by Robyn DeHart
He reached down between them and grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight. “I’ll lead the way,” he said.
She nodded. Dear heavens, when had she become such a goose? He couldn’t see her nodding. “Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out in little more than a squeak.
They walked down a long corridor past seven windows to a doorway. The staircase inside led downward. Once on the stairs he saw fit to light the lantern, and the small enclosure filled with cloudy light. They walked down the steps and Anna felt the air get considerably cooler. She knew the chilled air was to prevent the bodies from decomposing too quickly; still, she clutched her cloak closer to her body to ward off the chill. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Drew led her down the corridor to the door at the end of the hall.
The room was frigid, and Drew quickly went about lighting the lanterns stationed about the walls. The body lay on wooden table covered by a white sheet. Two other tables sat in the room, awaiting their victims.
Anna stood in the doorway, not moving, merely concentrating on breathing. In and out. Inhale and exhale. She was there, a victim of Jack the Ripper, on that table. Lifeless and mutilated. Anna swallowed.
“Anna?” Drew asked softly.
As she looked up and met his gaze, his brows rose in a question, but she stepped forward before he could ask her any questions. He would inquire as to whether she could do this, but she had to. If she couldn’t manage a postmortem, she had no business being a doctor. This was a test for her as much as it was assistance for him.
Inhale.
Exhale.
She could do this. She would do this. She’d seen numerous bodies before, had worked on several. This was no different. Anna took a deep breath and pulled the sheet back.
Her eyes went immediately to the woman’s face. Terror, pain, sadness, they were all forever etched in the woman’s features. Anna felt the sting of tears threaten. Yet her empathy wouldn’t save this woman. She could help, though. She could give Drew the information he sought to assist with catching the killer. Then perhaps this would be the last woman killed in such an egregious way. Anna forced herself to look away from the woman’s face. In this moment Anna was a doctor and this was merely a body to examine.
She turned briefly to the other counter and set down her doctor’s satchel. She opened the bag and pulled out the items she’d collected for tonight’s endeavor. First, the clean cloth she’d bundled her instruments in after washing them last. Most of her tools, like the stethoscope she’d purchased for herself, would be of no use tonight, but she might need her forceps to inspect the wounds, and she’d included a measuring tape as well, something she’d never needed for school. Finally, she pulled several towels from the bag, so she’d be able to clean up before they left. Once her tools were all laid out, there was nothing for it but to turn back to the victim.
The woman’s body had been washed of the blood, and Anna could see the wounds the killer had inflicted. The one at her neck was so deep; he’d nearly cut her head clean off. Two marks on her face, shallow cuts that wouldn’t have bled overly much, and cuts on her eyelids as well. A heavy gash bisected her abdomen.
Drew stood to the side, not saying anything, merely watching her work. She eyed him for a moment as she approached the cut, and he nodded, so she moved closer. He wanted her to investigate, wanted her observations, so she focused and began her examination.
She pulled the woman’s flesh apart and inspected the area. There were some additional shallow cuts inside, one across her stomach, one over her liver, but everything else remained intact. She knew from previous reports that the other victims had had organs removed. The Ripper liked to take parts of his victims with him. There were many theories as to why, but personally she didn’t care why; she merely thought it further testimony to the perverse nature of the killer.
Anna had set her examination points of the body based on her brother’s notes of the previous Ripper murders. She knew the wounds needed to be measured and counted. It was peculiar none of the organs had been removed. They’d been disturbed, sliced into a little, but not removed.
The wounds seemed different, but that could simply be the difference between examining them firsthand and reading about them in a report.
She wished Simon were here for her to consult with, but then if he were here, chances were she would never have got a look at the body. Drew had done her a favor, though she certainly wouldn’t admit as much to him. But she was honored he’d chosen her to look into matters instead of going to the men’s medical school or even asking her professor.
She wouldn’t let him down.
Chapter Seven
Drew watched Anna as she worked. She was so methodical and precise it was almost beautiful to see her in action, despite the fact she stood over a dead woman’s body. Whenever Anna would look closely at something that quite obviously confounded her, she’d wrinkle her nose and the dimples in her cheeks would appear. How was it even possible for a woman to look that attractive under the circumstances? Obviously his vow of celibacy since he gave up drinking was beginning to eat at him. It had been too long since he’d bedded a woman.
His old companions still came calling every now and again, but he’d avoided their presence for two reasons. One, he knew if he was with them he’d drink again. And two, if he drank he’d likely tell them he was working with Scotland Yard. Of course, at some point he’d have to go back to his old haunts. Those very pubs had to be how the Ripper had crossed paths with Drew in the first place. Where the killer had decided Drew would be the perfect scapegoat for his murderous spree.
Anna also chattered while she worked, and at first, he’d wondered if she expected him to take notes, but she hadn’t ever indicated as much. And when necessary, she jotted down things in her own notebook. It appeared as if she simply talked while she worked. She measured the injuries, inspected the cuts, the bruises, every inch of the woman. And she did so with such grace and fortitude that damned if he wasn’t impressed with her skill.
He didn’t see any reason why a woman couldn’t be a doctor just as well as a man, though he knew that wasn’t a popular opinion. People typically believed women to be too emotionally unstable or not intelligent enough. He suspected also that men wouldn’t want to go to women doctors to discuss their private ailments. But Anna seemed quite proficient and skilled.
“Everything is here,” she told him, a frown furrowing her brow. Then she looked up at him. “All of her organs, that is,” she clarified.
“That’s what the police surgeon concluded as well,” Drew said.
“Unusual for the Ripper to not remove some organ, or at least a part of one.”
“Perhaps he was interrupted,” Drew offered.
“Oh yes, that happened once before, the night he killed two women.” She looked back at the body. “It does seem, though, that he had time to slice her up pretty good.”
Drew nodded. “The men who found her did not come upon anyone else in the alleyway.”
“Indeed.” She inspected once more the injuries inside the woman’s abdomen. “There are cuts across some of her organs, but nothing has been excised.” Anna turned away from the body, slowly shaking her head as she wiped her hands on the towel she’d laid out earlier and then began gathering up her tools. “Without investigating the wounds from previous victims I can’t make any solid conclusions other than some of the injuries appear consistent with those of his previous victims.”
That’s what he’d been afraid of. That ultimately the results would be inconclusive. So why did he feel that something was out of the ordinary?
Was there something he sensed that he had yet to put his finger on, or was he merely desperately grasping for some contribution he could make to this investigation? He had hoped her examination of the body would fill in the holes in his thinking.
Still Drew wasn’t too keen on sharing any of his ideas w
ith her. Of course she already knew more about him than most. She knew he’d been arrested for murders he hadn’t committed and she believed him innocent. Most of the women in this town would cross to the other side of the street if they saw him approach. He hadn’t been to a soiree or ball since before his arrest, and he couldn’t help but notice the invitations had all dried up.
It would be in the newspapers by now. Jack the Ripper’s return. All the while Drew was free on the streets, and he wondered if people would once again believe it was him who was slicing up those poor girls.
“Did you hear me?” Anna’s voice broke through his thoughts.
“I beg your pardon.”
“I simply said that I have finished my examination. I’ll need to use my notes and compare them to the ones Simon has in his office, but at the moment I’m done with this poor woman,” Anna said. When she turned back to him, her brow was knitted in regret. “I am sorry I wasn’t more help. Was there something in particular you were looking for?”
“Indeed. Well, I do thank you for taking the time to do this,” he said, dodging her question. He went about putting the body back where it belonged while Anna finished putting away her things. Then they quietly crept back out of the building. He snuffed out the lantern when they reached the ground floor, and for a moment they stood together in the dark, allowing their eyes to adjust. Funny how intimately aware he was of her, beside him in the dark. Even though he couldn’t see her, he could hear her soft inhalations and exhalations of breath. The rustling of her skirts. Finally, he guided her forward through the darkened building and out onto the street where his carriage waited. “Where shall I take you?” he asked, as he helped her into the carriage.
“I should like to go to my brother’s, but if my mother has realized I’m gone, then no doubt she is already tied in a knot of nerves wondering where I am at such an hour.” Anna took a deep breath. “So perhaps it is better if you take me to my home.”
“Very well.” He wanted to ask her about her conclusions, but he knew it was too soon for her to have formed an educated opinion. Drew had a sickening feeling this particular woman had not been killed by the Ripper’s hand, but he had no evidence to support such a theory. Hell, he didn’t even know for certain why he felt that way. Discussing his hypothesis with anyone would only show his lack of experience.
Still something gnawed at him. It had happened first when he’d seen the body in the morgue and then again tonight. Something about this woman, about her injuries, was different, didn’t quite fit with the pattern the murderer had established.
It could very well be the Ripper had once again been interrupted and merely hadn’t been able to complete his work. Witnesses didn’t always come forward, especially if they had previously been in trouble with the police. Or perhaps the killer was out of practice. It had been a few months since his last kill.
“It will be quite interesting to see how my notes line up with the previous murders. Do you think you could get a copy of the surgeon’s notes for this particular victim?” Anna asked. “Reading through them might prove quite educational for me. Especially since this was my first postmortem, and frankly I’m not so certain I caught everything.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you talk quite a lot?” Drew asked her.
She opened her mouth, then closed it, her head cocking to one side. “Perhaps. A time or two.”
“Or three or four,” Drew said. Despite his best intentions, he could think of far more interesting things to do with that mouth of hers.
“There’s nothing wrong with talking if you have something to say. How sad would it be if I sat here quietly and told you nothing of my findings? I suspect my being quiet would defeat the purpose of your inviting me to do this examination.” Her brows rose in a challenge.
He leaned forward, then crooked his finger at her, beckoning her to also lean forward. She did so and he caught her by the chin. “Talking is sometimes overestimated.” Then he kissed her.
She made a startled noise and tried to pull back, but he held firm to her chin and moved his mouth against hers. He felt her relax against his kiss, and then her lips parted. He teased her with his tongue, running it seductively against her bottom lip, and again a surprised noise escaped her throat. He could definitely get used to those little sounds.
Sooner than he would have liked, he ended the kiss.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at him before visibly gathering her wits about her.
“Kissing me was most improper, Mr. Foster,” she said, intentionally using his formal name.
“Did you truly believe I was the Ripper, Annabelle?” He was still so close, the question was almost a caress. She could feel his breath on her face. It sent a tremor of awareness through her. She wanted—no, needed—his touch.
“Well, Anna?” He slid one finger from the crest of her cheek to the edge of her jaw.
She swallowed. “I—I—”
His mouth came down on hers again, but this time he pulled her close. There was a sudden fullness in her chest, and an ache down deep in her stomach. She wanted this, wanted him. It was scandalous and so unlike her. She clung to his shoulders and kissed him back, not knowing when this moment would end or if he’d ever kiss her again.
And then it was over.
He winked at her. “I believe the carriage has come to a stop. Good evening, Annabelle.”
Good evening, indeed! She stormed up the steps and entered her front door. Of all the arrogant—he quite obviously was toying with her. She suspected he would chuckle all the way to his own townhome. But there was something she couldn’t shake, there had been something real, something vulnerable in his question about whether she’d ever believed him to be the killer. He’d wanted to know, even though he’d veiled the question.
Chapter Eight
Doctor Mitchell Harrison sat in his office. He’d finished his teaching for the day, and the long span of empty hours between his afternoon classes and tomorrow morning lay before him. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t appreciate his own thoughts, but he’d had enough of them after all these years. Perhaps he’d retired from his own medical practice too soon. He’d found, though, that he much preferred teaching would-be doctors. Instructing his students was far more rewarding than losing patients to any number of ailments.
There came a slight rap on his door and he looked up to see a woman standing there covered from head to toe in the color of sunshine.
“May I help you?” he asked, coming to his feet. She was an older woman, close to his own age, he’d guess, so certainly not an incoming student.
“You are Doctor Harrison?” she asked, her hand at her throat.
“I am. Come in, madam, and let me know how I can assist you.” She was a handsome woman; he could tell that much straight away. Though her hat covered most of her hair, he could see the color, a light auburn, peeking out at the edges. Her eyes, a warm brown, flitted from one thing to the next, taking in all the sights of his office.
She stepped into the room, her eyes darting from the skeleton in the corner back to him. “Yes, well, you see, I am Lucinda Jacobs, Annabelle’s mother.”
“Oh yes, please, have a seat. What a treat for you to stop by. I very much enjoy your daughter and it is delightful to meet you.” He motioned to the chair across from his desk. “What can I do for you?”
She took a shuddering breath, then sat in the chair he’d offered. With great precision, she tugged at each finger, effectively pulling off her gloves in quiet, swift movements. Perhaps Anna had inherited her steady hands from her mother. “I must be honest with you, Doctor Harrison. I find my daughter’s attendance of medical school quite distressing.”
His brows rose. “Then may I be equally honest when I say that I find your revelation quite surprising, Lady Wickersham? Anna has never given any indication that her parents were not supportive.”
She ra
n the gloves through her hands. “Her father was the one who encouraged her interest in medicine. I’ve told her again and again, all the schooling in the world won’t do her any good if she does not find herself a husband who can take care of her.” She tilted her head. “You must understand, it is not the education itself that I object to; all of my children are well-educated. It is merely the fact that I believe her attendance here is preventing her from making a suitable match.”
The woman’s sentiments were understandable. Anna was from an aristocratic family and this was how her mother had been raised—to believe women could not care for themselves. There was no reason for him to suggest otherwise; a battle of that sort would not be won with Lady Wickersham. Instead he would try a different technique all together. “You know Anna is my very best student. She is so bright, and quite gifted. One day she will be a great physician. That being said, I suspect like most women Anna shall marry, when she’s ready, when she’s found the right person. I don’t think you have anything to fear.”
“I have no doubt Anna is your best student. All of my children are quite gifted. Her sister studied philosophy at university, but she still found herself a husband and settled down. This particular medical education, however—I believe it is rather off-putting to men. It is simply not ladylike.”
Lady Wickersham was a vastly entertaining woman, he’d give her that. “You take issue with medicine?”
“Indeed. It is foul and dirty and not at all for the delicate,” she said.
“By ‘the delicate,’ you mean women?”
“Precisely. Not only that, but I suspect any potential and worthy matches for her would be offended by her choice of profession. It comes across as pretentious.”
