It was such an unfair, cruel world for women. If you were a widow or your husband or family disowned you, there were few avenues available for feeding yourself. It hardly mattered if you were highborn or not. If you couldn’t rely on someone else’s money and shelter, you survived the only way you could.
“Let’s go,” I said, turning as quickly as I dared. I needed to get away from those women and their tragic lives before my emotions got the better of me.
Thomas eyed the women then glanced at me. I knew very well he was seeing more than I wanted him to and didn’t want him thinking me fragile. To my surprise, he simply threaded my arm through his. A silent act of understanding.
My heart steadied. It was such a tiny action, but filled me with confidence in Thomas. Jack the Ripper would never show such compassion.
We ghosted through several more streets, emerging from the fog before hiding in its sanctity once more. Voices carried over to us, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Men talked about their day’s work, women chattered about the same.
Thomas gave up his limp the longer we pressed on, having no reason for gimping about when people couldn’t even see us.
Gas lamps offered otherworldly glows every few feet, their quiet hissing raising the hair along my neck. The mood of the night was ominous. Death was stalking these streets, staying just out of sight. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, but heard no sounds of pursuit and accepted I was simply scared.
“Enough,” I said, defeated. “Let’s go home.”
It was after midnight and I was exhausted. My feet ached, the rough material of my dress itched against my skin, and I was thoroughly finished with walking through all the muck. I’d stepped in something rather squishy a few streets back and was contemplating amputating my own foot.
Blessedly, Thomas didn’t say a word as we turned and headed toward Uncle’s house. I wouldn’t have taken his criticism well in the miserable state I was in.
Lost in thoughts of failure, I didn’t hear a sound until our attacker was upon us. A scuffle of boots on cobblestones, the sound of a punch landing true, and Thomas was facedown on the ground, a bulky man kneeling on his back, twisting his arm around.
“Thomas!” Someone else emerged, holding a blade to my throat, shoving me deeper into the alleyway. I tripped over my skirts, but the man wrenched me forward, his fingers digging painfully into my skin. Fear held my senses hostage. My mind shut down, unable to process what was going on. Was this Jack?
“Whatcha got ’ere, boy? Been following you, I been. Think yourself clever, dressing like the riffraff?” The man speaking to Thomas had breath that smelled of rotten teeth and too much alcohol. “Shame. I hafta take from you same as you took from me.”
From the ground, Thomas jerked around, his eyes frantic as they fell upon mine. His attacker shoved his face into the stone. My limbs were leaden and useless.
“I assure you. I’ve not taken from you, sir.” Thomas winced as the man forced his head back down. “Whatever your issue with me, leave the girl go. She’s done nothing.”
“Ain’t how I see it.” The man spat next to Thomas. “Think taking them from the cemetery is decent? Poor deserve respect, too. My Libby”—his hand shook, the blade piercing my skin—“she didn’t deserve to be cut up like that. You ’ad no right. I know what you done. Oliver told me hisself.”
A sob broke free of the man’s chest. A slight trickle of blood ran down my neck. Its warmth cleared my frozen thoughts. If I didn’t act now, we were going to die. Or be maimed. Neither was on my list this evening. Remembering Thomas’s lesson on dealing with an attack, I lifted my foot and stomped down with all my might. My heel crunched bone with a snap. It was enough of a distraction, just like Thomas said it’d be.
“Bloody ’ell!” The man stumbled away, jumping on his good foot. Thomas’s attacker eased up long enough to watch his friend, allowing Thomas time to flip over and land a swift punch to his gut. The man doubled over, cursing impressively.
Springing to his feet, Thomas grabbed hold of my hand, racing us through the twisted streets as if Satan himself was chasing us down.
We wove in and out of passageways and alleys, running so fast I had to eventually tug Thomas to stop. “What… was… he… talking about?”
Thomas held on to me as if I might turn to ash and disintegrate in his hands if he let go. He glanced up and down the alley we hid in, his chest rapidly rising and falling. There was a wild, untamed look in his eyes. I’d never seen him so unraveled.
On the inside I felt the same, but hoped I was doing a better job hiding it. I took a steadying breath. Thomas was a complete wreck. I gently touched his face, drawing his attention to me. “Thomas. What—”
“I thought I was going to lose you.” He ran both hands through his hair, pacing away and coming back. “I saw blood—I thought he’d slit your throat. I thought—”
He covered his face with his hands, collecting himself for a few breaths, then fixed his attention on me, swallowing hard. “You must know what you mean to me? Surely you must know how I feel about you, Audrey Rose. The thought of losing you…”
I’m not sure which of us moved first, but suddenly my hands were cradling his face and our lips were crashing together, propriety and polite society be damned.
There was no Jack the Ripper or midnight attack. There was just Thomas and me terrified of losing each other.
I wove my arms around his neck, drawing him closer. Before I wanted it to end, Thomas pulled back, kissing me sweetly one last time. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, pressing his forehead to mine. “Apologies, Miss Wadsworth.”
I touched my lips. I’d read about dangerous situations bringing about spontaneous acts of romance and thought it foolish. Now I understood. Realizing the very thing you love most could be taken away without warning made you clutch onto it. “I believe I acted first, Thomas.”
He stepped back, wrinkling his brow, then laughed. “Oh, no. I’m not at all sorry about kissing you. I’m talking about the deranged lunatic holding a knife to your throat.”
“Oh, that.” I waved a hand, feigning nonchalance. “He’s lucky you had the foresight of preparing me this evening.”
Thomas’s eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and incredulity. “You’re truly magnificent. Smashing bones and fighting off attackers in abandoned alleys.”
“It’s too bad,” I said. “Your reputation will be completely ruined once people discover I saved you.”
“Destroy it for all I care.” Thomas laughed outright. “You can save me again if it ends with a kiss.”
“Did you know?” I asked, turning serious. “About the cadavers?”
His jaw clenched. Thomas carefully took my hand, motioning for us to keep moving. “Unfortunately, I did not. Obviously, the bodies aren’t unclaimed as Oliver says. I do not appreciate being lied to or researching on someone’s family member without permission. No advancement in science is worth causing pain.”
I let go a sigh I was holding. It was all I needed to hear. Thomas was most certainly not involved in the Ripper crimes. He was interested in saving lives, not ending them.
“What will you do about Oliver?” I asked. “He cannot continue lying about the bodies. I doubt you’re the only one he’s done this to.”
“Oh, I’ll be having words with him, believe me.” Thomas pulled me close. “I despise having put you in unnecessary danger.”
“We are stalking Jack the Ripper,” I pointed out. “I’m already putting us in danger.”
Thomas shook his head, mirth replacing tension, but didn’t say more.
Intent on leaving the East End, we trudged across Dorset Street, our attention scattered from the attack, when I nearly walked straight into a hansom cab. I stopped, staring in disbelief. Incredibly, the night took a larger turn for the worse. A snake coiled around my torso, striking at my innards.
A scratch ran down the side of the cab in an unmistakable M, a feature I was very familiar with, as I’d made it myself last week. It was my identification of a murderer.
This carriage belonged to my father.
TWENTY-SIX
BLACK MARY
MILLER’S COURT,
WHITECHAPEL