Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper 1)

Superintendent Blackburn gave me a sheepish grin and offered his arm. I hesitated for only a moment before looping mine through his. Play nice, Audrey Rose, I reminded myself.

“I’ll escort you inside and try my best to explain the reason behind your uncle’s arrest.” He paused and looked around before leaning close, an almost familiar scent lingering on his skin. “I’m afraid it doesn’t look very good for him, miss.”

THIRTEEN

BLUEPRINTS AND BLOODY BOLTS

DR. JONATHAN WADSWORTH’S LABORATORY,

HIGHGATE

13 SEPTEMBER 1888

Walking into Uncle’s basement laboratory with uninvited guests rummaging about like scavengers was its own nightmare, plucking at the ligaments between my bones.

Uncle’s books, his notes, his journals were all painfully absent. It felt like one of my ribs had been sawed off, leaving me both gasping for breath and missing a piece of myself all at once. Letting go of Blackburn’s arm, I slowly turned in place, my eyes two unbelieving orbs in my head. If this was a dream, I hoped to wake from its dreadfulness soon. I had a terrible feeling, however, that this was only the beginning of a series of horrendous nightmares.

The specimen jars were the only items that remained untouched, the dull, preserved eyes watching the chaos with silent judgment. Oh, how I wished I could be like those dead, unfeeling things now.

Anything would be better than the reality I was standing in.

My refuge all these months was destroyed in a few hours by the hands of men who couldn’t care less about this sort of work.

“—combined with his history of dissection, and medical knowledge worked against him,” Superintendent Blackburn was saying, but I couldn’t concentrate on his words. Thank heavens Uncle wasn’t here; his heart would be sheared in half.

I watched helplessly as an officer wrestled a large, gilded tome Uncle had been stroking a few short days ago from the shelf, placing it in a box as if it were a rabid animal ready to snap at him. If only that could happen.

He removed a small box Uncle kept in his desk, the lid slipping off. Bolts and screws clattered to the ground, halting the investigation. The officer bent to retrieve the items, a look of shock and disgust as he rose, holding them up for the superintendent to see.

The bolts were covered in a rusty crimson that could only be one thing. My own blood ceased to circulate as my eyes met Thomas’s startled gaze from across the room. “I need to speak with Uncle. I need… I can explain—I just—”

Someone placed a chair next to me and I plopped into it straight-away; it was as if the oxygen had been suctioned from the laboratory with a new steam-powered device I’d seen advertised across London. What was Uncle thinking, stealing evidence? Those bolts were from the murder scenes and belonged to Scotland Yard.

Uncle had inadvertently placed himself as the main suspect and I had no idea how to assist him or who to even turn to for help.

Father, though he had the right connections, would rather see his brother hang than assist him in any way. Nathaniel, though he’d want to help, if only for my sake, most likely wouldn’t do anything to anger Father or cause an even greater scandal that was bound to fall upon the Wadsworth name. Especially something of this magnitude, sure to hit the papers once reporters caught its scent.

Undoubtedly, Aunt Amelia would throw lavish parties and attend daily services, hoping to distract people from her association with her disgraced brother.

Then there was Grandmama.

She had no ties to Father’s side of the family, therefore wouldn’t feel obligated to get involved. Not out of maliciousness, but out of a strong dislike for Wadsworth men in general. Grandmama openly blamed Father for Mother’s illness and made it very clear that “if a Wadsworth were looking out at a crowd, ready to swing for their crimes, I’d be front and center, watching and cheering” before handing out homemade boondi ladoo treats to everyone in attendance.

Each time we sent correspondence, she searched for excuses to have my bags packed and passage paid to visit her in New York; this would be perfect.

There was no way I’d leave London now.

“Ransack the laboratory, if you must,” Blackburn said to an officer. “Just do it carefully.”

That snapped me from my reverie. I glared at the superintendent, only partially aware of Thomas throwing a fit over one journal in particular: his.

“You must be mad! I won’t hand over my property.”

Superintendent Blackburn knelt in front of me, his look no longer light. I stared at the pale strands of his hair. Unlike my brother’s careful cut, his hair was too wild to be tamed, curling about his temple like serpents. How fitting for such a cold-blooded monster.

“I know it’s a lot to absorb at once, Miss Wadsworth, but I’m terribly afraid there’s more.” He motioned for the officer fighting with Thomas to give up the one journal since Thomas had brought it into the house with us, and it hadn’t been part of their inquest. “We’ve got witnesses who’ve stepped forth, placing someone fitting your uncle’s description at the scene of the last two crimes.”

My attention finally jolted back to reality. I stared at Supe