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A single light illuminated Cassie as she sat on her trapeze, staring out at the crowd. On her head was a crown with twelve glittering stars at the points; her bodice had pomegranate seeds sewn across it—to represent her ruling over the earth, according to Mephistopheles’s lesson on tarot card meanings—she was regal and elegant, haughty and proud. With her hair in golden ringlets cascading down her back tonight, I could see how she embodied an ideal angelic figure. Though I knew better than to be fooled by her innocent appearance.
Her act started off slowly; she swayed from one end of the room to the other. Swinging from one
trapeze to the next, seeming to delight whenever her fingertips left the safety of one and grabbed onto the other. I recalled longing for that sense of freedom when my brother and I had attended a circus during the Ripper murders. There was something beautiful about letting go.
A second floodlight announced another performer joining her ranks. The young man twisted and flipped, crisscrossing over Cassie as their tricks became more intricate.
“That’s Sebastián,” Liza whispered. “He uses the contortion angle quite well for this act.”
I watched the contortionist with renewed interest. Was he capable of killing the women aboard this ship and staging their bodies so horridly? I hadn’t gotten to speak with him and noticed he’d shy away each time I’d get close. As he flew back and forth above us, tumbling across the sky, I could certainly imagine the hidden strength in his lithe body.
What remained of the dining saloon politely enjoyed the show, though there was a considerable feeling of subdued awe present. I wondered if it was fear of things turning deadly, or the lack of that very essence. These passengers were the most unaffected by the crimes. Though they might be putting on an act of their own until this nightmare ceased.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Mephistopheles’s voice echoed, though he was nowhere to be seen. “Prepare to be enthralled. Our stage has been set, and this next act is sure to dazzle and stun. Please contain yourselves as the great Houdini attempts to escape death once more in his infamous torture cell!”
Thomas made to open his mouth when a third light suddenly flashed on, and the curtain hiding the object onstage was lifted away by invisible hands. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the intake of breath or the subsequent screams as people began piecing together what they were looking at.
Suspended inside the torture cell—a glass tank filled with water—a woman stared out at us with milky-white eyes. I would believe her to be a mermaid of legends if not for the obvious fact she was very real and very dead. What appeared to be five anatomical hearts were skewered with long rods through her limbs, discolored from being submerged. On the front of the glass, a playing card was posted, too small to make out from where I sat.
Someone vomited near us, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from the tank. It took a few moments to snap myself free of my own terror and realize this victim was familiar to me.
The woman in the tank was none other than Lady Crenshaw.
THIRTY-THREE
MOTIVE
DINING SALOON
RMS ETRURIA
7 JANUARY 1889
Venetian jesters near the stage faltered, their disjointed steps no longer part of their roles but from their fear that felt thick as tar permeating the room. They stood still, openly gaping at the dead woman, their silence more frightening than it had been while they pranced about from foot to foot.
If there had been any hope left of this being some horrid part of the show, it withered immediately. A heartbeat later, the audience fully grasped what had startled our entertainers enough to cease their creepy procession.
Knives clattered to plates, gasps went around the room, and, judging from the sound of a body slamming into a surface, at least one passenger had passed out. I could hardly blame them; the sight of Lady Crenshaw floating in that tank with her whitish eyes and long hair winding through the water was straight out of a penny dreadful. A tale almost too wretched to be real.
As if they were star performers accepting their own roles in this horror show, Uncle and Thomas sprang from their seats and rushed to the tank. I tossed my napkin on the table and half stood, ready to run after them, but didn’t wish to leave Liza and Mrs. Harvey unattended. Even with the steady hum of terror pounding through my body, one truth calmed me: I didn’t believe anyone else was in immediate danger. At least, not yet.
Uncle shouted at the frozen carnival crew, “Draw the curtains!”
Almost instantly, the demand was obeyed, and the inky curtains quickly fluttered shut, taking with them the view of the submerged corpse. I stared at the velvet drapery, thoughts churning. If Thomas and Uncle hadn’t acted so quickly, I might have been able to convince myself I’d invented such a morbid sight. Another staged body. It was almost unfathomable.
Last month I’d studied the insides of a drowning victim. I could not shake the image of those blue lips and bloated belly from my mind no matter how hard I tried. Only that man had died as the result of a horrid accident—Lady Crenshaw likely had not.
Captain Norwood appeared from somewhere near the stage and began ordering staff and crew about like a general commanding his army. Within seconds of his arrival, passengers were rushed through the doors. Regardless of how many bizarre murders we’d borne witness to, the patrons didn’t make the evacuation task an easy one.
Chaos and discord raced about the room, dragging people to the floor, crushing them under the fleeing crowd. I blinked, unmoving, at the scene as if I were a mere apparition spying on the goings-on in Hell. Surely if such a place existed, it would appear exactly like this. A small fire flared up near the back of the room—the result of candles falling onto the table linens.
“Go.” Liza clutched my hands in hers, eyes wide but determined. “Uncle needs you up there. I’ll take Mrs. Harvey to our room. Again.” I blinked back a sudden prickling in my eyes and Liza tugged me into a crushing embrace. “Everything is going to be all right. We’ll be in New York by midnight tomorrow. We just need to make it through one more day.”
I nodded, unable to do more, and stepped back. Once they’d made their way toward the exit, I gathered my skirts and ran as swiftly as I could up the stairs and ducked behind the velvet curtains. Mephistopheles stood, hands on his hips, staring at the dead woman.
“I’m telling you, it’s simply not possible for her to have done this alone,” he said. His tone implied it wasn’t the first time he’d shared this information, and he was trying to remain calm despite the floating body in his show’s prop. He pointed to the top of the contraption. “See those locks? Someone slid them into place. It takes two of my men to fit the tank together. Once she’d gone in the water, there’s no possible way for her to maneuver the lid and then lock it. And do you honestly believe she skewered five hearts and then posted the playing card of the same name on the glass?”
“What does the Five of Hearts mean?” I asked, no longer worried about what suspicions I might raise. “You know cartomancy, right?”
