Chapter Fifteen

Later that afternoon

"Are you certain you will be comfortable by yourself while I speak to a few guests in the billiards room and perhaps the library?" The concern in Gabriel's voice was clear. "We are leaving here in an hour. I won't have another chance."

And he was adorable. Mary laid a hand on his arm. "Go. I shall be fine. There is the remainder of the packing to attend to, and then I might wait for you in the gardens. No matter that this spa is an abomination, the gardens relax me."

"It looks like rain, though."

"I like the rain, and there might be enough vegetation and trees there I'll be shielded from the precipitation."

"Very well." When he cupped her cheek and briefly brushed his lips against hers, she sighed. "I shouldn't be long, and chances are, since it's the middle of the day, there won't be many people in there."

She nodded. "The rain probably will have kept everyone indoors, which means the third-floor exhibition rooms will be in full use." When they exchanged a glance, she shivered, and not in a delicious way. "Did you send a messenger to have the carriage readied?"

"I did." The inspector ran the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip. "I asked that they come for us in an hour. By the time we reach our rented townhouse, we can take an early tea."

After breakfast at the shore, they'd returned to their suite, and she'd been true to her word in that she'd brought him to shivering pleasure with her mouth. However, he'd surprised her, and instead of letting her finish him, he'd claimed her body on one of the groupings of pillows in the room. With the creative positioning of a few, the coupling had been quite outstanding, and she'd not been quiet regarding her enthusiasm.

Now, once again garbed with proper clothing and finished toilettes, they were a couple ready to step out into society. If she were honest, she was glad they'd leave the spa soon. "I am anxious to see Cassandra, to walk the shore with her, to be the mother she expects."

"I don't know if she expects much, but I agree with you in principle." He took a pair of kid gloves in hand. "Well, I should go. If luck is with me, I might glean some last bits that might throw new light on this investigation."

"I doubt you'll see Lord Mickelson around. He'll be scarce until we leave."

Gabriel snorted. "Somehow, I wouldn't put it past him to have us escorted from the premises with luggage searched for scandalous notes."

"Oh, and Gabriel?"

"Hmm?"

"Be advised that the billiards table has probably been used for more than the game it was built for." As he paled, she winked.

No sooner had he left the suite and Mary tucked a few more pieces of clothing into a trunk than there was a knock on the panel. When she opened it, a female worker from the spa handed her a sealed envelope.

"One of the guests who arrived this morning asked me to deliver this note to you, Mrs. Bright," the young red-haired woman said with a quick smile. "I hope you had a pleasant stay here at Agape."

"Thank you. I did." She took the ivory envelope from the young woman's hand. "It was quite an eye-opening experience, but honestly, the hot springs pool was lovely." That wasn't a falsehood. She would miss that feature when they returned to London.

The other woman nodded. "Well, enjoy your afternoon. "

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes?" She looked at Mary with bright eyes and a perky bosom that would have made her slightly jealous if she weren't secure in the knowledge that Gabriel adored her.

"Is the midwife or someone else down in the clinic at this hour?"

"I'm afraid not. She only works in the morning hours. Are you quite well?"

Well, drat. "Yes. Very. I merely had a question for her." When the young woman moved off down the corridor, Mary closed the door then pulled the missive from the envelope.

Dear Mrs. Bright,

When we last spoke, you made Brighton sound like a good idea, and since I missed it, I decided to come for a visit. It was quite a surprise to find you are staying at this same spa. Please come to the back garden at three o'clock so we can catch up.

It will be well worth your time.

Yours,

Mr. Dempsey

With a frown, she laid the note down on a table. After picking up her reticule, she pulled the small, enamel snuffbox out and flipped open the side with the clock. It was nearly three. What the devil would Mr. Dempsey want with her, and here? For that matter, was he a regular client?

While surprise rose in her chest, a trace of fear twisted down her spine. At least the garden was somewhere she was comfortable with, and at any given time, there were people passing in and out of it. In the instances that she was alone, it wouldn't be that way for long.

She would speak with him and remain strictly formal—an investigator to a potential suspect—send him politely but firmly on his way, and then she would immediately find Gabriel. Huffing with annoyance that the man had the gall to follow her to Brighton, Mary put the snuffbox back into her reticule and left the purse on the table next to the note.

It took very little time to make her way to the garden, for it was just a matter of following the corridors. With the reminder to herself that in under an hour, she and her husband would have their luggage loaded into the traveling coach and then settle into the rented townhouse, she moved quickly enough that her skirting whispered as the fabric twisted about her ankles.

Upon reaching the garden, she was dismayed to see that he was the only one there.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dempsey. Why are you here?" If it was blunt and abrupt, she couldn't help it. Something about this meeting didn't feel right, and she had been with Gabriel long enough to be wary of instinct.

"Ah, Mrs. Bright. How wonderful to see you again." Mr. Dempsey came toward her in an unthreatening manner, but he'd brought a brunette wig with him, much like he'd had the last time she'd seen him. "Where is the inspector?"

"He is otherwise occupied."

"Good. His presence is not needed for this meeting." As a guest at the spa, he hadn't yet donned the Turkish-style trousers the men were encouraged to wear. And the knot of his cravat had been loosened as if he were nervous.

She crossed her arms at her chest and frowned. "Why did you wish to talk with me?"

Instead of answering her question, he held out the wig and asked one of his own. "Will you put on the wig?"

"I will not. If you won't tell me why you are here, then I shall ask that you leave."

The skin beneath his left eye ticced. "I am a guest at this spa, Mrs. Bright. I decide when my time is finished here." A certain hardness had entered his expression as he curled his fingers into the wig.

"Then go enjoy yourself." A few raindrops filtered through the foliage to spatter upon her cheeks.

"Not until you agree to come with me."

"Again, I will not. In fact, my husband and I are leaving in less than an hour."

"I'm afraid those plans will need to change."

Cold warning curled through her gut. "No." Mary shook her head. "I'm going to find my husband." When she attempted to leave the garden, Mr. Dempsey stepped into her path. "I can't let you leave, Mrs. Bright. You remind me of my mother, but your hair is all wrong, just like that other woman."

She shook her head and retreated as far as she could before a potted fern halted further movement. "What other woman?" Despite herself, she wanted to hear what he had to say. Was he the person they'd been looking for this whole time?

"The one at Covent Garden."

"What about her?" Would he confess, and if he did, could she get to Gabriel without losing their killer?

Mr. Dempsey shrugged. "I made her wear a wig before I killed her." He combed the fingers of his free hand through the tresses of the wig. "Didn't like her blonde hair. It wasn't right."

"Right for what?" But more importantly, why? She gawked at him. " You killed that woman in the garden?"

"I had to."

"Why?" Not once had they thought this man involved in the investigation. He hadn't been connected to Theresa or her world with the exception of being in the theatre the same night she'd been there.

"I care because she didn't." His eyes glittered with mad fervor. "I stabbed her in the heart for an immediate death. It was better that way."

Icy fingers of fear wrapped around Mary's spine. I have to get to Bright. "What are you talking about?" Perhaps if she kept him in conversation, her husband would come looking for her. When Mr. Dempsey didn't answer, she tried again. "So you said you killed the woman in Covent Garden, but did you kill Miss Kessler in the opera house?"

Why wouldn't another guest come into the gardens? Usually, it was a bustling place of activity and conversation. "Yes. I didn't have time to take that letter opener. It was pretty. My mother would have liked it."

She stared at him and his wig as an inkling of knowledge grew in her brain. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead and plastered her shift to her back. "Ah, where is your mother? Did you bring her with you?"

"Of course not!" The wig master regarded her as if she were the insane one. "She is in her grave where she belongs." Another few raindrops splashed onto her cheeks and head. Mr. Dempsey took advantage of her shock and crept closer. "Are you appalled or proud, Mrs. Bright, for I killed them all."

Dear heavens.

Hiding her trembling hands in the folds of her skirting, Mary cleared her throat. "All? How many?" Once more, she tried to make her way to the door that led back into the townhouse by ducking beneath the boughs of a tree and moving through the fronds of a potted palm, but Mr. Dempsey anticipated her again.

He moved fully into her path, dropped his free hand on her shoulder, and dug his fingers hard into her shoulder. She hadn't realized how strong he was before, and it was quite upsetting. "Do you mean how many I have killed merely this month or over the past year?" His eyes darkened and were dilated. "Or do you wish to know the number since I first began?"

"Oh, God. What have you done, Mr. Dempsey?" There was so much horror clinging to the inquiry that fear for her own safety pushed through the shock.

"Don't be afraid, Mrs. Bright. I plan to tell you everything, because you and I have connected, but it won't be here where any of the poor lost souls can come upon us." He tsked his tongue. "I shall take care of them later."

Gooseflesh popped along her arms as icy fingers of fear played her spine. "I am not going anywhere with you." As she spoke, she tried to wrench her arm from his hold. "Let me go." When that didn't work, she kicked at his shins, but it didn't do any good through his boots. "Help!"

He frowned. "I wish you hadn't done that. I don't like it when women prove difficult."

Before she could shield herself or even move away, he swung out with his free hand curled into a fist that caught her on the temple. Pain exploded through her head, rendering her off balance. "Stop…" Darkness encroached at the sides of her vision. Seconds later, he jammed the brunette wig onto her head. When she nearly crumpled into a faint, he picked her up in his arms. "No…" She shook her head, and the darkness crept closer, rendering her temporarily disoriented.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Bright. All your suffering will be over soon. That I can promise you."

Trapped in the groggy haze she'd been plunged into, Mary drifted in and out of consciousness as Mr. Dempsey carried her through the corridors of the spa and then up to a room on the third floor. If he wanted to kill her, why would he choose to bring her inside the townhouse instead of do it outside where he could easily dispose of her afterward?

By the time she finally came to enough to recognize what was happening, Mr. Dempsey had fit her wrists into a set of cloth-covered restraints in the corner of the room. How the devil he'd done it, she had no idea, for she'd been dead weight for a bit of that time. He must have used the pulley system to lower the restraints enough that he slipped her wrists into them then he'd hoisted her upright so that her toes were nearly off the floor.

Blinking, Mary glanced about the room. A horrid tasting rag had been tied about her head which cut across her mouth, so it was difficult to talk clearly. "Why?" Even that one word query sounded strange.

And why was there the odd scent of burning wood in the air?

Mr. Dempsey circled her, and good heavens, he held a knife in his hand. "What do you mean, why? Isn't it obvious?"

Clearly not. Her patience with this whole case was rapidly evaporating. "Why did you do any of it?" Of course, speaking that verbally didn't sound as sophisticated due to the gag.

His eyes glittered with disturbing madness. A flush burned in his cheeks as he leered at her. "I am carrying out a mission from God."

That gave her pause. Would God truly tell someone to go out and kill countless women? Despite herself, she was curious in a morbid sort of way. "I beg your pardon?"

A huff came from him, as if he was vastly disappointed she was so dull. "I am ridding England of women who have committed the ultimate sin."

Unfortunately, that didn't clear up the confusion. "What do you mean?" Dear Lord, what had the rag in her mouth been used for? It was going to make her retch before too long.

"Women who are of loose morals. Women like Miss Kessler who bed men for coin."

As her husband would say, bloody hell! Despite the gravity of the situation, Mary snorted. "There are many women who work at that profession, and they are from all classes. Who are you to say what is right or wrong for their lives? And I rather think God wouldn't order you to kill anyone." Although, she supposed things like that could be interpreted in more than one way by those whose minds had been touched.

He glowered at her. "I am doing what I can, Mrs. Bright, but I have narrowed down the pool and therefore have parameters in which I work."

Did she even want to know? As icy fear twisted down her spine, she asked, "Oh?"

"It's genius, truly." He nodded with a vigor that terrified her. "The women I am putting out of their misery are the ones who have borne a child or children and have then gone on to abandon said children because they don't wish to be mothers." The grin he flashed her was positively gruesome. "Do you know how contemptible a crime that is? Children need their mothers, Mrs. Bright. It's not right that babies are abandoned and then the woman goes on to live their lives as if nothing happened."

Why did no one come down the corridor and peer into the window? In his zeal, Mr. Dempsey hadn't pulled the draperies closed.

All of it was too much to digest, and while she could understand why he was upset, there were many different reasons why such a thing would happen. "Some women have no choice, Mr. Dempsey. If a woman is abandoned by her protector or husband, if funding is taken away, there is often no way for her to care for a child. Isn't it better that the child has a chance elsewhere?"

"No!" He lashed out with the knife. The tip tore a slash in her skirting, and he laughed when she gasped. "A child belongs with its mother."

Why she felt compelled to argue, she couldn't fathom, but if she kept him talking, perhaps Gabriel would somehow know she was in trouble. "Some women don't have the wherewithal to be nurturing."

"That is no excuse!" When he lashed out with the blade again, she whimpered, for the tip caught her forearm. A thin line of blood welled from the scratch .

Everything came into clear focus. She was at the mercy of a madman. "Some women have too many children. They simply can't afford to raise another one even if they are happily married and their husband makes a good living." As tears filled her eyes, she continued despite the gag in her mouth. "Additionally, pregnancy alters a woman's mind. At times, not for the better."

Mr. Dempsey glared at her as he continued to circle her. "They should have thought about that before they spread their legs to their men." Then he slashed at her again with the knife.

The thin shallow nicks and scratches she'd already received stung as if she'd been attacked by bees. A tear fell to her cheek. How long would it be before he tired of the conversation and simply plunged the blade into her heart as he'd done all the others? "Why do you care about a woman who you don't even know? It makes no difference to you whether she keeps or gives away her baby."

"I need to teach them all a lesson." This time when he slashed at her, the tip of the knife scratched the skin above her right breast. More pain followed. "My mother gave me up on my first birthday."

That explained more than a few things. "While that is sad and unfortunate, it doesn't give you the right to kill other women in the same situation."

"I don't want any other child to know they weren't wanted. No one deserves that."

Oddly, there was some truth in those words of madness, but that didn't pardon him. "Not all children given to orphanages and institutions were unwanted. Sometimes people are just not capable of caring for a child as they should be cared for."

"None of that matters! Stop trying to sway me to your demented side!" Two more lashes were given to her, catching her on the hip and left forearm. Specks of foam formed at the corners of his mouth. "Eventually, I found out who my mother was. It took me more than a few years to track her in London, but I did it because I wanted her to know how wrong she'd been. When I found her, I killed her. To make it right."

"How is any of that right? Killing anyone is wrong!" She shook with fear. Tears fell freely to her cheeks. Surely this wasn't how she would die. Perhaps if she played to whatever was left of his humanity? "None of this has anything to do with me. Please let me go." When she threw her desperate gaze to the windows, her heart plummeted, for there were no curious witnesses.

"No!" He clenched his free hand into a fist. "You have given up a child. That is why there is sadness in your eyes, why you are so drawn to this case. That is why you are here. "

Perhaps this was the break she'd been waiting for. "No." Mary shook her head and turned herself by her toes until she could meet his gaze. "I was never able to conceive. That is why I am saddened." Openly crying now from both fear and sorrow, she let the tears fall. It was oddly cathartic. "I knew Miss Kessler. It makes me sad she is dead."

"How did you know her?" For whatever reason, he paused in his bid to apparently cut her to ribbons before he killed her.

"She was my first husband's mistress." It was incredibly difficult to talk with the gag in her mouth. "We had a history, a thin friendship. She didn't deserve to die."

"Yes, she did! Every one of those women did!" Mr. Dempsey slashed at her with the knife. This time it was her ribcage that received the brunt of his ire, and that cut was deeper, for it burned with pain.

"No! Don't you see?" It was difficult enough to talk with the gag, even more so with her tears. "There is always a story, and you in your demented imagination never wanted to hear. The world isn't made up of just black and white."

A bell rang in the corridor. Seconds later, a female worker in the diaphanous toga dress called for everyone to evacuate the building due to a fire.

Did that mean the building was on fire or just a room? The fear she already grappled with turned into something more panic filled. Her gaze found his. "Please let me go. This has nothing to do with me." Which was worse? To die by stabbing or by a fire where she couldn't get away?

He moistened his lips, but there was fear in his eyes. "I can't do that. You remind me of my mother."

"Oh." Then it all made sense. For whatever reason his brain couldn't make sense of him being abandoned by the woman who'd birthed him. He'd seen it as an affront. That was why he made his victims wear the brunette wig so they would look like her, and he would think of her when he stabbed them. "Where is your father?"

"I never had one. My mother was an actress, and obviously a whore. It's how I became interested in the theater; she was always there, doing men's bidding. It's where I found her. I watched her for a few years before deciding on my course of action."

The man needed help and perhaps to be locked in an institution. "Why didn't you talk to her, try to forge a relationship after you went to the trouble of finding her? You could have been happy, perhaps."

A mask of hate twisted over his face. "She didn't deserve to know me after what she did. "

"You are still worthy of love, you know." That was what he was missing in his life. Would it have made a difference if he'd let himself be loved long ago? Perhaps they would never know; he was too far gone. Now he was a murderer. There would be no life for him once the authorities caught up to him.

Slowly, he shook his head. "I must keep going. I have to make them know the error of their ways." He lifted the hand holding the knife. "You and the inspector should have left well enough alone. Why do you care about the life of a prostitute?"

"Because, as my husband says, every life matters. Even yours, Mr. Dempsey."

His Adam's apple bobbed with a hard swallow. "There are times when I believe I am beyond help, Mrs. Bright, so I need to continue on until someone stops me."

But would that happen after he killed her? She couldn't take her gaze from the knife's blade and tried her best to swing away from the madman.

Oh, Gabriel, please help!