the skull, not bothering to wipe it away. Some days were better than others. On good days I only cried myself to sleep. On the bad I found myself tearing up randomly throughout the day.

“Good. Now lift the top part of the skull up,” Uncle said, motioning toward the top half. It reminded me of the small side of an egg. “Might offer some resistance at first, but it’ll suction off with the right amount of pressure. Stick the scalpel in and pry it.”

I did as I was instructed. The top of the skull pulled off with a slurping noise, not unlike a sealed jar being opened. An unpleasant scent lingered in the space around us, apparent even through my mask.

Thomas coughed, drawing my attention briefly to him. Truthfully, I’d forgotten he was even here. He’d been quietly perched in the corner of the laboratory, writing notes and studying my brother’s journals. I couldn’t bear to read them just yet, though from what I’d heard they contained breakthrough science.

My brother’s Autumn of Terror might end up being used for good one day after all. It was Thomas’s hope he’d be able to perform a successful transplant on a living person during his lifetime. I didn’t doubt it.

Uncle handed me a tray and I set the upper portion of the skull on it. “Now, you’ll want to remove this little piece of the brain… here.” Uncle used a scalpel to point out the specimen.

I plucked the scalpel from his hands and brought it to the brain when a knock came at the door. A servant popped her head in and forced her eyes to the ground. I couldn’t blame her; there was nothing beautiful about decay.

“Lord Wadsworth is in the parlor. He’d like to speak with Miss Audrey Rose, sir.”

Uncle made an exasperated sound and tossed his hands in the air. “Then tell Lord Wadsworth he’ll either have to wait or bless us with his presence in the laboratory. This cannot hold.”

The maid dared a glance at the mortuary table where I was standing, my apron bloodied and my hands stained in death. I could see her throat bob when she swallowed. “Very well, sir. I’ll tell him.”

Before Uncle could utter another word, she disappeared back up the stairs. Thomas met my gaze and offered a wary smile. If Father was here, that meant I was in trouble and would be dragged back to my gilded prison, kicking and screaming if need be. I sighed. Father was bound to notice my absence sooner or later, and I was hardly hiding my activities from him as I used to.

“I might as well go to him, Uncle. Thomas can finish this lesson for me.”

I untied my apron and pulled it over my head. There was no need to give Father another reason to shout about my unladylike fascination with forensic medicines. I went to place the apron in the laundry bin, and Thomas gently took it from me, his fingers lingering on my gloveless hands. I lifted my gaze and found him staring down into my eyes. Even in the wake of all I’d lost, my heart found the will to beat rapidly at his touch.