I took a small bite, forcing the food down as best I could. Martha did an exceptional job making roast turkey, braised carrots, and rosemary herbed potatoes, but the aromatic scent and congealing dark brown gravy was turning my stomach. Giving up all pretense of eating the vegetables, I pushed my turkey around the crisp white plate instead.
Nathaniel slammed his glass down, rattling my own with the force. “That’s quite enough! You haven’t eaten but a few bites in the last two days. I’ll not allow you to continue assisting that madman if this is the result.”
I stared at him, fork poised over my uneaten dinner. We both knew it was an empty threat. Nathaniel broke away from our locked gazes first, rubbing circles in his temples. His suit was exceedingly fashionable this evening, made of imported fabrics and tailored to his frame perfectly. He called for a servant to bring in a bottle of his favorite wine, crafted in a year not even Father was alive in.
I could tell by the way his shoulders slumped slightly forward, as if they were growing weary from carrying a heavy load, that Father’s ill health was weighing on him.
He’d always been the more sensitive and kind one, setting every bug that found its way into our house free. Feeding each stray that ended up on our doorstep more food than it needed, while I imagined what the insides of the animal would look like should it expire. He saw a butterfly as an object of beauty, deserving to flutter about the world, sharing its multitoned splendor. I saw the shiny metal needle I longed to slide into its body, pinning it to a board for further scientific inspection.
He took after our mother.
“I cannot have you starve, Sister.” Nathaniel pushed his own plate forward, pouring himself another glass of wine from the freshly filled crystal decanter set before him. I watched, fascinated, as little spots of red splashed onto the white tablecloth like blood splattering on the walls near the victims’ heads.
I closed my eyes. Everywhere I looked there was some reminder of the atrocious acts being committed in Whitechapel.
Perhaps I was too preoccupied with death. I sincerely doubted my cousin, Liza, would think of blood splatter. She’d probably bid an attendant to come and address the stain before it had time to set. Aunt Amelia had raised her well and was undoubtedly hoping I’d turn out the same with a little polishing.
Nathaniel took a long pull from his drink, then set it down gently. His fingers tapped a slow beat against the stem of the glass while he came up with another tactic to dissuade me from my studies. This deliberate show of parental guidance was growing tedious.
Like a white flag, I held my hand up and waved it, too tired to argue when he got this way. If keeping myself away from Uncle’s laboratory for a few days would appease my brother, then so be it. I didn’t need to conduct my research from there.
But he needn’t know that.
“You’re right, dear Brother. Some time away from all this unpleasantness is precisely what the doctor ordered.” I offered him my most sincere smile, pleased to see him slowly return it with one of his own. “I promise I shall have a snack before bed later.” I placed my napkin on the table and stood. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll retire for a bit. I’m exhausted.”
Nathaniel rose and tipped his head forward. In his mind as long as I was eating and sleeping regularly, I was bound to feel right as the sunshine on a summer’s day. “I’m very pleased you’re listening to your big brother for once. A little time and distance from all the misery in the world will do you good, Audrey Rose.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” I gave him one more smile before leaving the room. The servants closed the wooden doors behind me, securing my brother and themselves on the other side. I took a few breaths, then glanced down the darkened hallway.
There was another reason for my early departure from dinner. Father kept records of all our servants, and I was hoping to discover something useful regarding Miss Mary Ann Nichols.
I crept toward Father’s study, carefully avoiding every spot in the floor that creaked. I didn’t want Nathaniel or any of the servants knowing about this. Pausing at the door, I stared at the ornate handle. Father would murder me should he ever find out I’d sneaked into his private workspace.
While it had never been expressly stated, it was a known fact Father’s rooms were all off-limits after Mother’s death. I was like an unwelcome shadow lurking around corners in my own home.
A clanking din rose from the back staircase, where most of the servants were below cleaning up from supper. Now was the ideal time to sneak into the study undetected. My palms itched with the need to turn the brass handle and slip inside, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
What if he could tell I’d been in there? I doubted he’d come up with anything elaborate, but perhaps he’d set some sort of trip wire up to sound an alarm…
I leaned against the wall, nearly giggling. How absurd! To think Father would do such a thing, especially when maids would be in and out cleaning. I was being a foolish child, terrified of unknown things hiding beneath the bed frame.
Taking a deep breath, I steadied my heart. I hadn’t realized how it had accelerated its beat in the last few moments. Surely if I could wander the streets at night while a murderer was on the prowl, I could sneak into my own father’s study while he was away.
Voices sounded from the kitchen, growing louder. They must be bringing up a decadent dessert course for Nathaniel. My pulse galloped through my veins.
It was now or never. As the voices came closer, I shot across the hall, turned the knob, and slipped inside, closing the door with a slight click that sounded much too like a bullet sliding into its chamber for my comfort.
I stood with my back pressed firmly against the wooden door while the sound of footsteps echoed, then disappeared down the corridor. For added measure, I turned the key, locking myself in and anyone else out. The room was exceptionally dark.
I blinked until I was acclimated to the blackness covering everything like spilled ink. Father had had the deep green drapery pulled shut, keeping both the cool September chill and evening light out.
The result was a room as welcoming as a crypt.
Even Uncle’s laboratory with its cadavers had more warmth between its walls. I rubbed the coldness from my arms while slowly making my way toward the fireplace, my silk skirts rustling treacherous whispers behind me.
The smell of sandalwood and cigars evoked the ghost of my father, and I couldn’t stop myself from continually checking over my shoulder to be certain he wasn’t standing behind me, waiting to pounce. I swear eyes watched me from the shadows.
A few tapers in hurricane lamps dripped waxy tears and a giant candelabra decorated the mantel next to a photograph of my mother. We had very few images of her, and each one was a treasure I held dear to my heart.
I studied the graceful curve of her lips, tilted into the sweetest smile. It was like peering into a looking glass showing me in the future; even our expressions were similar. A heart-shaped locket with tiny gears was clasped in her hands, and on her finger was the very ring I never took off. Tearing my gaze away, I returned to my purpose.
All I needed was to light one of the lamps so I could go through Father’s records; I hoped no one would notice the slight flicker coming from under the door.
As I picked up the base of the hurricane lamp, an object clanked to the floor. Every muscle in my body froze. I waited a few beats, certain I’d be discovered by someone—anyone—but the solemn sound of silence echoed back at me. Forcing myself into action, I lit the lamp. The hiss of the flame sparking to life had me holding my breath a second time; every little sound seemed like a cannon going off, announcing my whereabouts. Finally, I bent and retrieved a small brass key.
How odd.
Not wanting to waste precious moments figuring out what it opened, I quickly replaced the key and grabbed the lamp again.