“Shouldn’t we head straight to Uncle?” I tried not to let trepidation slip into my tone. “We really shouldn’t dally. You know how he gets when there’s a body to inspect.”

Something I’d never seen directed at me flashed in Thomas’s features before he reined himself back in. Anger. A leash I hadn’t realized he’d been wearing slipped, if only for a fraction of a breath. Thomas was furious.

“I’m sure he’ll understand. Especially when we inform him there’s no longer any doubt Jack the Ripper has returned. Nor will he mind when he discovers our murderer has set his sights on someone else. Likely, he’s been coveting her from the start.”

His jaw clenched so hard I worried he might chip a tooth. I reached for him, trying to soothe his black mood. “Thomas…”

“A rose was nailed to her heart, Wadsworth.” He seemed to be on the verge of combustion. I realized his anger was not directed at me. He was ready to attack the man responsible for all these deaths. I sat back and pulled my overcoat close. I wouldn’t want to encounter this Thomas in a darkened alley. This Thomas seemed utterly lethal and unpredictable. “Do you find it a bit odd? That he’d leave such a dramatic gift?”

“A gift?”

“Yes. A gift. He’s sent you his own morbid bouquet. Presented with a corpse you would never mistake for anyone’s work but his own.”

Thomas released a breath. The action brought some of his self-control back. I knew he would never hurt me, but it was still jarring to witness him transform into someone so deadly. It all crashed into clarity for me—Thomas would no longer simply slip inside the mind-set of a murderer, should anything happen to me. He’d become one. He would destroy those who hurt me, and he’d feel nothing in the process of his methodical slaughter. I wanted to chide him for that, but knew I’d feel the same way should anyone hurt him. I’d disembowel the world and bathe in its blood if someone murdered him.

We were a twisted pair indeed.

“Audrey Rose. Who has a Shakespeare production happening? Who knew where that body was being kept?”

“Thomas,” I started slowly, trying to shove my own suspicions away again, “we know he didn’t commit the murders on the Etruria.”

“He didn’t commit those particular crimes, but there were other crimes on that boat.” Thomas shook his head. “I’m not saying he’s responsible, but I want to see his reaction when we deliver this news.”

On that much I could agree. It was best to unleash Thomas and his deductions on Mephistopheles; it would settle both of our minds and help our investigation.

We didn’t speak for a while, both of us lost in thought. I knew Thomas’s reaction was one of worry. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to me. But I couldn’t bring myself to believe that the rose and note had been intended just for me. This seemed more directed toward Thomas. I believed it was sent to rattle him enough to make mistakes.

Jack the Ripper had had plenty of opportunities to attack me if he wished to do so. From London to the Etruria, New York, and now here in Chicago, I hadn’t always ventured out with an escort. If he truly coveted me, as Thomas feared, he would have made himself known. He knew my brother; that much I was certain of. He had cause to be in my home. I couldn’t imagine him staying his murderous hand for this long.

Unless I was never his intended target.

We rolled to a stop outside of the theater we’d visited just last week. Thomas cursed under his breath. The door and windows were boarded up; lights were out. A crudely painted sign said FOR RENT.

Even though I’d worried this might happen, I’d still hoped the ringmaster might change his mind and wait until we investigated his missing performer’s death. But Mephistopheles hadn’t wasted any time packing up his carnival and moving on to another city, leaving the bloody chips to fall where they may.

FORTY-THREE

COLD AS ICE

GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

16 FEBRUARY 1889

I stared at the body, the flesh the color of freshly fallen snow. I gently pressed my fingers against her jaw, turning her head slightly to search for marks. My skin burned from the coldness of death. Not one blemish or laceration or outward wound to be seen. I set my cane against the wheeled table holding our postmortem tools. We needed to call upon Noah soon. This woman had been identified as Miss Edna Van Tassel, one of the missing women he’d been investigating.

“Was she exposed to the elements?” I asked. It was unlikely, given there weren’t any signs of frostbite present. No blackened digits or blistering of the skin. She appeared as if she’d simply fallen asleep and never woke up.

Uncle shook his head. “No. The general inspector said the woman who owns the boardinghouse where she rents a room didn’t see her for breakfast, so she went looking. The landlady was quite put out that she’d let food go to waste and marched upstairs to give her a scolding. When she entered her room, she found it empty. A few days passed and she phoned Miss Van Tassel’s family, wanting them to collect her things.”

I inhaled. “Then her family explained she hadn’t returned home.”

“Correct.” Uncle nodded. “Then they hired the Pinkertons through connections they had.”

Which was how Noah became involved.

“After being missing for a week, our victim was found in her bed, tucked under the covers, her clothing folded neatly and left on a chair. The landlady is convinced she must have snuck back in to retrieve her things, then died in her sleep.”

“That’s absurd! Why wouldn’t she think something more nefarious occurred?” I drew my brows together. “Did she hear anything odd?”

Uncle shook his head. “There were no sounds of struggle. Actually, there were no sounds coming from that room at all. The landlady happened upon her when she was about to show the room.”

“Were there signs of a disturbance?” Thomas asked. “Any personal items missing?”

I sneaked a glance at him. He’d barely spoken the entire carriage ride home, his focus turned inward. What little he did utter wasn’t happy news. He said there was no doubt remaining that Jack the Ripper sought me. Then he’d shut his emotions off and entered that land of frost and ice. He hadn’t yet warmed from it.

“Not that the landlady noticed.” Uncle took his spectacles off, buffing them with the corner of his tweed jacket. “The only oddity was Miss Van Tassel wasn’t wearing her nightgown. The homeowner said she’d never sleep so indecently, but she couldn’t fathom what kind of girl went off for a week without a word and snuck back in, either.”

Thomas canted his head. Finally. He was coming around. He gazed at the body. “I suspect the loo was shared in a corridor or on another level of the home, which means it’s unlikely she removed her own clothes before bed.” He looked to my uncle for confirmation. Uncle nodded. “Regardless of her sleeping preferences, she’d likely have kept her nightgown on in case she needed to get up in the night. Not to mention, here where temperatures are frigid, it doesn’t make sense for her to sleep without layers. At least not during this season.”

He paced around the small basement laboratory, his hands near frantic as they tapped along his thighs. I knew he was pushing himself, trying to shove pieces of this impossible puzzle together in hopes of preventing the Ripper from stalking anyone else. Anyone such as me.

I waited for the worry to creep in, to hinder my own investigative skills. I almost felt relief, like I finally understood a part of his game I hadn’t known existed before. If Jack the Ripper wanted me, then we could find a way to deceive him into thinking he’d won. I hadn’t shared this idea with Thomas; judging from the wildness in his eyes and the promise of violence, I didn’t deem it necessary just yet. I would let him calm himself before broaching that subject. And then we’d come up with a plan together.

“She was missing for a week but doesn’t show signs of decay…” Thomas muttered observations aloud to himself, not expecting an answer. “A young person, dying in their sleep with no indications of disease or trauma. He killed her but how? And why return her to her chambers? What purpose does that serve?”

He paced faster, slowly becoming one with our killer, placing himself in the role of a demon. While he continued his descent into the mind of a murderer, a wide-eyed maid brought a tea service with stacks of lemon and raspberry tarts, pausing to consider which surface she might set it on. Her eyes lingered on the nearly naked corpse, and though her expression was perfectly blank, her throat bobbed with suppressed emotion. No one enjoyed the dead being on display, at least not in the way we set them like meat to carve.

“There, on the sideboard, please,” I said, my tone as calm as possible. “Thank you.”

After she’d retreated up the stairs, I made my way over to the teapot, pouring three cups. A hint of Earl Grey and rose cut through the slight odor of death. I put two rose-scented sugar cubes in Uncle’s cup and four in Thomas’s, knowing the extra sweetness seemed to aide him in his deductions. I was too rattled for sugar and left mine plain. I set the silver tongs and bowl aside, carefully bringing one cup and tart over at a time. It gave me something to do while turning over my own thoughts. If I could convince Thomas of my safety, perhaps we could set a trap. Would the Ripper be able to walk away from an opportunity to snatch me?

“Thank you.” Uncle took his cup, sipping immediately. He’d practically finished the whole thing by the time I’d handed Thomas his. I glanced at the clock. We’d missed supper ages ago.

Thomas paused his pacing only long enough to shove in a few bites of his pastry before washing it down with tea. “Do we know who she was with or what she was doing prior to her death? There was mention of her possibly collecting wages from her old employer.”

“The police were sorting that out when I was told to take the body. They also sent word to the Pinkertons, so your associate will be informed by them.”