Page 28 of Across Space and Time

Dr. Ledbetter shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. One of the inspectors took a photograph to put out to see if anyone recognizes him. I will let you know if I hear anything.”

Hugh nodded. For right now, the young man would have to wait to receive the justice he deserved.

“These killings remind me of the Ripper murders and the torso murders,” Ledbetter mused, stroking his graying chestnut beard thoughtfully. “The killer of those women was never found. The attacks were savage, committed mostly on the street where anyone could come upon them, and committed mainly against prostitutes or other destitute individuals.”

“Do you think that one of the killers of these young men might be Jack the Ripper?” Hugh asked curiously.

“I suppose it’s possible,” the doctor said. “The savagery is there. But those murders were much more precise and methodical. These slayings are more frantic. Animalistic, even. It would be strange for someone to kill so precisely and then suddenly devolve into this level of violence. Even if the killer’s mind was becoming more unstable, his experience and handiwork would likely improve, not reach this level of unhinged ferocity.”

The last thing they needed was a killer like Jack the Ripper preying on the vulnerable people of London. The viscount was dead, but Jack had said that he had seen a different creature running away from Christopher’s body that first night. And that still left many unanswered questions, not the least of which was, what caused the strange transformation from man to beast to man again?

“I suppose a good next step would be to visit the home of the viscount and see if his widow or his servants can tell me anything about what his plans were for that evening,” Hugh said, glancing over the blood-stained gold paper once more.

Dr. Ledbetter nodded. “Good luck, Constable. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

Chapter nine

Hugh hated to intrude upon a family so soon into their mourning, but memories were fleeting. So, he took a hackney to Elm Square, where the front of the viscount’s townhouse had been draped in black mourning silk and a black wreath hung on the door. He knocked on the door, and it was answered by a young maid with a black armband around her upper right arm. “Hello, miss,” he said, giving her a gracious nod. “I am Constable Hugh Danbury, of the Metropolitan Police. Is your mistress in?”

“She is, sir, but I’m afraid she’s quite unwell,” the maid said with a polite curtsy. “Took to her bed when the news of Master Emeril arrived.”

He was sure it had been a shock. “I understand. Is there someone else with whom I might speak? I have some questions pertaining to the investigation into what happened.”

“Yes, sir.” The girl curtsied again. “Please, come in. I’ll fetch the housekeeper.”

“Thank you, miss,” Hugh said, stepping inside the parlor where the girl gestured. She turned and hurried off, leaving him alone in the room. The mantle looked as though it were made of marble, a warm fire glowing behind a cut-glass screen to keep away the autumn chill. The furniture was polished and brightly upholstered, with no visible patches or repairs. Several porcelain figurines stood on the mantle, and he studied them. His mother had loved porcelain figurines, though she could not afford many of them.

A soft trod of feet alerted him to the arrival of the housekeeper. She was a round-faced woman, her graying dark hair swept up into a simple bun. Her gray dress was modest, and she too had a black mourning band around her upper arm. She gave him a polite smile as she entered. “Good afternoon, sir. I’m Mrs. Pitman, the housekeeper. Please, sit.” She gestured to one of the chairs that Hugh guessed was worth more than his entire month’s salary. He sat down uneasily on the edge of it, and Mrs. Pitman took a seat on a matching chaise.

“I am very sorry for your loss,” Hugh said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “It must have come as quite a shock.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Pitman said with a rusty sigh. “Tragic.”

“How is Lady Jardin holding up?”

“She has never had great health, and Lord Jardin’s death was quite overwhelming for her,” Mrs. Pitman said. Hugh noticed that she hadn’t actually answered the question, but he let it go.

“I can imagine,” he said. “I do have some questions about Lord Jardin from last night.”

Mrs. Pitman nodded. “I will answer what I can, sir.”

“Last night before he went out, what did the viscount have for dinner?”

“Oh.” Mrs. Pitman seemed surprised by this question and had to think for a moment. “Roast beef, and pickled vegetables.”

“What about dessert?”

Mrs. Pitman shook her head. “No, sir. He never had much of a sweet tooth.”

“So, you did not prepare anything with apples in it?” Hugh asked.

“Oh, heavens, no!” Mrs. Pitman said. “We don’t even have apples in the house, sir. I’m allergic to ‘em, you see. Break out in hives if I even touch them.”

“Oh!” Hugh said. “But did Viscount Jardin eat apples?”

“Sometimes, sir. Lady Jardin, she likes blueberry tarts from this bakery on Fleet Street, and I think the viscount would get some apple turnovers for himself. Actually, last night, sir, he sent lil’ Robbie out to that bakery. Robbie’s the groom’s son, runs errands and the like.”

Hugh raised a brow, making notes on his notepad. “What time was this?”

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