“Oh, God… that smell.” Liza buried her face farther into my shoulder. My own emotions reared up, trying to overtake me, but I grabbed them and shoved them deep within. I could not succumb to them now. Possibly not ever. Everything around us became mechanical in my mind—the only way I could process what was happening and not crumble with grief.
The body finally fell to the stage, the sound like an eight-stone sack of oats crashing to the floor. Most of the damage in the room had only been done to the corpse and the silks that had tied it up. Aside from the sooty water spilling over the stage and puddling on the floor, the dining saloon escaped ruination. My macabre gaze returned to the charred remains. I did not wish to examine it up close. I did not want to believe this was real. But wishes and wants had no place in my heart.
Thomas patted Mrs. Harvey’s shoulder, doing his best to be comforting, though I could see the strain in his own expression. It was hard to shift into that cold calm when the scent of burnt flesh stung your nose and eyes. “Mrs. Harvey? Are you able to bring Liza back to your chambers?” The older woman’s lip trembled, but she nodded sharply. “Good. Everyone’s almost gone and the fire’s out now. You should be all right. I want you both to go straight to the cabin and lock the door. I’ll check on you when I escort Audrey Rose in a little while. All right?”
He spoke calmly, but there was a strength in his voice that made my senses slowly come to. It seemed to have the same effect on Mrs. Harvey. She blinked a few times, then held her arms out to Liza. “Come, dear. Let’s get us some water for a bath.”
Liza loosened her grasp on me enough to look into my face. I’m not sure what she saw there, but she quickly blinked back fresh tears. “You ought to come with us. Please. Please don’t go near that… that stage… please come with me.”
I wanted to. More than anything I wanted to clutch my cousin’s hand and run from this room, never looking back. I’d only ever questioned my love of forensic science once before, and this was testing my resolve again. “I’ll join you in a little while. I promise.”
“No! You have to—”
“There is a blade in my nightstand.” I hugged her close. “I want you to get it and keep it with you until I return. Do not allow anyone in unless it’s either myself, Thomas, or Uncle. Not Mephistopheles, nor anyone from the carnival. Not even Harry. Do you understand?”
I’d meant for my speech to be fortifying, but Liza’s tears spilled down her face, dripping onto the collar of her bodice. “Are we unsafe? Do you believe we’ll be attacked next? I—”
“It is a precaution,” I said. “Nothing more.” I gripped her hand tightly. “Take care of Mrs. Harvey, all right?”
Liza pressed her lips together. I could see the molten core of her harden into steel. She might have bent a little, but she was too strong to break. She gripped my hands back and nodded. “I’ll do my best.” She faced Mrs. Harvey and, though there were traces of fear in the way her hands shook, she straightened up. “Let’s hurry.”
With a final glance over her shoulder, Liza guided our chaperone out of the smoky room. I watched the door a few seconds after they’d gone, gathering up my own inner steel. A gentle touch on my arm indicated it was time to don my own mask—now I would perform the role of forensic scientist. I took one more deep breath, immediately regretting it as smoke singed my nose. I coughed, which only made it worse.
“Here. This might help a bit with the smell and the smoke.” Thomas handed me a damp napkin, then dabbed one into a water goblet for himself. He held the cloth to his face, allowing it to act as a barrier. I did the same, and the itch in my throat eased. Thomas kept his attention on me while I steadied myself. “Better?”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Without uttering another word, we made our way to the stage and smoking remains. Uncle was already standing over them. “Captain, I need this stage clear of people for the rest of the evening. We must salvage what we can as far as evidence is concerned. No crew.”
Norwood dragged a hand down his face. There were bags under his eyes, indicating he hadn’t slept well. Which was understandable—his magical voyage had diverted from Heaven sent to Hell bound. “Anything you need, Dr. Wadsworth. But we must clean up the tables and linens and—”
“Not now. This entire room must be cleared out immediately.” Uncle crouched beside the blackened corpse. He flicked his gaze up to me. “We will perform the postmortem here.”
My palms tingled as I stood at the foot of the stage, eyeing our temporary laboratory. Silks that hadn’t burned entirely hung in tatters, smoke rose from the body, and ashes covered much of the scene like gray snow. It seemed the most wretched of places to carve open a corpse, but was actually quite fitting given the theatrics of it all.
A crew member rushed over to Uncle, handing him his medical satchel. Uncle must have sent for it as soon as he’d left our table. I had no idea how he always remained calm during the worst of storms, and could only hope to emulate him one day. The young man backed away from the scene, his eyes wide and unblinking. A few moments later, the dining saloon was empty and we were ready to work. Mechanically, I took aprons from Uncle’s bag and handed them out, then tied my own about my waist. The flowers on my gown bulged and the hem would most certainly get ruined with soot, but I didn’t care. I removed my gloves and folded them neatly. They would affect my grip on the scalpels.
Thomas helped me up onto the stage, and I somehow found the will to slow my heartbeat, to clear my mind. I stood over the body, pressing the dampened cloth to my nose.
“The fire started at the feet,” I said, voice cracking. Uncle and Thomas jerked their attention from the corpse to me. “The gauze melted there, but not on the face. Same with the burnt skin. It’s charred on the legs, but the head isn’t as bad. Thomas was correct earlier—whoever she was, she wasn’t alive when the fire began.”
Thomas stalked around the body, fingers tapping his lips as he glanced from the ceiling to the floor and all around. His face was a mask of ice. When he switched into this role, I understood why others were sometimes frightened of him. Except now I no longer thought their taunts of him being an automaton were correct—when he transformed into a deductive scientist, he looked more like an unforgiving god, sent to mete out justice.
A muscle in his jaw flickered. “An emerald ring. Looks to be an heirloom.”
I ripped my attention off of Thomas and stared at the ring, heart pounding. A memory struck me at once.
“Miss Crenshaw,” I blurted. “Her mother said she had an emerald ring. And she never took it off.”
Thomas knelt beside the body. “Victim has auburn hair. Lady Crenshaw has a similar shade, though it’s not definitive proof.”
“No, but it’s a start.” Uncle twisted his mustache. “We’ll need to collect physical descriptions and see if the Crenshaws can confirm height and weight. It’s not impossible to identify the body, but let’s not traumatize anyone by making them inspect it if we don’t need to. I’d also like to know if Dr. Arden has ever treated any member of the family. Perhaps the victims are all connected to him.” He nodded toward the ring. “Once we complete our investigation, we’ll also see if this is indeed the ring they’d mentioned.” He set his mouth into a grim line. “Hand me my scalpel, Audrey Rose.”
I did as I was told. Normally, the bodies were already without clothes when I assisted Uncle in his laboratory. Removing the clothing was a bit harder in this case; Uncle had to carefully cut away what fabric he could, doing his best to not accidentally carve off burnt flesh. Instead of risking harm to the lower half of the body, he focused on cutting away material from the torso up. I noted that she’d been stripped to her underthings, and from what was left, the lace appeared to be of a fine quality. She was likely another first-class passenger, our murderer’s preferred victims. Uncle moved briskly and efficiently, his years of training and practice showing.
In a few moments, he had the body ready for our inspection. After performing a quick external
examination and finding no obvious outward causes of death, he brought the scalpel to the flesh and made a Y incision, swiftly parting the skin. I handed him the rib cutters and stood back as her inner cavity was exposed. Uncle wiped his hands down the front of his apron, smearing the cream fabric with rust-colored liquid. I imagined he longed to wash in carbolic soap, but couldn’t worry about contamination now. He leaned over the body, sniffing. Previous experience told me he was looking for signs of poison. Often a scent could be detected near the stomach if it had been ingested. I tried not to think about the victims of our last case in Romania.
I handed him another blade and he carefully opened the stomach, searching through its contents. He rooted around for a bit, then stepped back. “If she ate chocolate cake, sugared berries, and champagne before dying, then what does that indicate?”
“She must have had an awful stomachache,” Thomas said blandly.
“Thomas!” I shot him a look of horror. “Be serious.”
“I am.” He held his hands up. “All of those are sweet. And are more than likely to hide poison in them. I imagine her stomach must have hurt immensely. It probably started slowly, and she’d thought it was simply from the overindulgence. Then she would have likely figured out something was wrong soon after, when the pain increased and the perspiration began in earnest.” He pointed to her hands, red and splotchy from where they’d been burned. “Her nails are broken, but the cuts are on her palms, not from fighting the murderer. A fine indicator that she clutched herself, trying to dull the pain.”
Uncle removed the stomach and motioned for a tray. I held it steady as he deposited the organ on it with a slick thud, doing everything in my power to not picture the broiled lobster the tray had held earlier. With forceps, he pulled a few undigested berries out. “We’ll need to run tests, naturally, but these appear to be belladonna.”
I mentally flipped through lessons on poisons. Belladonna was a nightshade, sometimes called the devil’s berries. An uncomfortable feeling slid through my bones. She would have suffered greatly after ingesting that many berries—her heart rate likely sped up, her breathing and muscles unable to work properly. Whoever had fed this dessert of death to her was heartless. I could not fathom what it must have been like, sitting there, watching her body convulse as death claimed her. This murder was slow and deliberate, the staging of the body extreme.
I placed the berries in a vial for further inspection, watching Uncle sew the corpse together again. His stitches were neat and precise, exactly as he’d taught me.
“Have the captain show Lord and Lady Crenshaw the ring. See if they’re able to identify it as their daughter’s.” He turned his attention on the body, his expression sad. “It’s the least we can offer as far as peace goes.”
Thomas went to do the gruesome task of sliding the ring off her finger, but I stopped him. I didn’t want to be so cold and clinical in this moment. It felt much too solemn for that. I bent down and gently lifted her arm, taking great care as I removed what had once been a treasure to her, according to her family. I sat on my heels a second more, then laid her arm over her chest. She had been tortured, murdered, then had her body turned into a spectacle of fear.
“The Star,” I said, mostly to myself. Thomas and Uncle wore similar expressions of confusion. “The tarot card most likely associated with this staged death. I’ve…” I didn’t want to tell them I’d gotten hold of a deck of tarot cards along with my playing cards, so I shrugged. “I borrowed Liza’s cards and studied them last night. This body looks like that card. We need to figure out what it means. Combined with the others, it might lead us to our murderer.”
Uncle looked skeptical, but nodded assent. I pushed myself to a standing position, the ring clasped tightly in my hand. Gone were my feelings of horror and sadness. In their place a spark of anger ignited. Whoever had done this had gone too far, and I would not rest until they paid for their crimes.
“Cover her with a cloak before they take her away,” I said, my voice like ice. “I’ll bring this to the captain now.”
I spun on my heel and strode toward the door, determination pounding through me like a second heartbeat. This ship might be turning into a floating nightmare, but I refused to give in to fear.
FIFTEEN
AN INDECENT SITUATION
LORD CRENSHAW’S CABIN
RMS ETRURIA
4 JANUARY 1889
“That’s Elizabeth’s.” Lady Crenshaw’s gaze never left the ring Captain Norwood held out. “Wh-where did you find th-this?”
Captain Norwood drew in a deep breath. “I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, madam. But Miss Crenshaw’s body was…” He glanced down, seemingly at a loss on how to describe it.
“No. It cannot be.” Lady Crenshaw shook her head, eyes glistening. Lord Crenshaw clutched her arm and she sunk back. “Elizabeth is back in London, I’m sure of it. She must be back home by now. We’ll write her and see as soon as we’re in New York. There cannot be truth in this.” Her voice broke.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss.” Norwood’s mouth snapped shut as Lady Crenshaw fell to her knees. “We are doing everything to locate her murderer—”
“Get out.” Lord Crenshaw’s tone was low and dangerous.
“Sir, we—”
“Leave us.”
“Very well. If you need anything, come directly to m—”
“Damn you and this accursed ship!” he shouted, startling both the captain and myself back. “Forget the ringing endorsement you sought. A workhouse would be better recommended. I will see both you and that circus destroyed.”
He slammed the door so hard the lifeboat hanging outside smacked the wall. Captain Norwood’s shoulders heaved with breath. “I’m not fit for this sort of work. Dr. Arden didn’t take the news much better. Can’t blame either of them—losing a child is a pain no parent should ever suffer.”
“Uncle needs to speak with Dr. Arden,” I said slowly, not wishing to be insensitive. “Will you send word and have him meet with Uncle soon?”
The captain nodded, though his attention was set on the dark sea. “It was supposed to be a legendary voyage. Now it will simply become infamous. Mephistopheles promised the moon. He swore if I allowed them free passage that cruise liners with nightly entertainments would become the height of fashion. That our names would be written amongst the stars. He is nothing but a liar.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. The entire evening had already spiraled into darkness and I didn’t think it could all be blamed on one person. Witnessing the Crenshaws’ grief and now the captain’s was too much. And I had more work to do before locking myself away in my own cabin.
“There’s still time to set everything right,” I finally said. “We’ve got three more nights.”
Captain Norwood moved away from the door and led me toward my cabin. “Three more opportunities for murder, Miss Wadsworth.”
We walked silently after that, and I couldn’t help but fear he was correct.
“Are you quite mad?” Liza exclaimed, jumping off the bed as I changed into a plainer dress. “How is it all right for you to seek Mephistopheles at this hour, yet if I go to Harry it’s out of the question?”
“Must we really go over this again?” I rubbed my temples. I was exhausted and wanted to crawl under my covers and not emerge until we were pulling into New York Harbor. “Uncle has already banished you to this cabin and threatened the asylum. And if that isn’t enough of a reason, there’s always the murderer that’s running about this ship.”
Liza got that defiant gleam in her eye as she stood and crossed her arms. “Which is why we ought to walk down together. Their rooms aren’t far apart. Isn’t there safety in groups?” I opened my mouth to argue, but she’d brought up a valid point. Sensing my hesitation, she pressed on. “Not to mention, do you even know where Mephistopheles’s cabin is? How do you plan on finding him? Who will go to their grave, lying to defend you, should either of us be caught?”
I gave her an exasperated look. “I have questions regarding the murder. It’s hardly a clandestine affair you need to lie about. And I am not going to get caught.”
“Oh? And what if Thomas finds out you’ve been visiting another young man? At night. Alone. To simply discuss murder in his chambers without either Uncle or Thomas present. He will think you’re—”
“Liza,” I said, interrupting before she could finish that scandalous thought. “Thomas would never be so foolish. We trust each other.”
“He’s human, you know. No matter how clinical and intelligent he may be, he’s got human emotions. I think you forget that sometimes. He buries them, but they’re there.”
Part of me wished to give her the letter Houdini had written to his secret lover and see if she was as eager to visit him after seeing firsthand what a scoundrel he was. I drew in a few deep breaths. Tonight wasn’t the time to divulge that misery. With any luck he’d reveal that through his own coarse actions, and I’d never have to give her that terrible letter.
After offering an exaggerated long sigh, I threw a cloak at my cousin. “I only need to speak with Mephistopheles for a few minutes. You’ll need to leave when I do.”
Liza tossed the cloak about her shoulders and grinned. “This is what it’s always like for you, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Always pushing forward, pursuing truth.” Her smile faded, turning into something tinged with sadness. “I always imagined your work with Uncle as an adventure, but it’s also quite difficult, isn’t it? The things you see…”