I studiously ignored him, and he responded in kind. Clearly, he was still put off by our argument. Or maybe he felt my suspicion taking form and pointing a finger toward him.
Uncle didn’t remember much from his time in the asylum. The drugs proved too strong for his mind to battle, or so he claimed. He didn’t recall mumbling his name repeatedly or any revelation that might have stepped forth from the darkness.
“Don’t just sit there!” Uncle bellowed, tossing a handful of papers in Thomas’s face. “Fix this! Fix this whole bloody mess! I cannot function like this!”
Unable to watch the madness continue, I slowly approached Uncle with my hands up, as if he were a dog driven mad and cornered. I imagined his nerves were frayed as the tonic they’d given him left his body. Uncle’s occasional outbursts were never so loud or disorganized.
“Perhaps”—I motioned around the room—“we should wait upstairs while the maids tend to this.”
Uncle Jonathan looked ready to quarrel, but I’d have none of that. My new lack of tolerance extended to all Wadsworth males. Even if he proved innocent of the Ripper murders, Uncle had other things to answer for.
I pointed to the door, leaving no room for argument. Maybe it was my new attire, or the stern set to my jaw, but the fight left Uncle rather quickly. He sighed, his shoulders slumping with defeat or relief as he tromped up the stairs.
We settled in the drawing room with cups of tea and pleasant music spilling from a steam-powered machine in the corner.
Thomas sat across from me, arms crossed and jaw set. My pulse spiked as his eyes met mine and sent sparks through my body. I longed to yell at him, demanding to know why he kept things from me, but bit my tongue. Now wasn’t the time.
Next order of business was more difficult to bridge. There was a river of lies and deceit that needed to be crossed in a short amount of time.
I looked at my uncle. He’d been raging and throwing things since I walked in until this very instant. Even now his eyes were slightly glazed over, seeing some wretched thing no one else could. New anger burned quietly under my skin. I hated what Blackburn had done to him.
I went to bury my hands in my skirts, then stopped, remembering I had no skirts to hide in. “I know what happened with Thomas’s mother.”
Thomas froze, teacup halfway to hi
s lips, eyes wide. I turned my attention on Uncle. The fog surrounding him instantly dissipated, replaced by hardness I’d never really seen in him before. “What are you getting at?”
I met his furious gaze dead-on. “After she died you and Thomas began working together. Performing secret… experiments.”
Thomas leaned forward, nearly toppling out of his seat. His hawk attention homing in on Uncle’s response. If only I could decipher his actions!
Uncle laughed incredulously when he saw the seriousness in my face.
“What does it matter if we did? We haven’t performed a surgery in nearly a year. None of this relates to our Ripper. Some ghosts should remain good and buried, Niece.”
“And some ghosts come back to haunt us, Uncle. Like Miss Emma Elizabeth Smith.”
Uncle Jonathan’s expression was as dark as my father’s, and I feared he’d send me away for intruding on his memories.
When he sat back, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest and sealing his lips, Thomas spoke up. “I see. You ought to just tell her.”
“You don’t see anything, boy,” Uncle spat. “You’d be wise keeping it that way.”
I walked across the room and slammed the door shut, shifting their attention to me. “If it weren’t necessary to this investigation, I’d leave you to your peace. As there’s a madman on the loose, ripping women apart, and potentially trying to use their organs the way some in this room have done in the past, we do not have that luxury.”
“Technically, we’ve never tried using organs for anything,” Thomas said, then shrugged. “My mother was too ill for the procedure. We’ve tested smaller theories out, but as your uncle said, we haven’t performed surgery in a year. And that was simply reattaching a severed finger, if you desire the details.”
“And you thought it a fine idea to hide this from me?”
“We’ve been a bit preoccupied with hunting down a murderer, Wadsworth,” Thomas said flatly. “Pardon me for not discussing something I find… difficult. Aside from Dr. Wadsworth and now yourself, I’ve not spoken of my mother to anyone since she died. Especially since my father felt it appropriate to remarry before her body was cool to the touch, and my stepmother cannot be bothered with children who are not her own.”
“I—I’m sorry, Thomas.”
He shrugged again and looked away. I sat on a velvet settee. I couldn’t believe it.
This was the reason Thomas was skilled at being emotionally distant. The root of his arrogance. Liza was right—it did cover pain. My heart raced. Part of me wanted to draw him into a hug and heal his wounds, and part of me wished to ferret out all his secrets and piece the puzzle of him together this instant.
But there was the matter of Uncle and his connection to Miss Emma Elizabeth that took precedence. With great effort, I faced Uncle.