Much as I wanted his opinion, I kept these dark speculations from Nathaniel. Worrying him was unnecessary until I had absolute proof Father was, indeed, Jack.
I flipped through a medical tome, reading over several new notions regarding human psychology and crimes. Father certainly had grief issues and plenty of reason to want organ transplants to be successful. That would explain the missing organs.
Though I couldn’t see how it’d help Mother now. Then I remembered his favorite tonic; laudanum might very well explain that delusion.
“You shouldn’t waste your precious energies on such rubbish, Wadsworth,” Thomas said, reading over my shoulder. “Surely you’re capable of coming up with theories of your own. You are a scientist, are you not? Or are you saving all the brilliant work for me to come up with?”
Thomas smiled at my eye roll, puffing his chest up and standing with one foot proudly resting on a chair as if posing for a portrait. “I don’t blame you, I am rather attractive. The tall, dark hero of your dreams, swooping in to save you with my vast intellect. You should accept my hand at once.”
“More like the overconfident monster haunting my nightmares.” I offered him a smirk of my own when he scrunched his nose. He was handsome enough, but he needn’t know I thought so. “Haven’t you got an organ to weigh, people to annoy, or notes to scribble down for Uncle Jonathan? Or perhaps you’ve got another patient to experiment on.”
Thomas grinned wider, folding himself onto the crushed velvet sofa directly across from me. A fresh body, having nothing to do with the Whitechapel murders for once, was lying on the mortuary table downstairs, waiting to be inspected. First glance said he’d lost his life to the harsh English elements, not to some crazed murderer. Winter was making a few surprise appearances before its official start date.
“Dr. Wadsworth was called away on more urgent matters. It’s just the two of us and I’m quite bored of your moping about. We could be taking full advantage of our time together. But no,” he sighed dramatically. “You’re intently reading rubbish.”
I nestled into my oversize reading chair and flipped to the next page.
“Studying the psychological states of humans and how they may or may not relate to deeper, psychotic issues is hardly ‘moping about.’ Why don’t you put that big brain to use and read some of these studies with me?”
“Why don’t you talk to me about what’s really troubling you? What emotional dilemma needs sorting out?” He patted his legs. “Sit here and I’ll rock you gently until you or I or both fall asleep.”
I tossed the book on the floor at his feet, then immediately cringed. I was about to tell Thomas I was absolutely not struggling with any emotional issues and had shown him differently. One day I’d rein my cursed actions in.
I sighed. “I cannot stop thinking my father’s the man stalking the night.”
“The moral dilemma being what, exactly?” Thomas asked. “Whether or not you should turn dear old Father in to authorities?”
“Of course that’s the moral dilemma!” I exclaimed, incredulous at how obtuse he was when it came to basic human concepts. “How can one turn against their blood? How can I send him to his death? Surely you must realize that’s precisely what would happen if I told authorities.”
They’d hang Father. Given who he was, they’d make it as public and brutal as possible. Just because blood might stain his hands did not mean I wanted his on mine. No matter if it was right or wrong.
“Not to mention,” I added aloud, “it would kill my brother.”
I covered my face with my hands. I was not saying the most obvious thing. Not turning my father in would result in more women being slain. It was a horrible predicament to be in and I hated Father even more for subjecting me to it.
Thomas grew very quiet, staring at his own hands. An eternity stood waiting, watching along with me until he banished it from our presence. “What are you hoping to discover between the pages of other men’s theories?”
“Redemption. Clarity. A cure for the demon infecting my father’s soul.”
If there was some way for me to address the issues with his brain, perhaps he could be saved. I listened to the silence stretching between us, the ticking of the clock echoing my own heart’s beat.
I lowered my voice. “If it were your father, wouldn’t you try anything to save him? Especially after already losing one parent? Perhaps it isn’t too late for his salvation.”
Thomas swallowed hard, casting his attention to my book. “Will you be using a prop such as religion to deliver him from his sins, then? Sprinkle a bit of holy water and burn the devil out of him? I thought that was your eccentric aunt’s domain.”
I bent down to retrieve the medical journal, turning back to the last section I’d read. The leather chair squeaked as I shifted my weight.
“I am a scientist, Thomas. Father’s salvation will come in the form of tonics working on his physiology. There are great treatises about the effect of chemicals on the neurological pathways of the brain,” I said, pointing out one of them in the book. “Plus I’ll threaten to imprison him in our home. I’ll keep him in chains, locked in his own study, if he doesn’t agree to have his mind evaluated.”
Thomas shook his head—we both knew that was a lie. A weak knock came at the door before he could respond. We both stared at the footman standing half in the hall and half inside the library, a flush creeping up his collar. I hoped he hadn’t been lingering there long. If anyone learned of Father’s potential identity as Jack the Ripper or the fact we’d suspected him and hadn’t turned him in, we’d all be in a world of trouble ourselves.
“Dr. Wadsworth has requested your presence at Scotland Yard immediately, miss.” When Thomas and I shot each other glances, he amended, “Both of you.”
I didn’t care what I looked like to the men standing around Superintendent Blackburn’s desk, as I covered my mouth with the back of my lace-gloved hand.
The stench assaulting my senses was almost as bad as what the package contained. Possibly worse. I could deal with most anything gruesome and bloody; rotten meat, however, was something I feared I’d never get used to. No matter how many times I was forced into contact with the foul substance.
“Most certainly it’s half a human kidney,” Uncle confirmed, though no one had asked. “While it’s impossible to tell for sure, we must put some validity to the letter that came with it. Miss Eddowes was missing a kidney. This is a human kidney. From the state of decay, it was taken around the same time as hers was and it’s from the left side. Same as our victim. I’ll have to examine it further in my laboratory, but from sight alone there seem to be some… similarities.”
I swallowed my disgust down. Jack was coming undone, it seemed. Thomas passed the newest note from the murderer to me, averting his gaze as he did so. I wondered if he’d tell the police about my father. I wondered if I’d do the same if I were standing in his place. Guilt wrenched itself deep in my gut. Was I allowing sentimentality to stand in the way of justice? That made me as bad as the Ripper.
Except… what if police had already discovered the identity? I stole a glance at Superintendent Blackburn. I knew nothing of him, really, and remained wary in his presence. Perhaps he’d already seen this organ the night it was removed from its owner. He was rather stone-faced given what my uncle was saying. Which made me wonder if Father committed these acts himself or if he had Blackburn carry out his dark deeds. Was his squeamish reaction at the double event a mere act of deception?
I shook myself out of spiraling thoughts, relieved no one was paying me any mind. The letter was written in the same taunting red ink as the other two notes Jack had sent. I’d recognize that cursive in my nightmares, I’d gone over it so many times, trying to find similarities to my father’s own hand.
From Hell.
Mr. Lusk.