Ripped (48 page)

Collin threw back his head and laughed. “And when Major Fathead came barreling out of Georgie's room, he saw me and was furious. Mum and Dad as you put it, Toby. Spitting mad. He cursed me for my unlawful audacity. He said, ‘What you've done is a criminal act of vindictiveness aimed at me, is that it?' I just laughed in his face. I knew he couldn't hand me over to the authorities. Beatrix would never forgive him, nor
marry
him if he exposed her brother as a cold-blooded murderer. Cockneys live by different sets of rules. They hush things up where family members are concerned. Once I became part of Major Brown's extended family, in his mind, he was duty-bound to shield me from the law. Knowing this, I goaded him: ‘Want to tell Lady Beatrix what a cowardly cuss I am?' I knew he wouldn't turn me in. I knew I could taunt him as much as I pleased. But my jeering drove him over the edge. He pummeled and lashed out, giving me the thrashing of my life. Might have killed me, too, if Toby hadn't intervened.”

Katie remembered how miserable Toby was when he had described all this to her later. “
Had you asked me yesterday, Katie, if Brown was capable of losing his temper over Collin
'
s childish antics, I
'
d have sworn an oath, not. Collin didn
'
t say anything so very inflammatory — nothing to provoke such violence.
”
But Collin
had
done something to provoke Major Brown. He had killed Georgie Cross.

“Then! The evening got even better!” Collin crowed. “Reverend Pinker arrived. Dark Annie didn't know Georgie was dead, and she begged Pinker to intervene on his behalf. ‘Don't let 'im hand Georgie over to the authorities until he's recovered. He'll be taken to Bedlam Hospital!' Major Brown couldn't let the cat out of the bag, at least not then—not while suspicion might land on his future brother-in-law. ‘Don't disturb Georgie,' Brown warned Pinker. ‘He's got a fever and may be contagious.' Humph!” Collin snorted. “Georgie was no more contagious than you or I—
because he was dead
—but it was enough to insure that Stink-Pink wouldn't set foot inside that sickroom. Major Brown needed time to come up with a strategy while he wrestled with his conscience, trying to decide whether his allegiance to Beatrix was greater than his allegiance to the law. His Cockney ethics must have been warring within him—God rot his soul.”

“And Dark Annie?” Katie choked out. “Did you kill her, too?”

Collin nodded.

The muscles in Toby's face tightened as he forced a smile. “Tell us about Annie Chapman.”

“Ha! That was an easy one. But I'm weary of telling this tale. The two of you will have all eternity to dissect the minute details of my scurrilous—though dare I say, brilliant
—
crimes!”

“Wait! The others . . . ? Lizzie Stride and Catherine Eddowes. You killed them as well?” Katie asked.

“Yes and yes! But I won't hurt Dora, even though
you
predicted her death, Katie.”

“You'll marry her, then?” Katie asked, stalling. She could see Toby from the corner of her eye, slowly raising his fist, clenching Mrs. Tray's rock.

“Hah!” Collin spat out. “The Duke can't dictate to me, by thunder. But in this instance, he's right. I shall marry Prudence. She's an earl's daughter after all, with a private fortune, country homes, and farmland to boot. But as to Dora . . . Have no fear from that quarter, Katie. I'm too fond of Dora to kill her. She'll be my Scotch warming pan, as the Cockneys say.”

Collin laughed and poked the knife into Katie's throat, pricking the skin until she cried out. Then he turned to Toby and shouted, “Drop the rock in your hand, Toby! Unless you care to see Katie bleed to death.” Collin made an exaggerated twisting motion of the knife at her throat.

Toby let the rock clunk onto the pitted boards at his feet.

“Go to the end of the pier, Toby,” Collin continued barking orders. “Get down on your knees. Raise your hands above your head.
Do it now!
Do it, or I slit her throat from ear to ear.” Collin yanked his grip tighter around Katie's waist.

Toby moved haltingly to the edge of the wharf, knelt down, and put his hands up. Katie could see the crooked arc of his broken left arm. To raise it must have been excruciating. But Toby's face was as implacable as the stone he'd just dropped.

Collin spun Katie around so that she faced him, her back to Toby. “I want to gaze into your eyes when I kill you.” Again the maniacal laughter.

“So! Toby?” Collin continued, his breath warm and sickeningly moist against Katie's cheek. “I'm going to ask you nicely to jump off the cliff edge,” he shouted. “If you do, I give you my word of honor — as a gentleman—that I shall kill Katie quickly. She'll feel no pain.”

“Then you'll eviscerate her?” Toby shouted back. “Gut her like a slaughterhouse calf?”

“Of course. I need this to appear as if Jack the Ripper—you, Toby—killed her, and I wrestled you over the side. So, what's it going to be? A fast, easy death for Katie, or an agonizingly slow and painful one?”

Katie remembered a ruse from a TV show. She gaped past Collin's shoulder and shouted, “No! Major Brown,
don
'
t!
Collin's got a knife!”

Collin gave a snorting laugh. “Nice try, Katie, old girl.” He made a heavy gesture with the knife, drawing a new gush of blood at her collar bone.

“She's right!” Toby shouted. “Major Brown is behind you.”

Uncertainty sprang into Collin's eyes, then quickly faded. “You want me to turn around so you can jump me? Well, I'm not so easily tricked. Major Brown is dead. Anyone who plummets into the Thames at this height hasn't a snowball's chance in hell. You'll have to try something more original, old sod. Now, let me explain the plan once again—”

“Drop the knife!” boomed Major Brown's voice from behind Collin.

Collin shoved Katie aside and whipped around.

There was no one there.

But in that split second, Toby sprang forward. Katie lunged and shoved Collin with all her might. Collin let out a billowing whoosh of air as Toby grabbed his wrist and twisted it back until the bone snapped. The dagger fishtailed through the air and landed tip-down in the pitted boards where it thrummed like the shaft of an arrow. They were perilously close to the side, waves thundering below.

“
Get down, Katie
!”
Toby cried.

Katie dropped to all fours, her fingers gripping the ribbed boards, damp and slippery beneath her open palms. She heard the crunch of fist against flesh. Then came a whomping thud as Collin toppled over her arched back.

She turned her head in time to see Collin's arms flapping in the air, followed by a screech of pure terror as he wheeled over the edge of the wharf.

Then the sound of his body hitting the current below with a gurgling, loud splash.

And it was over.

On her hands and knees, Katie scrabbled across the uneven boards and stuck her head over the side. Swirling dark water dipped and slapped, black tinged with gleams of silver where the waves crashed against the lower pier. She squinted hard, scanning the depths, but it was impossible to see anything more than the shades and shadows of the water rising and falling, and crashing back, whitecaps foaming.

Bending low, Toby reached out a strong hand, and Katie clasped it tightly in her own and rose up slowly, clamping her free hand to her bloodied neck. Some dim recollection, a déjà vu feeling caught her up short.
Major Brown!
He
'
s alive!

Katie whirled around. “Major Brown . . . ?” she called out.

Farther along the pier, sheltered from the breeze, Dora popped out from behind an upturned barrel. “I heard what that murdering devil said. He killed me best friend, Mary Ann!”

Katie's heart thumped wildly. The small nicks at her throat throbbed.

It was Dora!
Dora had thrown her voice to mimic Major Brown's, and Collin had taken the bait. He had fallen for it, literally.

Katie raced down the pier, wrapped her arms around Dora, and hugged her. “You saved our lives! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Dora.”

“You would'a done the same for me,” Dora said. “Collin deserved far worse. He ought to 'ave been skinned alive and salted! And as for a Scotch warming pan
. . .
I gots me pride, I does.”

Dora disentangled herself from Katie's embrace. “I wouldn't hurt nobody, not for nuffink. Not even for this here ring!” She held up the ring with an emerald the size of a pigeon's egg. “Course it's mine now, good and proper. May Collin rot—”

“—in hell,” they spoke in unison.

Katie thought about Major Brown. He was innocent, but he too had died at the hands of Jack the Ripper. She swallowed hard.
I threw that rock at him. If I hadn
'
t thrown it, he might still be alive . . .

Sunlight streamed through the overhead clouds as Toby limped forward. “It's time to go home, lass.”

“But Major Brown—” Katie's stomach lurched.

“He died as he lived. It's time for you to return home. Where you belong.”

Home
.

Katie nodded, but felt helpless and oddly alone—helpless because she had unwittingly assisted Collin, and alone because when she returned to her own century, everyone here would be dead. She would never see Toby again. Her time with him was drawing to a close, trickling away like the blood oozing down her neck.

Toby, Lady Beatrix, Collin, the Duke . . . everyone and everything here would be a distant memory, consigned to history. But at least Jack the Ripper
'
s reign of terror was over.

Or so they thought.

Chapter Fifty-six

Tell Me My Fate say the Bells of Traitors' Gate

A
n
hour later
Katie would be back in the twenty-first century. But if she thought she was finished with Jack the Ripper, she was wrong.

Dead wrong.

After devising a makeshift sling torn from Katie's petticoat for his broken arm, Toby guided Katie and Dora down the slime-coated ladders traversing the truncated construction pier.

Descending the slippery metal rungs was easier than climbing up. At least for Katie. Every few steps Toby would wince from the pain shooting up his arm.

“Hurry, lass, we haven't much time!” Toby whispered to Katie when they reached the lower level. “Mrs. Tray told me you needed to return to the London Stone
before
the sun was full in the sky. And by the look of things . . . she wasn't wrong.”

Katie glanced down.

With a gasp of surprise, she realized that Toby was right. Her skin—especially on her arms, showing through the torn patches of her sleeves—seemed to be fading in and out. The molecules were . . . flickering like a fuzzy TV picture that blinks and crackles and eventually goes blank.

What's happening?

Dora, too, noticed. She kept giving Katie sideways glances and muttering about having had too many drinks at the Ten Bells. “Me vision's a wee bit bleary,” she kept repeating, blinking and rubbing her eyes.

When they finally reached the muddy bottom below the pier, Katie looked out past the shoreline across the dark water where a five-mast schooner bobbed on the waves. Ferry boats passed in both directions, their whistles blowing like mournful bagpipes.

Toby told Dora to go to the Tower and ring the bell for the river police. “Tell them to look for two bodies. Major Brown's and Collin's. Can you do that, lass?”

Dora nodded. “Me dad's an oarsman on this river. I knows me way around the Thames like the back of me hand. The closest bell is at Traitors' Gate. I'll ring it till me hands fall off. But whatchya want me to
really
tell 'em, eh, Toby?”

“The truth.”

“I'll give 'em an earful, I will. Collin was a nasty piece of goods. May he sizzle in hell for what he did to my poor Mary Ann and them others. And to think it could have been
me
what got her throat chived from ear to ear.”

Katie took a deep, shuddering breath just thinking about the fact that Dora
would
have been Collin's next victim.

Toby gave Dora a gentle nudge. “Best hurry, Dora.”

“Don't you worry, Toby. I'll summon the River Police quick as a wink. Lord! Think of all the attention this will get once the newspapers hear of it. I'll make a pretty penny selling my side of things. And the inquest . . . I'll wear me best bonnet, I will! I shall be known far and wide as the lucky girl who outwitted Jack the Ripper.”

“On the other hand, Dora . . .” Katie said casually, too casually. “As long as Toby's name is cleared and he's not under any suspicion, I'll bet the Duke of Twyford would pay far more than any newspaper to keep his grandson's name
out
of the press.” Katie was thinking about her own cousin back home, and how he'd hate it if he knew Jack the Ripper was his ancestor. “I'd wager the Duke might even set you up in your own little shop.”

Dora giggled. “Now why didn't I thinks of that? Blimey, wiff all the terrible goings on, I seem to have lost me wits. You'd make a right fine Cockney, Katie. A Robin Hood East Ender.”

“Robin Hood. . . ?”

“Good,” Toby whispered in her ear. “You'd make a good Cockney.” There was pride in his voice as together they watched Dora trot off in the direction of the Tower of London, sand crunching beneath her feet as she disappeared into the swirling mist.

Toby clamped a firm hand on Katie's elbow and guided her in the opposite direction, through piles of construction rubble along the shoreline, mud oozing at their feet, clam bubbles gurgling up through the muck.

Halfway up the rocky slope of the embankment, Katie glanced over her shoulder. She could see Dora's hazy form hastening toward the Tower of London, which seemed to rise out of the early morning mist like a giant sandcastle; the archway of Traitors' Gate, with its dock and ferry landing, was blanketed in ribbons of swirling fog.

Katie caught movement from the corner of her eye. Something was barrel-rolling in the waves close to shore.

“Look!”

They both stared out across the water.

Tangled in a web of seaweed as if caught in a fishing net, Collin's lifeless body bobbed in the waves.

Katie gasped and began to choke and sputter from the sulfur fumes and the smell of dead fish as they watched Collin's body rise and dip with the foam rolling in with the tide. Then, with a swooshing, sucking sound, the current tugged his bulk beneath the surface.

They waited, but Collin's body never popped back up. The seaweed and the weight of his clothes had dragged him under.

Collin can
'
t hurt anyone ever again!
Katie thought with relief as they scrambled up the rest of the embankment.
Dora Fowler, Lady Beatrix, the pregnant Molly Potter, and Mary Jane Kelly are all safe now!

At the top of the slope, Katie glanced down at her hands. The skin on her wrists was flickering.
Everything will be okay
, she told herself.
I just have to get to the London Stone!
She took several deep nervous breaths, filling her lungs with the salty air until, like a pumped up balloon, she felt ready to burst. “We did it, Toby!” she cried. “We stopped the most vicious serial killer in British history. I only wish we had saved Major Brown . . . and the others.”

“Major Brown died as he would have wanted to, Katie. In the line of duty. He was one of the bravest and shrewdest men at Scotland Yard. There is no more honorable way to die. He knew the risks. He took an oath. It will be the same for me when I join Scotland Yard. I'll take risks to serve and protect. Major Brown died a hero's death.”

Katie nodded. “At least now, Collin can't hurt anyone ever again. We made that happen, Toby. We changed history.”

But by nightfall—in her own century—Katie would rue the day she'd ever attempted to change history
.

•

M
i
nutes after watching Collin
'
s
body disappear beneath the waves of the Thames, Katie and Toby climbed into the horse-drawn carriage that Collin had paid to wait by the construction pier, and as the horses clip-clopped through the narrow streets of London, and the choking smell of the incoming tide receded, Katie thrust her head out the window trying to take in every last sight and sound before returning home. Her work here was finished. They hadn't saved Major Brown or Elizabeth Stride or Catherine Eddowes, but they had stopped Jack the Ripper and ascertained his identity. Lady Beatrix and the others were safe.
That
'
s why I came here. That
'
s what I wished for at the London Stone. To go back in time and save Lady Beatrix!

Katie's eyes misted as she stared at the scene unfolding outside the carriage. Fish stores, pastry shops, boarding houses, and a butcher shop, whose peaked roof was outlined like a sharp dagger against the early morning sky, sped by until the carriage pulled up to the curb in front of St. Swithin's.

And there it was.

Protruding out of the side of the church's outermost wall, nestled in a niche behind black wrought-iron bars, sat the whitish-grey boulder.
The London Stone
.

Whether it was the rock that King Arthur had drawn his sword from, or a Druid altar used for human sacrifice, or the Stone of Brutus—Katie would never know. But one thing was certain. The craggy edifice, known for centuries as the London Stone, had paranormal powers.

Clutching Toby's hand tightly in her own, Katie followed him down the gravel path, through the moss-covered headstones in the churchyard strewn with honeysuckle and roses.

“This is where I first met you, Toby,” she said, stopping to breathe in the heady scent of the flowers. “I thought the other Toby and my cousin—my real cousin—were playing a joke on me. I thought this was all part of a multimedia exhibit at Madame Tussauds.”

“A multi . . . what?”

Katie smiled and squeezed his hand. She thought about the first time she'd ever laid eyes on Collin Twyford—the future Duke of Twyford—Jack the Ripper! She remembered how his red hair, parted with razor precision down the center of his head, had been slicked back on the sides. She had a clear image of Collin's stiff winged collar, his frock coat, his floppy necktie—and how she thought at the time that it was some sort of wardrobe costume change. She hadn't for a moment believed—at least at first—that she had traveled back in time.
If only I knew then what I know now!

She stared over Toby's shoulder at the side door of the church. It was on those steps that she'd first seen Reverend Pinker trotting down the granite risers with Lady Beatrix. Beatrix had been wearing the exact same dress as the one in the portrait hanging over the mantelpiece in Katie's bedroom back home. The half-finished portrait that Katie now knew had been painted by James Whistler.

“It's time to go, pet,” Toby said, pulling her gently forward until they were standing in front of the London Stone.

A breeze swept past, and Katie felt something prickle up her neck. Early morning sunshine dappled the graveyard with sparkling glints of light, warming the air, but Katie felt something ominous and cold and dark . . . as if something were lurking just around the corner.

Toby glanced at her inquisitively. Behind him, Katie could see the church steeple piercing the pale sky above his head, clouds swirling around the spire.

She tugged at Toby's hand, drawing instinctively back.

What is it?
What am I feeling?
Katie wondered. Sadness about leaving . . . or something else? Something was floating on the fringe of her consciousness like the diaphanous clouds overhead.
But what?
The sensation was like searching for a word on the tip of your tongue that won't materialize. Something . . . something . . . something she'd known or had sensed all along . . .

“What is it, ham shank?” Toby looked concerned.

Katie swallowed hard, focusing her attention back to the present. She smiled at the Cockney word for Yank. She was a Yankee about to return home . . . but not to Boston, to London. Her London. Her time period. “I'm going to miss you, Toby. I'm going to miss everyone and everything in this century. But most of all, I'm going to miss you.”

“I know that, lass. But it's time. You may have—”

“Worn out my welcome?”

“Not that. Never that. But you're fading in and out. Disappearing, like. If I were a superstitious bloke, I'd say you were a witch . . . or a ghost.”

“
I am a ghost
. Or will be.”

“I think it's
me
who will be the ghost,” Toby said, his voice unbearably sad. “I'll be long dead and buried in a pauper's grave by the time you return to your own century.”

“Hardly a pauper's grave, Toby. You're going to be a great success in whatever you do. You'll probably be a famous detective at Scotland Yard, known far and wide for your ingenious methods of detection. Like Sherlock Holmes. When I get home I'll Google you on the Internet.”

“You'll what?”

“I'll look you up in the . . . er . . . history books . . . at the library. Also, your great-great-grandson—the other Toby—might know what became of you.”

“Good luck with that, Miss Katie. Rattling skeletons, like teacups, in the old family cupboard is never a good idea. Now give us a kiss, lass—and let's get you on your way.”

“Write to me! Leave a message in the Duke's stuffed vulture. I'll read it as soon as I get home. Promise me you'll do that?”

He nodded and nudged her closer to the stone.

But Katie didn't want to leave. She clung to his good arm and motioned to his other in the sling. “You've got to see a doctor and get your arm put in a cast.”

“A what?”

“Don't you have casts in the nineteenth century?”

“We have splints. They'll straighten the bone and secure my arm using plaster of Paris.”

“Ouch.”

“Don't worry. It will mend. It's my heart I'm bleedin' fearful of. It won't mend any time soon.”

“Because of Collin and Major Brown?”

“Because of you.”

That's when he kissed her. A slow, deep, lingering kiss. A kiss that set off sparks and made her legs wobble.

“I'll never forget you,” Katie whispered, feeling dizzy and off balance as tears spilled down her cheeks.