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Major Brown coughed loudly and said to Lady Beatrix in a stage whisper so all could hear, “My dear, I took the liberty of having the morning papers put aside, out of view. Distressing business. Nothing you need concern yourself with.” He snapped his fingers at one of the footmen standing at attention on either side of the sideboard and pointed at his empty mug of tea.

“Really, Gideon! You surprise me,” Beatrix said with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Pray tell me you are
not
going to be one of those dreadful, antiquated husbands who forbid their wives to read the newspapers?”

“Confound it!” bristled Whistler. “Never took you for a man who believes woman shouldn't bother their pretty little heads with politics and the like.”

“Of course not! I merely think that some of the more crude elements of—”

“Of what? Gideon, you frighten me! You sound precisely like the Duke! I assure you my pretty little head is filled with far more weighty issues than fashion and the latest society soirées!” She winked at Whistler. “Though I confess to occasionally reading the
Daily Mirror
for its marvelous gossip!” Her eye held a teasing twinkle. She turned back to Major Brown.

“Now, darling. Don't be a beast,” she laughed. “I have a passion for the daily papers, as you well know. How dreary life would be without them! I'm not a bluestocking intellectual, and I
certainly
don't believe women should vote, but I won't abide a husband who believes his wife takes second place. Or that men are the more important members of society! Here now, let me see what all the fuss is about—”

Lady Beatrix reached across to James Whistler on the other side of Katie, but Major Brown said curtly and firmly, “I'll take that.” He stood up, rounded the table, and was about to snatch the newspaper from Whistler's grasp, when Katie seized it. She fanned it open and stared at the headline:

MAD SLASHER STRIKES AGAIN!
PHANTOM KILLER VANISHES WITHOUT A TRACE!

In as clear and loud a voice as Katie could muster she began to read:

“London, September 8. Not since the days of Bloody Mary has our fair city been so terrorized! A mysterious, diabolical killer is prowling the streets of London, slashing the throats of innocent young women, disemboweling them, and then vanishing into the night without a trace. The Metropolitan Police are at a loss to find this fiend whom they have dubbed ‘The Slasher Swine.'

“ ‘This is the work of an unbalanced mind,' states Major Gideon Brown, assistant chief inspector of the CID, who exhorts the denizens of Whitechapel to remain calm but alert to further outrages. Readers of the
London Herald
are advised to take the utmost precautions until this menacing killer is apprehended.”

Katie went on to read the victims' names: Miss Mary Ann Nichols, murdered on the thirty-first of August in Buck's Row, Whitechapel, and Mrs. Annabel Chapman, murdered in Hanbury Street, Spitalfields, on the night of September the eighth.

Katie held up the newspaper so all could see the pen and ink drawing depicting a younger looking Annie Chapman with ear-length ringlets curling around a demure face beneath a straw hat clustered with ribbons and bows.

“Gracious!” cried Reverend Pinker. “Those poor women! Miss Nichols was known to me from my work at the Parish House, and this other lady, Mrs. Chapman, the poor, poor soul, I made her acquaintance only yesterday! I shall pray for her.” Pinker had the decency to look grave-faced and solemn even though his face twitched with fear.

Fear of what?
Katie wondered.
Did Reverend Pinker know something? Was he involved in the murders?
By the furtive look in his eye, and the gulping of his throat, he looked as if he'd just been caught stealing from the church offering.

Katie paused. There was more to read, but Major Brown had clamped his large hands around hers and was prying the newspaper from her clenched fingers. Further reading was out of the question. A faint flush of triumph—or was that hostility?—sprang into Major Brown's face as he glanced around the table at the others.

“Undoubtedly you can understand why I took the liberty of hiding the newspapers this morning.” He shot Katie a reproving look, then slid the paper under his vest.

A stomping noise.

The dining room door banged open, and Collin, dressed in last night's clothes, loomed large in the doorframe.

“By Jove, Collin!” shouted Whistler, heartily. “Confound it! Where have you been of late? Haven't seen you in a donkey's age! Blast it, boy! I've missed our painting lessons. Don't tell me you've changed your mind about becoming a caricature artist?”

“Whistler, old bean!” Collin cried out in return, but his voice was flat and his eyes were clamped on Major Brown.

Lady Beatrix rose from her seat. “Collin! Where
have
you been? Grandfather is sick with worry. Toby's gone out looking for you.”

“Yes! Yes!” chimed in Reverend Pinker. “I had an audience with the Duke this morning. He said to send ‘those two young cubs' in to see him immediately. He meant you and Toby. Best go see him this instant.”

“I've just
been
with the Duke. Heard all he had to say. Actually, quite an earful.” Collin glanced from Lady Beatrix to Reverend Pinker to Katie. Standing haughtily in the doorway, a dark cape thrown over his shoulders, Collin looked . . . not bored, exactly, but restive and impatient, with an intense frown scoring the area between his brows. He took a step into the room, his tall boots crusted with mud.

“Good morning, Collin.” Major Brown nodded curtly.

“Is it? A good morning?” Collin asked. His right hand slipped inside his cape and pulled out a riding crop with a long, sharp whip end. He strode across the room and, stopping in front of Major Brown, said, “You're as cold as a snake! I'm done with your playing us for fools. You won't get away with this. And what's more, you shan't marry my sister, not while there's an ounce of breath left in my body!” He raised the riding crop and slashed it viciously across the left side of Major Brown's face.

The crop struck with such force that Katie, standing next to Major Brown, heard the singing whoosh of it slicing through the air just before it hit its mark.

The stunned, incredulous silence that followed seemed to stretch out forever.

Not a muscle moved in Major Brown's face, though his left cheekbone showed a fierce welt, rising red and swollen like a burn from a fire poker. He hadn't even flinched when the whip hit him.

Reverend Pinker was the first to move. Leaping out of his chair, he flew to the bell-cord across the room and tugged violently, as if summoning the butler would be of any use.

Chapter Forty-two

Shepherd's Staff and Poles say the Bells of All Souls

I
n
all the confusion
of Collin's horse-whipping Major Brown, Toby slipped into the dining room unnoticed and hastened to Collin's side, at the exact moment that Katie strode forward, planting herself protectively on Collin's right.

Toby gave Katie a slight nod and she deftly tugged the crop from Collin's grasp and held it firmly in her own. She glanced at Toby. There was a challenge in his expression as he stood there glaring at Major Brown, almost as if Toby were daring the man to make the next move. But Major Brown did nothing. He stood stock still, the welt on his cheek appearing like a crimson hieroglyph on a stone tablet.
He won
'
t retaliate,
Katie thought. Not in front of Lady Beatrix.

“Gideon!” Lady Beatrix cried, clutching Major Brown's sleeve as if she might swoon. “My darling, are you hurt? Collin didn't mean it! He
couldn
'
t
mean it—”

“Oh, but I did,” Collin pronounced in a deep, mocking tone. “Your
policeman
needs to demand satisfaction. What shall it be?” Collin turned frosty eyes on Major Brown. “Pistols at dawn? Fisticuffs at noon? Swords at sunset?” A grudging laugh. “Pick your poison, Major. I've a point of honor to settle with you that has nothing to do with my sister.”

Lady Beatrix's hands flew to her mouth. “Collin! Stop this at once. You've gone mad! As crazy as that lunatic who's slashing innocent women!” She began to tremble so uncontrollably, the lace at her throat and cuffs quivered as if from a strong breeze.

Major Brown, Katie could see, was having trouble remaining calm. His face was contorted and so drained of color that the gash across his cheek stood out like an angry red boil against the dead white of his skin.

Katie had an unfathomable urge to laugh. Not because the scene unfolding was funny, but because Major Brown, with his face twisted up and the veins popping out from his temples, reminded her of the Incredible Hulk when he's about to morph into an angry beast.

But Major Brown didn't morph into anything. He just stood there, a furious expression on his face, his fists clenched and white-knuckled at his sides.

It was Reverend Pinker who stepped into the fray.

“Collin! Cease and desist this instant!” Pinker demanded in a low, nervous tone. “Apologize to your future brother-in-law at once, or—”

“Or . . . ?” Collin's tone was bored, but his face held hard contempt.

“Or my name isn't
Horton Philbert Pinker the third
!
” Pinker roared, pulling out his Bible and waving it above his head as if to summon God down from heaven. “English common law forbids the practice of dueling! If either one of you is killed, the other will stand trial for murder.”

“Juries never convict,” Collin said with a gloating sneer. “Juries of
one
'
s peers,
that is. The nobility are
rawther
fond of dueling, don't you know?”

Pinker thumped the Bible to his chest like a shield. “And
you
know perfectly well that Major Brown cannot participate in a duel. As an officer in service to his queen, he would be court-martialed for appearing in a duel. No. No. This is all wrong. Whatever offense has been taken, you shall have to address it in a manner befitting a peer of the realm and the future Duke of Tywford,
not
as some low-life, guttersnipe ruffian.” Pinker tugged out a large handkerchief and mopped his profusely sweating brow. “You,” he said, turning to Toby, “and I shall escort Master Collin forthwith to his grandfather's study. Sir Godfrey will talk sense into him, by heaven!”

“Very well, escort me,” Collin said placidly.

“
Yes. Go
!”
Lady Beatrix sobbed, her tear-smudged gaze swiveling from Major Brown's implacable face to her brother's mocking one.

•

T
h
e Duke, smoking a cigar
in his study with his feet propped on his desk, was gazing out the window when Toby, Katie, and Collin entered, followed by Reverend Pinker, who proceeded to give the Duke a full account of Collin's transgressions.

“Let that dirty dog be run through with a sword, for all I care!” the Duke thundered. “Let a bullet pierce Major Brown's heart and be done with it!”

“B-but, my lord!” cried Reverend Pinker, thumping his knuckles on his Bible. “Perhaps you don't understand the full extent of Collin's grievous actions—”

“You bloody fool!” the Duke roared. “Leave us! I've no use for nincompoop padres!”

Pinker's neck rose out of his cleric's collar like an indignant turkey. “
But, your grace—
”

“Out!”

Moments after Reverend Pinker left, red-faced and bristling, the Duke tugged his cigar from his mouth and clamped his eyes on Toby.

“Lad,” he growled, squinting down the length of the cigar as if sighting Toby through a telescope. “Burn me! You got it all wrong, son.
We
got it all wrong. Should have seen this coming.” The Duke's facial muscles were uncharacteristically twitching.

“Sir?” Toby lifted an eyebrow.

Behind him, Collin scrambled across the floor and plunked himself into the armchair by the fire. With a sound like a snuffling warthog, Collin swung his muddy boots onto the leather footstool. “Bloody fool of a padre!” he chortled. “Have to remember to call him ‘Pinker Padre' next time I see him. Touché, guv'nor!”

Without actually rolling his eyes, the Duke glanced at the stuffed vulture on the mantel, then back to Toby.

“Last night, son, you and I put our thinking caps on. I surmised that it was Collin whom Major Brown would go after for those murders. You thought it was Pinker. You were wrong m'boy, by a long shot.”

Toby froze and glanced at Collin slouched in the fireside chair.
Was it possible? Brown was going to implicate Collin?
Toby felt the hair on his neck rise up like that of a dog scenting trouble.

“Go ahead,” Collin said, cracking his knuckles one by one. “Take a guess who Major Brown is going to try to send to the gallows?” Collin stopped popping his knuckles and plucked up a half-smoked cigar where it lay balanced atop a stack of ledgers, and clamped it between his teeth.

Toby remembered Major Brown's look of triumph last night at Dark Annie's house. And the hatred in his eyes when he spoke to Collin.

“He's going to try to pin this on Collin, sir? I would have bet my bottom dollar against it.” There was bitterness in Toby's voice.

“Why's that, son?”

Toby explained about the code of honor amongst Cockneys. “You never rat out a family member—which Collin will be if Major Brown marries Lady Beatrix. He's duty bound to protect the members of his family. Even if Collin were Jack the Ripper—”

“Who?” the Duke demanded.

“Bloke killing those innocent girls,” Collin chimed in.

“I read the papers, boy. I thought they were calling that devil ‘The Slasher Fiend' or some such?”

“Katherine says that after the third murder he'll be nicknamed Jack the Ripper.”

“Does she now?” The Duke puffed on his cigar.

“Conjecture on my part . . . sir.” Katie shot Collin a warning glance. “I, er . . . heard . . . someone on the street mention that name.”

“Has a catchy ring to it, Jack the Ripper. But
bah
!
Enough. What were you hinting at, Toby?”

“Not hinting, sir. Stating a fact. Major Brown is obliged to honor his familial duties—to defend, shield, protect, even break the law if need be, for Collin. It's precisely why Scotland Yard has such trouble recruiting Cockney officers. They'll forsake all else—their sworn allegiance, their oaths of office,
everything,
to protect a family member.”

“Rubbish. Major Brown doesn't have a chivalrous bone in his body, if that's what you're implying. He doesn't give a rat's farthing about Cockney moralities or Cockney conventions. He's got his own tinpot rules and wants us all to dance attendance. Don't you see? The only thing standing between my granddaughter, Lady Beatrix, and the fifth largest fortune in England, is
Collin
. With the heir of Twyford out of the picture, and me dead and buried, Beatrix inherits everything! The estate lands in Devon, the castle in Dartmoor, all the grazing land on the moors, the Twyford jewels, an annual income worth a king's ransom.
Everything
except the ducal title. And
burn me
if Major Brown doesn't find some litigious loophole to pilfer that!”

Toby's throat felt dry. “He won't get away with this, sir. I won't let him.”

“Oh, he won't get away with it . . . any of it . . . not while there's an ounce of breath left in my body.”

That was the exact expression Collin had used right before he slashed Major Brown across the cheekbone with the crop. Toby glanced from the Duke to Collin, and it hit him that the Duke had sent Collin into the dining room to challenge Major Brown. But why? The Duke was from a different era, a generation that chose dueling to settle differences. But even so . . .

“Major Brown is nothing if not tenacious.” The Duke glowered. “The insolent, arrogant dog says he can prove Collin murdered those women.
Says
he found a blood-soaked handkerchief with Collin's initials on the last chit's body. Probably swiped it from Collin's room and tricked it out with pig's blood. But
by thunder
when the time comes”—the Duke's voice was choked with a vengeful eagerness—“I shall crush Major Brown like a spider under the heel of my boot. Just watch me
.
”

“Major Brown's lying!” Toby stormed. “I was there. I was at number twenty-nine Hanbury Street. I saw the body, sir. There was no handkerchief, bloody or otherwise, with Collin's initials on it.”

Leaning back in his chair, the Duke grabbed his silver-headed cane and began tapping it lengthwise on top of the desk.

“It gets worse, lad. Major Brown claims that Collin was absent during a portion of the play
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
. Says Collin could easily have slipped out, strangled the first girl, and hightailed it back to the theater.”

Katie gasped. “No, that's not possible. I was sitting next to Collin. He left his seat for a short while, it's true. But so did Reverend Pinker and Oscar Wilde. Toby, too, for that matter. I didn't see Toby for the longest time. If Major Brown thinks he can implicate Collin on the strength of whether or not he was sitting with me at the theater, Major Brown has another think coming. I'll vouch for Collin. What's more, Major Brown arrived halfway though the second act, giving
him
ample time to have killed that poor girl.”

“I'm afraid, lass,” explained the Duke, tap-tapping the cane rhythmically on the desk, “it's more complicated than just vouching for Collin. You see, Major Brown believes he can pin this on Collin as easy as pluggin' a tail on a donkey at a birthday party. But he's not going to. I've seen to it. Brown is
now
going after a far easier kettle of fish to fry. Burn me for a fool! I'm getting soft. The old thinkin' apparatus up here”—he pointed a finger to his gnarled temple— “isn't what it used to be. Major Brown is going after the one person I didn't anticipate.”

“Who?” Toby and Katie asked in unison.

The Duke opened his mouth, and then hesitated. When he finally spoke, it was in a flat, quarrelsome voice from deep down in his throat.

“
Burn me!
It's you, m'boy!” The Duke jabbed the cane in Toby's direction. “It's you, lad! He's got his sights set on you. He can personally place you at the scene of Mrs. Chapman's murder at twenty-nine Hanbury, and he says he has two witnesses who will swear you entered the back window leading into the room in which Georgie Cross was murdered. There's a pillow in his possession, with teeth marks, which he found in your room above the stables. Says he'll swear in a court of law that that pillow was in Georgie Cross's room when he left the lad
alive
.”

The room went silent.

Toby watched the smoky sunlight dance across the Persian carpet.

The Duke sighed. “Major Brown paid me a visit this morning. Laid it all at my feet. You're under house arrest, m'boy. I bought you a little time is all. Won't be long before they march you off to Newgate Prison. Best I could do under the circumstances was negotiate for house arrest.”

House arrest
.

The mention of those two words sent a chill down Toby's spine. Major Brown was not in the room, but his menacing presence was. The Duke could save only one of them, Toby knew. And he had chosen his grandson. But Major Brown would have his pound of flesh. Toby's flesh. Swinging from the gallows.