Ripped (32 page)

“Loyalty is a good thing, Toby. But no one, and I mean
no one
, can be above suspicion.”

“Or below it.”

At the edge of the park, half a dozen gardeners toiled, pushing wheelbarrows full of weeds and carrying watering cans. There were no power mowers in this century, Katie reminded herself. Every bit of work needed to be done by hand.

A bee drifted lazily past. It was fat and striped and brought to mind honey, which was replaced by tea and scones dripping with butter and strawberry jam.

“I'm starving,” Katie said, acutely aware of her growling stomach and wanting to think about anything
but
Jack the Ripper and the young women who would soon be slaughtered.
And Collin
'
s impending fate—if the family history was written correctly
.

“Katherine.” Toby's voice held a warning note. “My edict still holds.”

Big Ben, loud in the quiet park, struck four bongs.

“And what edict is that?” asked Katie, suddenly weary of edicts and deals and promises.

Toby smiled, showing strong, if slightly crooked, white teeth.

“I'm still responsible for your safety, lass. Whatever investigating we do, wherever this leads us, I'm still in charge. You'll do exactly as I say. I've only your safety in mind.”

“Of course!” cried Katie with feigned innocence. “I wouldn't have it any other way.” She crossed her fingers behind her back. “I'll do whatever you think best, Toby.”

If Katie had learned anything in this century, it was this. Girls had to be cunning to outmaneuver the chauvinistic attitudes of Victorian male egos. It was a hazard of being in an old-fashioned century where boys actually believed they were superior.

“So what's our next move, Sherlock?” Katie bit back a smile.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Urchins Will Perch 'neath the Bells of Christ Church

L
a
ter that night
, after a torturously long dinner, Toby found himself consulting his pocket watch as he and Collin climbed onto a horse-drawn double-decker heading for the East End.

They were on their way to warn Miss Annie Chapman of her impending death at the hands of Jack the Ripper on September the tenth, two days hence—at least according to Katie—by the same lunatic who had disemboweled Mary Ann Nichols.

After dinner and the dessert course of strawberry and rhubarb custard, with lemon pudding, the Duke had insisted on singing duets in the library. Katie had pleaded a headache in order to slip away with Collin and Toby, but the Duke, upon learning that Katie could play the piano, was adamant she remain and help entertain his guests.

Katie had pulled Toby aside, pleading with him to rescue her. “
My sister
'
s a rock star
!
” she whispered frantically. “I can't play your kind of music. I don't know any songs from this era. I can't very well play heavy metal for the Duke! My own grandmother can't stand listening to Courtney's music. And don't get me started on the Metro Chicks — your great-grandson loves them. The only old songs I know are Beatles songs. Or maybe ‘Chopsticks'! What am I going to do?”

“Give the Duke a Viennese waltz or a Chopin mazurka. If all else fails, play something from Gilbert and Sullivan.”

“Gilbert and Sullivan . . . ” Katie's eye's lit up. “I know a song from
The Pirates of Penzance
. We sang it at camp. But I've never played it on the piano—”

“Camp?”

“Summer camp. Where you learn archery, riflery, horseback riding, sailing, tennis—”

“Riflery! Surely not.”

“Riflery and—”

“The future of England—
this England
—teaches girls marksmanship? The British realm becomes militaristic? War mongering?” Toby could only blink at her. What sort of world, future or otherwise, allowed
girls
to shoot rifles? And he had no idea what a rock star was. Perhaps in the future the London Stone was called the London Rock. But what would a rock have to do with stars and music?

When he finally excused himself and said good night to Sir Godfrey, Lady Beatrix and the others, with Collin trotting happily in his wake, Toby caught the flash of frustration in Katie's eyes. She did not want to be left behind. But in truth, it was a relief to Toby. There were so many conflicting thoughts running through his head when he was with the girl that he was glad for the respite.

A spark of perverse satisfaction surged through him as he settled into a seat next to Collin on the omnibus. He would never allow Katie to know how deeply she affected him. Not because she was a time-traveler—though he still couldn't fathom that
not inconsequential
fact—no, it was because, loath as Toby was to admit it, he was falling in love with her. His muscles tensed just thinking about it.

The lass was fearless, and her bluntness, refreshing. Most girls were simpering and superficial and not at all subtle in their desire to catch a titled husband, but Katie was none of these. There was amusement in her voice, and a sparkle in her eyes, but not with the end result of finding a husband—just a murderer, a vicious killer named Jack the Ripper, who might or might not even exist.

Toby sighed. That he should lose his heart to such a one as this ham shank was far more baffling to him than her ability to leapfrog across the centuries. But it was not just Toby who felt drawn to her.

At dinner tonight, Reverend Pinker had seemed overly interested in Katie. Proper etiquette dictated that young ladies did not laugh uproariously at the dinner table, nor offer up opinions on politics, medicine, or science. And yet Katie had done all of these things with an air of appearing interested.

Toby smiled thinking about how Katie had handled herself. During course after course, Major Brown's eyes, like Reverend Pinker's, had been riveted on her. Yet Katie seemed not the least intimidated. Not by Pinker's overzealous attention, nor Major Brown's butterfly-under-a microscope scrutiny, nor even by the Duke's ribald jokes. And much to Lady Beatrix's chagrin, Katie had even been so bold as to dismiss Major Brown's assertion that the feminine brain was not suited to the rigors of mathematics.

Collin was poking Toby in the ribs now, drawing his attention back to the present. Toby consulted his watch again. A quarter past nine. From their vantage point on top of this open-air vehicle, London looked oddly ethereal, wrapped in a smoky white mist that distorted gas lamps and gave the streets from Mayfair down to the brightness of Piccadilly a pale, ghostly appearance.

Collin nudged Toby, harder this time. “I say, old sod. Did you notice what a jackass Pinker made of himself with Katherine at dinner? Ogling her as if she were Venus incarnate! Can't fathom it. Stinker Pinker's always worn his heart on his sleeve for Beatrix. He's a dark horse, that one.”

Collin chuckled loudly and continued. “Remember the time old Pinker got me so mad I unhooked the wall mirror from my bureau, climbed out onto my roof, and shone it straight into his eyes as he drove up to the house?” An expression of glee lit up Collin's face. “Old Stink-Pink was driving that glossy two-wheel trap to impress Beatrix. Came prancing up the drive, happy as you please. Ha! The reflection from the mirror darted straight into his eyes! Jolly good fun that, what?”

“I
remember
,” Toby said, thinking back on the childish prank, “that the sun bounced off your four-foot mirror directly into the horse's off-side eye, and the poor beast took fright and bolted, sending Reverend Pinker flying arse-over-teakettle into the rosebushes.”

Collin beamed. “That crazed horse took off at a speed almost equal to the one at which you chased me halfway round the stable yard!”

“You were lucky I didn't give you the worst walloping of your life, pulling such a reckless stunt. Where's the sport in spooking a defenseless animal?”

“Not to mention old Pinker. But it was a jolly good prank all the same. And you've got to admit, Toby, Stinker Pinker had it coming.”

Toby grimaced. “You behaved like a jackanapes. No. Worse. A villainous little brute. Like you always do when someone pays court to your sister.”

Collin stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, looking infinitely pleased with himself. “Look here, Toby. Anyone with half an ounce of humor would have seen it for the rollicking good joke it was.”

“A rollicking good rum and coke that could have crippled a good horse, or—”

“A pompous old sod.”

“A pompous old sod you happen to like.”

“Stink-Pink's a good sort, I'll grant you. But
not
good enough for my sister, even if he inherits the earldom from that wretch of a brother, which seems highly unlikely. Quite the nerve, trying to woo Beatrix. But I showed him! And how about that time I put egg froth in the silk top hat of one of her suitors—fellow by the name of Finknottle — and it foamed all down the sides of his face like a frothy white beard. And remember when—”

Toby sighed. He wasn't in the mood for Collin's tales of tomfoolery. In truth, he wasn't in the mood for Collin. He wished that the Duke had demanded Collin's presence after dinner as well as Katie's.

Toby felt a tinge of disloyalty as he glanced sideways at Collin. With his rust-red hair blowing in the wind; his glacier-blue eyes under their ragged red tufts of eyebrows, and his broad smile showing too many teeth when he laughed, Collin wasn't such a bad egg.
He just has a blind spot when it comes to his sister.
Collin disliked any man who tried to win Beatrix's affections. Toby shook his head. He and Collin had shared the same life, the same roof, the same school for five years. You can't very well do that, Toby reasoned, without some sort of tolerant liking for the other person. Being a dogsbody and general companion to Collin wasn't even difficult. Collin had a temper and got into his fair share of scrapes, but what future lord of the realm didn't? The rules of middling society didn't apply to the nobility. And the Duke, realizing that Collin hadn't the stomach for fisticuffs, had hired instructors to teach Toby the manly art of soft-glove boxing. Which was a right jolly rum and coke. By the time a gent had readied himself into a fighting stance, any Cockney worth his salt—Toby not being the exception—had already knocked the blighter out cold.

Yet Toby never mollycoddled Collin. That would have been demeaning. He just made sure the Duke's grandson stayed out of trouble. That was the agreement Toby had with the Duke.

“Keep the blister out of mischief until he's married and produces an heir. That's an order, young Tobias,” the Duke had commanded when Toby was twelve. “After which, the devil take the red-headed imp, for all I care.” Yet Toby suspected the Duke was genuinely fond of his grandson, as fond as he was grateful to Toby, especially when Collin got into one of his little “scrapes,” as the Duke called them.

Last year Collin tried to trounce a schoolmate for making fun of his purple trousers, claiming Collin must have raided his sister's closet. Then the idiot made a bawdy comment about Lady Beatrix's underdrawers. Collin went at him like a wildcat. Toby intervened, but the boy had it coming. He was a sniggering bully. When the Duke got wind of the story, he bought Collin the pearl-handled pocketknife and told him next time he must use it to defend the Twyford honor.

Next time came soon enough when Collin accused a viscount's son of cheating at cards. The other promptly gave Collin a good thunk on the noggin. Enraged, Collin brandished his pocketknife in the air like a sword-stick, flourishing thrusts and parries with cries of “
En garde
!
” and “
Take that, you louse
!
” When the card-cheat drew out a small pistol, Toby stepped in, and the future viscount came within an inch of his life. Everyone in the gaming room had cheered.

•

A
n
nie Chapman, called
“
Dark Annie,
”
lived in a dimly lit lane, which curved around to the right toward Christ Church. It was due north of the Mark Street Underground Railway, situated in a narrow row of houses with sagging bay windows and chipped stone steps.

Standing in Annie Chapman's front parlor, with its floral wallpaper and black lacquer table, Toby noticed that the room had been swept and scrubbed. Only a few candles burned in the pewter chandelier, and there were water stains on the ceiling above the sagging windows, but otherwise the room had an air of respectability. There was even a bell-pull next to the fireplace.

Even so, Collin looked ill at ease standing in such modest surroundings. He kept drawing down his sandy-red brows, puffing out his cheeks, and darting sharp glances at Toby, as if to say,
“
Go on!
Warn her about Katie
'
s phantom killer, and let
'
s get out of here
!”

Toby shot him a cut-it-out look, then settled his gaze on Annie Chapman. She was a tall, high-shouldered woman, whose age was a mystery. She might have been ten years older than she looked—which was about thirty—or ten years younger. Her face was angular and had a slight wasting appearance, as if she had consumption. Toby knew the look. Pale skin with even paler circles ringing the eyes on either side of her high-bridged nose. She had very black hair and very white skin, paper white with a tinge of blue where the veins showed through. Toby thought she might once have been beautiful. Was still beautiful. But it was clear that she wasn't well. And her eyes were so pale a blue, the iris seemed to mingle with the whites—a telltale sign of a consumptive.

Her voice was so soft as to be hard to hear. “So, Tobias, Georgie's grandmother must have told you that Georgie is here. Is that why you've come? Be quick, Tobias, I'm just on my way out.”

“At this hour? Mustn't go walking about at this hour, Mrs. Chapman.”

“Call me Annie. Or Dark Annie. Everyone does.”

“It's not safe, Miss Annie.”

She laughed, but the sound was as shallow as eggshells crushed beneath one's fingers. “I've lived here all my life, Tobias. Everyone knows me here. I have but to call out, should the need arise.” She moved across the room and took down a paisley shawl from a peg on the wall.

Collin nervously rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Wouldn't do that!” he yelped.

Dark Annie spun around and again they heard the soft, eggshell sound of her laughter. “I'll be fine, young man. My late husband was a military man. He taught me how to speak the Queen's English
and
to look after myself.”