The Ripper's Wife by Brandy Purdy Read Free Book Online Page A

seemed filled with hostility. Perhaps he thought I wasn’t good enough for Jim? Or, being an astute businessman with powerful and widespread connections in artistic, business, and social circles, possibly Michael had made inquiries about my family and discovered just how much had been exaggerated. Or he might have been one of those chilly Englishmen who deplored all Americans, holding each one he met personally responsible for hosting the Boston Tea Party and igniting the spark of rebellion in the Thirteen Colonies. I never could figure out quite why he so vehemently disliked me and disdained my every overture of friendship.
    Edwin, however, was an absolute delight, affable and sweet, full of gossip and glee. Jim’s nominal partner in the firm of Maybrick & Company, Edwin had lived with Jim and would continue to do so here at Battlecrease House with us, when he was not visiting Michael as an excuse to enjoy himself in London. The youngest Maybrick brother and, honesty compels me to admit, the handsomest one was twenty-eight, tall, sun kissed, and slender, unlike his paunchy, pasty siblings, with his dark hair still luxuriant and thick, and lively brown eyes lit up with a devilish twinkle. He cultivated a pencil-thin mustache and had a taste for loud checkered and striped suits, garish neckties, waistcoats, and dressing gowns that looked like the bold, bright patterns were the work of color-blind lunatics. He was as avid for penny-dreadful novels as any twelve-year-old boy; that day in the parlor there was a copy of Varney, the Vampire peeping from his pocket. And he loved dime museums and melodramas and liked to boast that he had not only seen the Elephant Man but also shaken his hand. There was a warmth and sense of fun about Edwin that set me instantly at ease, and I liked him from the first moment.
    While my eyes were still being dazzled by his forest-green waistcoat with a bold pattern of gaudy, bright yellow lemons, green-and-yellow-checkered suit, and striped tie he took my arm and led me away from the grim and glowering Michael to sit upon the sofa.
    “Don’t mind Michael. He can’t help being a cold fish; it’s just his way. I keep telling him he should dress up as an old woman with gray hair and spectacles, a cane, ear trumpet, and shawl, and do a song and dance about the agonies of old age and rheumatism; don’t you know, they’d love that in the halls,” Edwin added with the most infectious grin. I already knew it was going to be fun having him for a brother.
    Still holding my arm, Edwin leaned even closer and discreetly jerked his chin in the direction of Mrs. Briggs.
    “Don’t be fooled by that iced-lemon exterior, so cool and poised. She’ll scratch your eyes out—in a perfectly nice way of course—and kill you with kindness if you let her,” he whispered. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Didn’t anyone tell you?” He drew back and searched my baffled face for some sign of comprehension. “No, I can see they didn’t! Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! Well . . . better that you should hear it from me . . .” He dived right in with all the relish of a glutton into a vat of chocolate sauce. “Jim jilted dear old Mattie over there to marry you, my darling Florie—I may call you Florie, mayn’t I? Formality really has no place in the bosom of the family,” he added with a lingering glance down at my own. “To save face, she rushed Horace Briggs to the altar so she wouldn’t have to force a smile and welcome her erstwhile betrothed’s radiant young bride home, to the house she decorated and always thought would be hers someday, as an old maid. Poor old Horace.” He gave a wicked chuckle. “He stood at the altar looking like a cow on the tracks struck dumb with fright at the sight of an approaching locomotive! A locomotive covered in white satin and orange blossoms! It was so sudden I didn’t even have time to buy a new tie,” he pronounced as though this were some great tragedy.
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