er the sky opened up and rain flowed freely, forcing Thomas to stand a bit closer with the umbrella.
Or perhaps he was using it as an excuse. He’d been hovering around me as if I were the sun his universe revolved around ever since he’d let me past one of his many emotional walls. Something to ponder another day.
I walked over to the makeshift grave marker, kneeling to run my gloved fingertips across the rough wooden cross, feeling a wave of sadness for a woman I didn’t even know. The city of London pulled together, giving her a proper burial and grave. People were always providing in death what they would not do in life, it seemed.
“Audrey Rose.” Thomas cleared his throat, and I glanced up, spotting the bearded man lingering a few paces off, looking torn between approaching us and fading into the desolate, gray morning. Unable to shake the feeling he had something important to impart to us, I motioned for Thomas to follow me.
“If he won’t come to us,” I said over my shoulder, “we’ll bring ourselves to him.” I stopped before him, extending my hand. “Good morning. My name is—”
“Miss Audrey Rose Wadsworth. Daughter of Malina and—what’s that?” he asked an invisible person to his left. Thomas and I exchanged baffled looks.
Clearly, he was unbalanced, speaking to air. But there was something about him knowing my mother’s name that unnerved me. He nodded to something we still couldn’t see.
“Ah, yes. Daughter of Malina and Edmund. Your mother says you’re welcome to the necklace in the photograph. The heart-shaped locket, I believe. Yes, yes,” he said, nodding again. “That’s right. The one you admired in your father’s study. It’s being used as a bookmark of sorts.”
He paused, squinting at nothing. My heart was very near breaking its way out of my body. Thomas grabbed my arm, steadying me as I swayed on my feet. How could this man possibly know these things? Memories of sneaking into Father’s study and looking upon the photograph of Mother assaulted my senses.
I’d been admiring that locket, wondering where it was hidden…
No one knew about that. I barely even recalled it myself. I took a wavering step back, frightened yet not quite believing this was not some act of deceit. Some illusionist’s manipulation of the truth. I’d read reports in papers of charlatans and tricksters. Unscrupulous fakers making profit by showing audiences what they wanted to believe. There was some kind of smoke and mirrors game being played, and I’d have none of it.
“How do you know these things?” I demanded, regaining my composure.
Calming my still racing heart, I sought to apply logic to the situation. This man must surely be a skilled liar; he did some form of research, then made educated guesses, essentially the same principle Thomas used while deducing the obvious.
Heart-shaped lockets were popular, practically every woman in London owned one. It was an educated guess, nothing more. For all I knew, the necklace was sitting in a forbidden jewelry box, not being used as an expensive bookmark.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he worked for some despicable newspaper. Perhaps Mr. Doyle had sent him to spy on us, desperate to ferret out another story.
“Easy there, Wadsworth,” Thomas said, loud enough for only me to hear. “If you shake any harder I’m afraid you might take flight, killing us in the process. While I do not fear death, it might prove a bit tedious after a while. All that heavenly singing would become rather grating, don’t you agree?”
I drew in a slow, steady breath. He was right. Getting agitated wouldn’t make this situation better. I allowed myself to calm down, before turning my glower back on this liar. He held his hands up, as if he meant no harm—except the harm had already been done.
“Let me begin again, Miss Wadsworth. I—often forget how odd I must seem to non-seers.” He extended his hand, waiting for mine to meet his. Reluctantly, I allowed him to kiss my gloved knuckles before sticking my hands back at my sides. “My name is Robert James Lees. I am a medium. I communicate with spirits who’ve passed on. I’m also a spiritualist preacher.”
“Oh, good.” Thomas wiped his brow in a gesture of relief. “And here I thought you were simply insane. This’ll be much more fun.”
I fought a smile as the spiritualist stuttered over his next words.
“Y-yes, yes, well, all right, then. As I was saying, I speak with the dearly departed, and the spirit of Miss Eddowes sought me out almost every night this week, starting from the night she was slain,” he said. “My spirit guides told me I’d find someone here who could help stop Jack the Ripper once and for all. I kept getting drawn to you, miss. That’s when your mother came through.”
I listened with the practiced ear of a skeptic. My mind was very much immersed in science, not religious fads and notions of speaking with the dead.
Mr. Lees exhaled, nodding to that same unseen force again.
“So I thought. I’ve got it on good authority you’re unbelieving.” He held his hand up when I opened my mouth to argue. “It’s something I contend with most every day of my life. My path isn’t an easy one, but I’ll not stop my journey. If you’d like to accompany me to my parlor, I’ll do a proper conjuring for you.”
Part of me wanted to say yes. Sensing my wavering, he continued with his sale.
“Take what you will from our session, leaving anything which isn’t useful behind. All I ask is a few minutes of your time, Miss Wadsworth,” he said. “Nothing more. Very best, you’ll walk away with information about the killer. At the very least, an entertaining story to share with your friends later.”
He offered a hard bargain when he put it into those terms.
“If you have information on Jack the Ripper,” Thomas asked, holding the umbrella steady, “why haven’t you gone straight to Scotland Yard?”
I studied Thomas. His question certainly seemed genuine. Unless he was displacing suspicion. Mr. Lees smiled ruefully.
“They’ve declined my services on more than one occasion,” he said. “It’s easier thinking me mad than seriously regarding any clues I might unearth.”