Thomas stared for a beat, then let out a long, annoyed breath. “I admit that’s a fair assessment. Though poorly deduced as usual, Miss Wadsworth. Unfortunately your uncle’s talent has skipped you entirely. At least you’ve got an attractive smile. It’s not much, but will surely make up for your lacking mental faculties. Well,” he amended, his focus straying to Blackburn, “at least for someone equally dull, that is.”
I gritted my teeth. “While that may be true, we really should be on our way. We’ve got that experiment we need to check on in the laboratory. Remember?”
“Actually, you’re wrong again, my dear.”
I was so mad I could scream some of the worst obscenities I’d heard at the docks at him. He was ruining our exit strategy, and I was most certainly not his dear.
When I thought all hope was lost, Thomas checked his watch. “We should’ve left precisely three minutes and twenty-three seconds ago. If we don’t run now, our experiment will be destroyed. Best if we hail a carriage.” He turned to the editor and superintendent. “It’s been as pleasant as a fast day in Lent, gentlemen.”
By the time they figured out his parting was, in fact, an insult, we were already rushing out through the bustling newsroom and exiting onto the cool afternoon streets. We didn’t stop walking for a few streets, silence our only companion. Finally, once we’d made a good enough distance to not be spotted by Blackburn, we stopped.
“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 purchas
e 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.