Page 55 of The Business of Blood
I stared at him for longer than an honest woman would, my guilt pulling hot blood to my ears with all the speed and noise of a steam engine at full tilt.
Because I cannot trust the police with my secrets. Because, sometimes, I fear the Hammer every bit as much as I feared the Ripper. Because, should I fall, I would topple everyone who stands on my shoulders, dear Dr. Phillips included.
“Because I…wanted to be certain the man who accosted me was Jack, and I am not yet convinced.”
Croft snorted. “Because you wanted to do something foolish, like go after him yourself.”
Also, that.
Dr. Phillips stationed himself on the other side of me, patting my shoulder indulgently. “Come now, we credit Miss Mahoney with a great deal more intelligence than all that.”
They did?
“I never saw my assailant’s face,” I explained. “But his voice was excruciatingly distinctive. I’ll never forget the effeminate lisp, the waspish cadence. I wanted a chance to identify him lest I bring you yet another useless clue.”
“You of all people know the importance of reporting a crime directly,” Croft snarled. “Crossland Alley is a stone’s throw away from Scotland Yard. I can’t imagine why you’d hesitate to run to us immediately. In fact, I can’t imagine why you were on the Strand at that hour in the first place. Just what are you hiding?”
“Did he threaten you?” Dr. Phillips settled a gentle arm around my shoulders, simultaneously digging a finger into a sensitive spot below my ribs and causing me to gasp and reflexively crumple forward. He caught me deftly like a father would a distraught child. He tsked and tutted solicitously as I turned my face against his chest in a false gesture of distress. “There, there, my dear. How brave you are. Did he warn you not to go to the police?”
“He—he did.” I grasped the lifeline he offered with both hands. “He said anyone I told would be in danger.” The catch in my throat was more from a sort of marvelous amusement than wretchedness. Just as Croft had cornered me, the genius doctor had rescued us both. It was not in my nature to play the damsel, but one did what they must.
All thoughts of confession planted by Aidan had dissipated the moment poor Katherine Riley’s body was found. She was a stark reminder of why I must be allowed to continue to be who I am.
To do what I do.
If Jack was back, then Imustbe free to search for him.
There was little doubt that I was the lesser of the two evils. Why should I hang, and he continue to terrorize all of London?
I relaxed into Dr. Phillip’s hold incrementally. For a man who’d likely lived a half-century, he was surprisingly solid. He smelled of pomade and formaldehyde and strong lye soap. Not exactly a fatherly smell, but oddly comforting nonetheless.
The scent of preservation.
In lieu of a family—and in the absence of a beloved father—Dr. Phillips had become more than just an ally. Or merely a business associate. He’d become something of a friend.
Aberline, as well.
And, I supposed I didn’t want Croft to come to any harm, either. At least, most days.
“I can’t, in good conscience, stomach the idea of risking any of your lives.” I looked up into Dr. Phillip’s benevolent features, wondering if he understood how honest I was in that moment.
“That’s fucking ridiculous!” Croft exploded, his face reddening. “I canprotectyou. That is,we,the London Metropolitan Police, are perfectly capable of protecting ourselves. And you.”
“Language, Inspector Croft, I implore you,” Phillips admonished.
“You don’t have jurisdiction over me. I don’t reside in your borough.” I pushed away from Phillips, leveling Croft with a sharp look. “And I cannot say I know how safe I’d feel even if I did.” I pointed at Katherine Riley, not able to bring myself to look down at what remained of her now.
A vein had begun to pulse in Croft’s temple, and his shoulders bunched up to his ears. Wordlessly, he turned into what I assumed was the bedroom and began to slam about in there.
I’d been cruel. I’d questioned his ability to do his job, to be a man, and all in front of his colleagues.
Regardless of how I felt about Croft, I wasn’t proud of what I’d said.
Aberline diplomatically interceded. “What Croft is trying—and failing—to convey, is that there is more safety in knowledge than ignorance. The more you trust us, the better we can help. We hoped you understood that by now.”
“I do understand, Inspector.” My regret was conveyed in earnest, and I hoped that he could see that. “I never want to cry wolf.”
Cry Ripper?
