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Grace felt her mouth twist as Thornhollow’s brow came together in confusion. “He had a brother?”

“Yeah, few years older if I remember right,” George said. “He joined up soon as he could, no doubt to get away from their mother. I wouldn’t shed too many tears over Beaton, Davey boy, except over his medicines. He’s happier wherever he’s gone. Those were the two most browbeaten men I ever seen.”

“He may be happier dead, but who would kill him?” Davey asked.

Grace watched Thornhollow, the twitch of his jaw muscles the only indication of his inner struggle. “His medicines may have been the end of him,” he finally said. “Whoever drove this blade knew how to cut and did so with no hesitation whatsoever. There’s a complete lack of human compassion at work here.”

Grace stood slack, eyes wide and uncomprehending, though a yawning chasm had opened inside her stomach.

“It’s a professional job, then?” George asked. “You think he got mixed up in something over his head?”

“Possibly. The taxes on opium imports are high—I can tell you as a doctor that uses them on the most violent of patients. When it’s wanted for recreational purposes the cost can go sky-high unless you can find someone homegrown with the capabilities to maximize the effect of the drug. And of course you’d have to pay them well for their services and discretion.”

“So Beaton got greedy, you think?” George asked.

Thornhollow shrugged. “Or said too much to the wrong person. We’ll probably never know.”

“I can at least check at the depot, see if there was anyone behaving oddly on the last train out,” Davey suggested.

“You can if it’ll make you feel thorough,” Thornhollow said. “Though someone with the training to kill with that kind of precision can undoubtedly stand right next to you without giving away a thing, they’re that adept at mimicking true feelings. Gentlemen, I am freezing.” He turned to leave, about to take Grace by the elbow when he found that Davey’s hand was already there. The policeman handed her up into the carriage and Grace fought to keep her face calm as Ned brought the horses to a trot, and they left the gaslit lamps of the park behind them.

“Please tell me you already burned your clothes.” Thornhollow’s voice came from the darkness, devoid of all inflection.

“I did.”

“And the ether rag?”

“Thrown in the river.”

Silence stretched between them and Grace sat stiffly, ready to combat any argument that he would use against her actions.

“Grace, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I’ve killed a man,” she said. “One that deserved to die.”

“And what of yourself, Grace? What part of you had to die in order to take this drastic step?”

She expected to feel the heat of her rage at his words, but there was nothing but the darkness that yawned inside her. “I don’t want to speak about this anymore,” Grace said, her voice shaky.

Thornhollow slammed his foot onto the carriage floor. “Whether you will or not does not dictate the course of the conversation. I’m speaking to you now as your doctor, and I do not like what I’ve seen before me these past few months. It was human nature to rant and explode at Nell’s death, but this—this is something entirely new. You’ve cut off your emotions to the point where you could look a fellow human being in the eye and drive a knife into his throat.”

“A fate he well deserved,” Grace said.

“And was not yours to deliver!” Thornhollow shot back. “Can you not see it? Only your sister’s name can evoke any emotion from you, that or a new break in our case—one that you’ve very thoroughly closed. The ends neatly tied up with butcher’s string.”

“I’m the butcher?” Grace asked. “With so many bodies in his wake?”

“Bodies that he covered,” Thornhollow reminded her. “Bodies that he positioned so that he may believe them alive and absolve himself of guilt, not with their throats open to the world as if to proclaim no guilt could be had from the action!”

“None can,” she asserted, though he had planted a seed of doubt that had found traction somewhere inside her hollowness. She searched for words to appease Thornhollow without giving ground. “I want to say that in many ways he seemed so very normal.”

“As do you, Grace,” Thornhollow said. “As do you.”

THIRTY-FOUR

“Doctor,” Grace said quietly as she watched him erasing the blackboard. “I need to speak with you about my sister.”

“Yes,” he said. “I know.”