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 Superintendent Blackburn as if he were the mad one.
“Oh, really? Exactly how many men in London fit my uncle’s description?” I asked. “I can count at least ten off the top of my head, one of them being the queen’s grandson, Prince Albert Victor Edward. What? Will you say the Duke of Clarence and Avondale is involved in these murders next? I’m sure the queen would love that. As a matter of fact”—I squinted at him—“you look as if you could be the duke’s younger brother yourself. Might you be involved?”
Superintendent Blackburn cringed at my inappropriate criticism of his inquest involving the second in line to the throne and himself. I took a deep breath, trying for calmness. I’d be of no use to anyone if I, too, were taken away in a Black Maria on suspicion of being a traitor to the crown.
I steadied my voice. “Surely that’s not the reason you’ve arrested him. You seem much too smart a young man to arrest someone on hearsay, Superintendent.”
Blackburn shook his head. “I do apologize for passing along the unpleasant news, miss. I am truly sorry.” He shifted on his feet, trying to maintain his balance while still perched on the ground before me.
“We’ve also found some rather disturbing diagrams and drawings of these mechanisms best described as…” he paused, the tips of his ears turning a slight pink. I motioned for him to get on with it. “Forgive me, I didn’t want to overstep my bounds. But they appear to be torture devices. Some ideas fit with mechanical parts Scotland Yard found at the murder scenes. They believe only someone with an intimate knowledge of the crime would be able to construct such… atrocities. As I said earlier, your uncle possesses such knowledge. Now we’ve got drawings of similar devices found in his laboratory.”
He nodded toward the officer who’d just located the hidden bolts. “Then there’s the matter of those parts. You’re an intelligent girl. I’m sure you can deduce what that dark substance is without my spelling it out. I truly want to believe your uncle’s innocent—there are all these things saying otherwise. I cannot ignore what’s laid out before me, even if I want to. The public wants this to be over.”
“I’ve heard there are at least four men in custody for the crimes,” I said, hoping to shed doubt on their case. “Two of whom are in asylums. Surely that works in Uncle’s favor. They all can’t be guilty.”
“We simply cannot take any chances. He’ll be looked after in Bethlem Royal Hospital, I assure you, Miss Wadsworth.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe this was happening. I gathered my enraged thoughts, corralling them into a cage, willing them to be tamed. Maintaining a sense of serenity was what I needed to do, but it was hard when all I longed to do was shake these men from their shortsighted stupor. Bethlem Royal Hospital, known to most everyone as Bedlam, was horrendous. Uncle could not stay there.
“You must believe me,” I whispered, angry tears burning my eyes. “I know how it looks, but I assure you my uncle is an innocent man. He’s brilliant, and shouldn’t be punished for finding the right avenue to search. He lives and breathes a case when he’s involved with it. I’m sure he’s got plenty of good reason to be in possession of those items. He probably did those sketches after attending the scene. You simply need ask him. This is how he works. You must know that.”
Superintendent Blackburn gave me a pitying look. I’d find no help here. He was duty-sworn and that was that. Blackburn wouldn’t release my uncle based on his denial of being involved alone. He’d need proof, even if it came wrapped in another body shroud.
I clamped my mouth shut and stood. If I stayed a moment longer I was in danger of being hauled off to Bedlam myself. Uncle might be innocent, but I’d definitely be guilty of slapping some sense into these brutes. With my parasol if need be. I motioned to Thomas, who was still glaring at the police collectively, then swept from the room like a storm rushing through the streets, cleansing all the grit in a mad downpour.
To Hell with them all.
An Afternoon Tea, 19th century
FOURTEEN
PROPER LADIES DON’T DISCUSS CORPSES
WADSWORTH RESIDENCE,
BELGRAVE SQUARE
14 SEPTEMBER 1888
Standing in the doorway of our dining room was like gazing upon something familiar yet undeniably foreign at the same time.
There were so many place settings laid out, I felt dizzy. Small topiaries were arranged on the table along with several towering bouquets of exotic hothouse flowers. Pink-and-white porcelain cups were awaiting their warm liquid, while their matching plates stood at the ready.
“You look as if you’re expecting the blade of the guillotine, Cousin,” Liza said, waltzing into the room. “It’s not as if you’ve been raised by wolves. You’ve missed only a few months of gossip. You’ll catch up in no time,” she said. “If you can deal with blood and other horrendous things, a little lace and tea will surely be nothing.”