Beauty Tempts the Beast (Sins for All Seasons #6) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,62
you did?”
“I did.”
“Who woke you?”
He gave her a smile that caused warmth to sluice through her as though she’d taken another sip of sherry. “I slept during the day, which actually worked well because my brothers and I had only one bed between us. At night I would haunt Whitechapel, walking the streets, mews, and alleyways until it was time to begin waking people.”
“That’s the reason you can paint such a vivid picture of it.”
He nodded. “I saw the doxies, the drunkards, the sly ones who meant harm, and those who did good. I saw a part of life that some people never see. And about a year later, one night, shortly after I’d begun waking my customers, I stumbled across a woman slumped in an alleyway. I thought perhaps she was foxed and had fallen asleep. I went to wake her.”
He took a long swallow of his scotch as though he needed the fortification, and she had a horrible feeling regarding where this story was going. “She was dead.”
His gaze was focused on the tumbler, the way the flames from the fire reflected off the cut crystal, and she wondered if he was envisioning the woman there.
“Her blue frock was drenched in blood. The coppery stench of it hit me as I crouched before her. Based on the slashes in her clothing and on her hands and neck, I assumed someone had taken a knife to her. Her eyes were open but no life was in them, and I wondered if the last thing on this earth she’d looked at had been her killer.”
The fire crackled and hissed. The mantel clock ticked. Her own blood rushed through her ears with the pounding of her heart. How impressionable he would have been at that tender age. How horrific what he had seen.
After another swallow of the amber liquid, he met her gaze. “I went to find a constable. I was clutching the willowy bamboo stick of my trade. He patted me on the shoulder, told me to get on about my business of waking people because they needed to get to work. I did as he ordered, but it seemed wrong somehow to carry on, ignoring that something horrible had transpired. After I knocked on my last window, I went back to where she’d been, but she was no longer there. I imagined that I’d been wrong, and she’d stirred herself to her feet and walked home. But deep down, I knew the truth of it. She was never going to walk home again.”
He downed the last of his scotch. Without even thinking, as though in a trance, she took his glass, went to the sideboard, and refilled it. When she returned to his side, she handed him the glass. “I’m sorry I asked. The memories can’t be easy to live through again.”
“But they helped to shape me, I think.”
She sank down onto the plush cushion of her chair. “How so?”
Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on his sturdy thighs, clasping both hands around his glass. “Before that, I saw my bulk as an inconvenient thing. It made me stand out when I didn’t want to.” He seemed to be struggling to find the correct words. She didn’t push. She merely waited. “It made children call me a beast. But I was convinced had I been about when the woman was attacked, I’d have been able to save her. My logical self, my grown self, knows that’s not true. But I began to pay more attention when I was on my routes, and a few times I was able to chase off someone who meant harm. I began to gain a reputation: the Beast of Whitechapel. But I also became fascinated with murder.”
“You’re not the only one obsessed. I can’t believe the amount of ink the newspapers devote to describing the crimes and the trials of murderers in such lurid details.”
He gave her a self-deprecating grin. “Which provided me with fodder for my stories. In addition, I spoke to the constables, detectives, and inspectors. I went to the courts, observed the trials. I even paid a shilling to go on tours of some of the murder sites.”
A cold shiver ran down her spine. “That’s a bit macabre.”
“I can’t argue with you there. Murder tourism was popular for a while. I wasn’t looking for the blood. I was striving to understand the provocation. Often, everything about the place seemed so normal. Crockery on the shelves. Quilt on the bed. A chair