Temptations of Anna Jacobs

by Robyn DeHart

  But now he realized that it hadn’t been to protect any of those silly females; he simply hadn’t met any that had caught his interest. Anna, though, she was different. And damned if he couldn’t have her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Anna had spent the better part of the following morning trying to study for her upcoming examination. Again and again her mind was drawn to the conversation she and Drew had shared during their dance. If their circumstances had been different . . . She supposed that meant he had no intentions of actually courting her, and had merely been speaking of it as a lost opportunity. She knew that had much to do with the sense of disappointment she’d felt that day, not to mention the distraction from her studies.

  Her mother had passed by earlier whilst Anna sat with her medical books open. She’d winced and grumbled and kept walking. If she thought the illustrations of organs were bad, she should inspect a murder victim. Needless to say, she’d wasted enough time mooning about Andrew Foster. It was time to buckle down and focus. The very best place to ensure that happened was her brother’s study.

  The carriage jostled Anna as it hit a bump in the road. She clutched her book bag to her and braced her leg on the bench across from her. Anna still felt haunted by the woman’s body, the cuts and abrasions and simply the act of how she came to die. Two nights in a row Anna had woken up with a scream upon her lips, and she’d been drenched in sweat despite the cool night air.

  But Doctor Harrison had warned all of them that it was dangerous to get too attached to your patients, because some of them, many of them, would die despite medical efforts. That advice would most certainly apply in this situation as well. Though perhaps there was a reason that thus far there had been no female police surgeons.

  Finally the carriage came to a stop and she made her way to the front stoop. She gave the door a knock and the butler gave her entrance. “Good morning, Lady Annabelle,” he said. “Would you like a tea tray sent in?”

  “Yes, Rutherford, that would be lovely.”

  She entered the study and then stopped in her tracks. Drew sat at the table—well, more precisely he was sprawled with his entire upper body resting against the wooden surface. She moved toward him quietly and then put a hand on his back to feel if he was still breathing. He was warm, his shoulder firm beneath her hand. He sat upright at her touch, grabbed her wrist and leveled a gaze at her, his eyes dark and narrow. Then recognition lit his features and he released her.

  “My apologies,” he said. He combed his fingers through his hair. “I must have fallen asleep reading through the notes last night. I’ll be on my way now.” He scrubbed a hand down his face.

  His reaction frightened her, she couldn’t deny that with her heart still beating wildly. Still she felt sympathy for him. It must be from his time spent in the prison. Horrible things could have happened to him in that wretched place. She knew Simon had done his best to protect Drew, but there was only so much an inspector could do once a man was locked up.

  “Drew, there’s no need to leave on my account. I merely need a quiet space to study, and you are not an overly talkative person.”

  He gave her a tight smile.

  “You came here last night after the ball?” Her cheeks flamed as she asked the question. “Did you discover anything new?” She set her bag down and took a chair opposite him. To make him feel at ease, she went about unpacking her books and notebooks so she wasn’t focused on him.

  “I made notes about my whereabouts during the murders. As best I could remember. I think my only real option is the pub . . .” His words trailed off, but she could tell there was more there.

  “Did you speak to Bernard about my theory on the blade used?”

  He nodded. “I did. He doesn’t believe there are any differences between this victim and any of the other women.”

  She opened her anatomy book and thumbed to the correct page. “Well, Bernard is a good detective, but he’s not a great detective. There are inconsistencies and anomalies. Now, whether those differences point to anything significant remains to be seen,” she said. “We should send our findings to Simon and see what he has to say. I’m certain we could telegraph him.”

  “I’ve considered that as well, but I didn’t want to bother him.”

  “No, it won’t be a bother. More than likely he’s dying from sheer boredom. Besides, I’ve already sent him one or two.” She smiled. This was the longest she and Simon had gone without seeing one another since he was at university. “We’re used to communicating more often, and I miss his counsel. Not only that, but he provides a buffer for me when it comes to our mother, which is a nice reprieve, and I miss him all the more for that reason.”

  “Would you accompany me to the pub?” he asked her suddenly.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it and watched him for a moment. He seemed to be at war with something in his mind, but she dared not ask what. Drew was a tricky sort, and she knew if she prodded too much he would likely leave and never mention this again. He’d sought her assistance with a medical examination, but this was different. This was doing actual investigative work. It was more than merely discussing theories with him. And it was all far too tempting not to accept. “Most assuredly. I shall probably need to wear a bit of a disguise, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes. Do you have a heavy cloak you could wear, and perhaps a gown that isn’t as nice as the ones you normally wear?”

  “I’m certain I can find something appropriate.” She could borrow a dress from her maid if she had to. And Risa was not a gossip, so she need not worry about questions arising from the exchange. “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Yes, I shall be ready. You can pick me up here.”

  “Very good.” He stood. “Until then, Anna.” He was halfway to the door when he turned around. “Good luck with your studies.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  He was quite obviously bothered by something, though she knew not what. But he’d asked her to assist and she could take pleasure in that. She’d always wanted to help Simon, but he’d never agreed. He was her brother, he had to protect her, and so on and so forth. But Drew seemed to value her opinion, and, perhaps, her company.

  ***

  Mitchell had ulterior motives for inviting Lucinda to one of his classes. He wanted to show her, firsthand, how talented her daughter was, but he also felt quite certain that his students could benefit from Lucinda’s needlework skills. Of course he had not let her in on that little fact.

  He’d got the idea the day before in class while his students practiced their sutures for the upcoming examination. By and large, their work was sloppy and frustratingly slow. How was it that a group of intelligent and knowledgeable women struggled with such a simple task? Then he’d remembered the embroidery sampler form Lucinda’s parlor and decided that she might be a better instructor than he had been.

  More than likely, most of his students, Anna included, had some rudimentary embroidery skills. It was a common thing taught to girls in most social classes. In his own teaching of suturing, he’d likely undone their natural abilities with a needle. They merely needed someone to remind them how to wield the needle and thread.

  He still wasn’t completely certain she would show up. She hadn’t exactly accepted his invitation when he’d stopped by the day before. Soon his students began to file into the room, but there was no sign of Lucinda. He had no choice but to start his lecture. Ten minutes into it, the door opened and in walked Lucinda. She stopped cold when her eyes landed on the full classroom.

  “I beg your pardon; I apologize for interrupting. I was not aware you had a class just now.”

  “No apologies are necessary. I intended for you to visit during class.”

  “I see,” she said with a frown, though she took a step backward as she spoke, as if she might turn and flee through the door.

  Anna stoo
d. “Mother, what are you doing here?”

  Mitchell stepped forward. “I invited her. Class, this is Lady Wickersham, Miss Jacobs’s mother.” He came toward Lucinda and brought her further into the room. “I was hoping that she would demonstrate some of her needlework skills for us.”

  Lucinda’s eyes rounded, and her mouth opened.

  He went over to her, touched her arm gently.

  Lucinda’s gaze sharpened. “Do you jest?”

  “Not at all. I believe we will all benefit from observing you.”

  “Mother, you are quite gifted with a needle and thread,” Anna said, with a gentle smile.

  “I don’t know what the two of you are up to,” Lucinda said. “But now everyone in this room has their eyes upon me.” She looked directly at Mitchell, her gaze alight with resolve. “I suppose you have the necessary supplies for me?”

  He grinned at her. “Of course I do. Miss Jacobs, please take your seat again.” He motioned for Lucinda to move forward. “Lady Wickersham, I was hoping you’d show us the blanket stitch.”

  Her brows rose—whether from the audacity of this request or surprise that he knew the name of the stitch, he wasn’t certain.

  Nevertheless, she straightened her shoulders and stepped to the front of the classroom, where he’d laid out all the materials he suspected she would need. At first her movements were stiff and unnatural, but soon she relaxed, as if the very familiarity of the needle in her grasp had relaxed her. He had had a similar experience the first time he’d dissected a cadaver in the classroom. There were some actions your body simply was meant to do.

  Soon, many of his students were straining to watch. There were still a few whose expressions had settled into frowns of resistance. Undoubtedly, some of these girls felt embroidery of any kind was beneath the skills of a budding medical student. However, by the time Lucinda had finished her demonstration, nearly every student had softened.

  At the end of the class, he handed out scraps of thick felted fabric to each of the girls. “Obviously, this felted wool is a poor substitute for a real patient, but I would like each of you to practice your stitches before next class. With any luck, a few hours of practice will have your sutures in passable shape before the next examination.”

  The class filed out, most of the girls looking pleased to have an assignment that would not be so intellectually vigorous. Anna smiled broadly at Doctor Harrison as she left.

  “Was that enjoyable for you?” Lucinda asked when they were finally left in the room alone.

  “Indeed, you were marvelous,” he replied.

  “Ridiculous, I believe is the more appropriate word.” She frowned and bolstered her fists on her hips.

  “Whatever are you talking about?” he asked.

  “I do realize that I’m not as intelligent as my own children.” She shook her head. “I never have been. They all inherited their father’s brilliant mind. But I have served them well. I married half of them off and I’m doing my damnedest to marry off the other two.” She came closer to him and jabbed a finger in his chest. “And then you bring me here and make an utter fool of me.”

  “Sweet Lucinda—”

  “Don’t you ‘sweet Lucinda’ me. I’m furious with you,” she interrupted.

  He grinned. “I can see that. “

  “I don’t see why any of this is so humorous for you.”

  “Because you, dear lady, missed the point entirely. I invited you here because I believe you have something to offer my students.” He put his hand on her elbow, pulled her a little closer. “I should have hoped I’d made a better impression on you than to make you believe me to be so cruel as to parade you about to mock you.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. “Of course I don’t think that poorly of you. I am rather fond of you.” Her cheeks pinkened with her admission.

  “I should hope so. As certainly you can tell that I am vastly fond of you.” He went on to explain to her his theory that his own teaching of suture technique had undone the skills that many of his students already had with sewing.

  She nodded.

  “As to your not being intelligent, that is silly. You are quite intelligent. I cannot speak to whether or not you rival your children’s intelligence, but I do know from being around your youngest daughter and hearing about your other children that all of them have quite obviously inherited your tenacity and drive.” Had his own wife had a fraction of this woman’s strength, she would have fought for her life and not died frail and silent. His voice broke as he continued, “Those are qualities I admire a great deal.”

  “Mitchell, I don’t know what to say.”

  But he didn’t allow her to say anything as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

  ***

  Drew had to do something until tonight’s visit to the Dog and Duck pub or else he’d drive himself mad waiting to see Anna again. So he decided to follow up on the tobacco thread. He would stop first at Rickman’s tobacco shop, even though Alex and Mia had already investigated it.

  He thought it might be appropriate to inquire if there had been any other customers, besides him, who had not made any purchases in the last few weeks. Since they assumed that the Ripper was currently hiding somewhere outside of London, it was safe to also assume that he hadn’t made any tobacco purchases since his attack on Mia.

  Mr. Rickman stood behind the counter and smiled broadly when Drew stepped inside.

  The stop at Rickman’s was futile. Drew was the only one who was not buying that particular blend of tobacco, aside from the one person Alex had already indicated had moved to America. And there were still shipments being delivered to Buckingham Palace. The queen must be quite sentimental to continue to order her late husband’s blend this long after his death. Of course, perhaps she herself had developed a taste for it and now was the consumer.

  Drew thanked the man, then left. He instructed his driver to take him to the other shop. It was one he had been to on only a few occasions, as they also sold opium and the clientele leaned more to the latter. As Drew arrived there was a man half lying, half leaning in the doorway. He looked up at Drew through glazed eyes, then released a wretched cough. Drew skirted him and entered the shop.

  The man behind the counter was tall and lean—probably spent too much of his time with his own opium and not enough time with food. For a moment Drew simply stared at him. He himself had stopped eating when he’d been drinking so much and he knew during that time he’d lost weight and his complexion had grown sallow. Had he looked as this man appeared now? Drew took a slow, steady breath.

  The man looked up lazily from his broadsheet and met Drew’s gaze. “What’ll it be?”

  “I’m not purchasing anything, I merely need some information.”

  “Nothing is free here. Even information costs,” the man said.

  When Drew withdrew money from his coat pocket and placed it on the table, the man grabbed at it with faster-than-expected reflexes. “I want to know who purchased this blend.” He handed him the sheet of parchment where he’d scrawled down the name of the blend. “I want a list of the buyers from the last three years.”

  The man pulled out several books from under the cabinet and slammed them on the countertop. He nodded toward them. “Take what you want.” Then he disappeared behind the curtain.

  Drew opened the first book and was surprised to find fairly organized records. He had half expected the man to tell him to go to hell and kick him out. This wasn’t quite like having the list prepared for you as in the first shop, but this was just as well. Drew preferred to do the work himself. He flipped through page after page and wrote down names when he came to that blend. He knew immediately that some of them duplicated the other shops, but some were not names he’d seen before. And there was an order from the queen, but this one was sent to Balmoral Castle.

  Drew wrote down everything
. Customers came in and out, buying tobacco as well as opium, and still Drew kept his head down, just reading through the books.

  “Foster? Drew Foster, is that you?” a voice said from next to him.

  Drew looked up to see his old mate Thompson standing there. “Frederick,” Drew said with a curt nod.

  “You’ve been scarce since your incarceration. Hiding out?”

  “No, merely changing some things around.”

  “Haven’t seen you at any of the old haunts. Richardson said you might have offed yourself.”

  “Not bloody likely.” He’d considered it. Once. Years ago. But in the end it had seemed more fitting to live on in spite of things than to simply disappear.

  “Well, you buying anything interesting? Have you tried the new blend that’s come out of Columbia? Very sharp.”

  “No, I’m merely going through some records.” And with that Drew closed the last book. “Good day to you, Charles.” He nodded and then left the shop. The man had smelled of bourbon and he’d looked unkempt, tired, dirty. Drew shook off the feeling of derision. He knew he’d looked precisely like that not two months before.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anna had taken great care with her clothing for the evening. She’d borrowed a dress from Risa that was a smidge too tight on her and accented more of her breasts than she would normally show. But she decided it was all part of the disguise. Then she had taken her old cloak out of the attic. It was out of fashion and had no accoutrements; merely a plain emerald-green cloak.

  She should be safe from recognition. In fact, when she’d arrived at Simon’s townhome she’d had to withdraw the hood of the cloak before the butler realized it was her. He’d been confused and Anna hadn’t offered an explanation so he’d merely left her to her own devices.