Temptations of Anna Jacobs

by Robyn DeHart

  But as it turned out, his relationship with Anna would have to wait.

  While Drew was out of London, Sergeant Richter had stopped coming into work. He’d claimed he was sick with an infection from his injury. Jeffries thought nothing of it, but Drew knew it was time to go and pay the man a visit, check on his health and then see about the witness that had gone to the police the night Richter was wounded.

  That night the man, a Benjamin Cummins, had given the constable his statement and then he’d fled as soon as the crowd had grown. Since then other officers had tried to locate Mr. Cummins, but to no avail. Drew was hoping Richter would be able to assist with that.

  The landlord opened the door to Drew’s knock. “May I help you?” she asked. She was an older woman who wore a soft cotton cap and a matching apron. She frowned at him.

  “Inspector Drew Foster,” he said with a nod of his head. “I’d like to speak with Mr. James Richter. I’m told he resides in one of the rooms here.”

  “Strange bird, that one,” she said. “This way.” She motioned, then turned and started up the stairs. “He’s up on the third floor.”

  They climbed the first two flights in silence, though the woman’s keys jingled with every step.

  “He works for you, does he?” she asked.

  “Not precisely, but he does work for the Metropolitan Police.”

  “Always said he worked for the police, but I can’t say I ever believed him. Guess he wasn’t lying after all.”

  “He’s assisting me in an investigation.” At least the man thought he was. But Drew knew something was not completely correct with him.

  The housekeeper rapped her knuckles on the door. “Mr. Richter, you have a visitor.”

  There was no answer. No sound. Again she knocked and called and again came no answer.

  “Would you mind it I went in to see if I could find his notes?” Drew asked. “We were supposed to meet earlier and I couldn’t make the arranged time. It would truly be a big help to me and to your city.” She had no obligation to give him entrance, but he’d found that if he put on the charm women often had difficulty telling him no. The landlady smiled at him and nodded.

  “I don’t want to interfere in any official investigation.” She fumbled through her keys until she found the right now, then unlocked the door. “Do you need anything else?”

  Drew smiled at her. “No, but I’ll certainly let you know if I do. Thank you.” After she walked off, Drew entered the room.

  It was modest-sized room with a mattress on the floor in the corner, a leather chair by the window and a small desk.

  The small writing table held several notebooks, and next to those sat a sizable pile of what appeared to be articles cut from the newspapers. One after the other featured grizzly headlines about sliced-up prostitutes and women slain. Every Jack the Ripper victim had more than one article covering their gruesome demise with photographs. The accompanying notebooks held notes about the killings and his theories with some ridiculous suspects, including the prime minister. Then several diatribes about him being rejected by the detective division again and again.

  Drew continued to read through the notebooks. It would seem that Sergeant Richter had been disgruntled with the Metropolitan Police for quite some time and blamed them for all kinds of wrongs in his life.

  Pain slammed through the back of Drew’s skull and he fell forward, hit the edge of the table, then crumbled to the floor. He tried to roll over to see his assailant, but the darkness pulled at him and his eyes fluttered shut.

  ***

  Drew opened his eyes and pain seared his scalp. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but he suspected Richter was long gone. Drew shifted, reached up and felt his forehead. His fingers came away covered in blood. He squinted against the pain and pulled himself to his feet. The room swayed and he gripped the back of the chair to steady himself. When his eyes focused on the table he could clearly see that all of the notebooks and newspaper clippings were gone.

  Evidently it had been Richter that had whacked him over the head. Drew hadn’t thought it would be anyone else, but this certainly confirmed it. The man had returned and taken the evidence with him. Blood dripped down Drew’s eye and onto his cheek. And damnation but it hurt, the pain coming in waves that made him nauseated.

  He ripped a strip from his sleeve and blotted at his forehead. It was unlikely Richter would return anytime soon so Drew should make the most of his time here. But he’d have to do it quickly, as it was becoming increasingly obvious that he was going to need stitches.

  ***

  Anna sat in the study reading. She’d returned from her overnight trip to Warwickshire a different woman. Her mother had been so relieved to see her she’d wept. And then she’d told her that she had agreed to marry Doctor Harrison. Anna was happy for her mother, quite happy, but it hurt that it seemed that everyone else was fit for marriage. Everyone but Anna.

  She’d told Drew she wasn’t looking for promises of a future. And she meant that. Still she longed for one, with him. She couldn’t deny that.

  A commotion came from the corridor, with voices rising. She set her book aside and stepped into the hall. The housekeeper, Mrs. Brooks, stood blocking Drew’s entrance into the house, her fists on her formidable hips.

  “What is going on?” Anna demanded.

  “This man is insistent on seeing you, Lady Annabelle, but he has no calling card and he’s bleeding all over the front stoop,” Mrs. Brooks said.

  “Bleeding?” Her heart pounded. She rushed forward, stepped around the housekeeper and pulled Drew inside. “He is a friend, Mrs. Brooks.” Blood was caked on Drew’s head and had dripped down into his eyes and all down his neck, not to mention having dried beneath his fingernails. She faced the housekeeper. “I shall need a basin with water and some cleaning cloths, as well as my sewing kit.” She led Drew into the parlor. “What happened?”

  “Pub brawl,” he said with a quirk of his lips.

  “I am quite serious, Drew Foster. This is no time for jests. Who did this to you?”

  Mrs. Brooks bustled in with a rolling tea cart filled with the requested supplies. Anna immediately went to cleaning his wound to check the extent of the damage. “You’re definitely going to need to be stitched up.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “That’s why I came here. Sorry I’m getting blood all over your mother’s rug.”

  Her heart flipped. He’d come here because he’d trusted her to tend to his injury.

  Compose yourself.

  The water in the basin turned a muddy red as she rinsed the cloth and again wiped at his wound. “You have one here on the front of your head and one on the back. The one on the back has quite the lump growing, but the skin is barely ruptured. Who attacked you?”

  “I went to Sergeant Richter’s house. I wanted to question him again about the witness that saved him the night of the last Ripper attack,” Drew said. “He wasn’t there, and the landlady let me in. I was searching his desk, and I found clippings from the newspapers about all of the Ripper victims. There were also journals he’d written in, mostly complaints about being overlooked for promotion to the detective division.”

  He flinched when she began cleaning the wound in the back. “Sorry.” She gentled her touch.

  “I found something else. After I came to. He was gone, as were the clippings and journals. But—” he winced.

  “Shh, let’s get you stitched up and then we can talk.” Once the wounds were cleaned, she could clearly see that the one on his forehead would indeed require stitches, but the one on the back of his head would need merely a poultice to reduce the swelling.

  She stood and went over to the cabinet and opened the door to retrieve the lady’s decanter she knew her mother kept in there for special occasions. She took several deep breaths. This would be the second time she’d had to suture him, but now
she knew him. She eyed the decanter, then retrieved it. She knew this would make the whole ordeal even more painful for him.

  “I have to disinfect your injuries.” She met his gaze. “I apologize.” Any other patient and she’d likely offer them a sip of the drink to lesson the pain, but she knew better than to ask Drew. First she poured an amount over the wound at the back of his head.

  He swore, then clenched his jaw.

  “Can you lean your head back over the chair?” she asked. Once he had his head tilted back, she poured the brandy over his wound. He squeezed his eyes shut. Regardless of the angle of his head, the liquor slid down his face. “Drew, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. When it was done she quickly wiped his face, making sure to wipe off his mouth first.

  He said nothing, but kept his jaw set. She wanted to ask more about what he’d found, but she’d told him to wait until she was done with his sutures. Of course that had been before she’d poured brandy all over his head. It was a battle for him and she’d . . . no, she’d done precisely what she’d had to do. It would ward off infection, and at the moment, that was more important than his struggle.

  He cracked one eye and she steadied the needle. “You think you can get those stitches straight?”

  “I’d kick you if you weren’t already in pain.”

  He grinned and closed his eyes. “Have at it, love.”

  At the sound of the endearment, Anna’s heart squeezed. Oh that it were true, that he called her love because he meant it, because he loved her.

  She quickly stitched him up, being as gentle as she could, then smeared a salve over both injuries. “Ice would really help this one,” she said, barely touching the knot on the back of his head. “I don’t think we can get any of that, though.” She finally took a seat across from him, pulling her chair close so she could be near him. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like hell. Like I want a bloody drink.” He swore. “I suppose I’ll always crave it.”

  “The thorn in your side,” she offered.

  He inclined his head. “And what is your thorn, dear Annabelle?”

  Him.

  Wanting him. Loving him and knowing he’d not love her in return. Instead she gave him a playful smile. “I’m not certain.”

  He reached up to touch his forehead, but stopped. “Thank you. I knew I’d be in good hands.”

  “My pleasure. And I did the sutures in an interesting pattern so you’d have a fascinating scar. Men enjoy swapping such stories, I hear.”

  He grinned. “So thoughtful of you.”

  “You were going to tell me what it was you found in Richter’s apartments.”

  “Yes. I found the copy of Dante’s Inferno he’s been using in his correspondence with the Ripper.”

  “That’s proof, then, that he’s the second killer?”

  “Indeed. I need to get to the yard and tell Jeffries and this time they’ll have to believe me. But I knew I needed medical assistance first.”

  “Of course.” She wiped her hands on her skirts. She wasn’t ready for him to go. Not when he’d been injured. Richter could have killed Drew.

  She hadn’t realized she’d started to cry until he wiped the tears off her cheeks.

  “Why so sad?” He looked so handsome, even with the swelling and the stitches.

  “He could have killed you,” she whispered.

  He pulled her to him. Shushed her fears. “I’m here, Anna, I’m all right.”

  How had people ever believed him a killer? He was so gentle, so kind and clever. Granted, she’d never seen him inebriated, but she had a hard time believing he could ever be anything but the Drew she had come to love.

  He leaned in, touching his forehead to hers, and they stood that way for several breaths. “This isn’t over.” Then he tilted her chin up, gave her a quick, but heated, kiss and turned to go.

  ***

  Drew left Anna’s and headed directly to the Victorian Embankment. He had much information to share with Jeffries, and he wasn’t even certain the man would believe him. This time, though, he’d brought with him a letter that Simon had sent detailing his theory of the two killers based on the correspondence he’d discovered. If Simon couldn’t convince them, no one could.

  But despite all of these new leads in the Ripper case, all Drew could think of was Anna.

  He wanted her; there was no denying that. But more than the physical desire, he wanted to be with her, spend time with her. That kind of desire he was unfamiliar with. He’d experienced lust before, but this went beyond that. He cared about her and it scared the hell out of him, especially since she was to be his wife.

  The fact of the matter was he didn’t deserve Anna. She was everything he was not. Yes, he’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket, but no one knew that. He hadn’t been raised in such a way. He’d been granted the same privileges that his brothers had received. Though his mother had made her dislike for him known his entire life, he hadn’t received any other poor treatment. No one had to know, and it wouldn’t tarnish Anna and her family to have her be his wife. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone mistreating her. He made a mental note to make certain she never crossed paths with his mother again.

  He’d been weak, wallowing in his self-pity and loathing, and he’d lost himself in drink and women for the better part of three years. All the while Anna, simply because of her sex, was seen as less than desirable, seen as incapable in many ways. Yet despite all of that, she’d ignored convention as well as her own mother’s wishes and gone to medical school. And she excelled. Doctor Harrison had told him that the day Drew had sought her out in class. Her professor had said he’d never taught anyone better.

  Anna had become a better person despite her circumstances whereas he’d allowed one thing to drag him down and nearly destroy him. And it was something he couldn’t even be blamed for. It wasn’t his damned fault that his father had had an affair. He was the worst sort of sot and she deserved a hell of a lot better than him.

  As soon as Richter was in custody, Drew would marry Anna.

  Drew stepped into the office area he shared with the other inspectors. Bernard stood at his desk and met Drew’s gaze as he entered the room. “Foster, glad you finally made it in. I was just on my way out, we’ve got another one. Let’s go,” Jeffries said as he grabbed his coat off the hook by the door. The man did a double-take, then frowned. “What the devil happened to you?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Once they were in the carriage and rolling down the street, Drew relayed the story of going to see Richter and all that had happened.

  “You suspected him all this time and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I tried to express concern that the Ripper wasn’t the killer of that first woman we found, but you said my theory was due to my inexperience.” Drew shook his head. “I didn’t think you’d believe me, so I sought proof on my own.”

  “Well, you did a damned fine job,” Jeffries said. “By the time you woke up, Richter had taken all of the journals?”

  “Yes. I found the other book. I’ve secured it with a friend for the time being. I didn’t want it at the offices in case he returned there.”

  “That should provide us with enough evidence to arrest him,” Jeffries said. “I’ll speak with his direct supervisor when we get back to the Yard.”

  Nothing could have prepared Drew for the crime scene. None of the notes he’d read, nor the photographs he’d seen, could match the massacre of the woman on Barker Street.

  Two constables ran outside and vomited on the street.

  Jeffries swore.

  “Sarah Wells,” someone said as Drew entered her small flat. The stink of death hung heavy in the air, and Drew did his best to keep his wits about him.

  Blood covered or spattered nearly every surface in the room. What was left of Sarah Wells was misshape
n and horrific. Her abdominal cavity was spread open and her intestines—at least he assumed that’s what they were—hung from a hook on her wardrobe.

  There was no question about it. This was the work of Jack the Ripper.

  “He’s back,” Drew said.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Now that he’d returned to London, it was time. Past time, if he really considered it.

  The Ripper was ready to meet his student.

  He carefully penned the message that would be printed in The Times the following morning. Soon he and his apprentice would be face to face, and then Jack could begin the real education.

  He didn’t have time to entertain this foolishness any longer. If his student proved to be unteachable, the Ripper would simply kill him. He leaned back in his chair and took a healthy sip of his port, then took a long drag on his cigar.

  They would find her soon, if they hadn’t already, his latest masterpiece. She was, by far, the best work he’d done. He’d spent hours with her. Perhaps it was time to pen another letter to the blokes at Scotland Yard, as it had been so long since he’d toyed with them.

  He leaned over his desk, dipped his quill in the ink and wrote,

  Dear Boss.

  Chapter Thirty

  Anna hadn’t seen or heard from Drew since he’d left her the previous day. She wanted to apply another bit of poultice to his wounds, but she knew he was working.

  When the butler brought in The Times that morning to the breakfast table, Anna had flipped it open. She’d been the only one downstairs, despite the return of her brother and his wife the previous evening. Soon Simon would return and their entire clan would be here, save her sister, who rarely left her country estate and doting husband.

  As she chewed her breakfast, something in the newspaper caught her attention. She leaned forward and read closer. This had to be a notice from the Ripper, though it was unclear to her what he said. She came to her feet knowing that she had to bring this to Drew’s attention at once.