Page 9 of Taken By the Ripper
“If you are inquiring about Jack the Ripper, I’m afraid I don’t think my patient saw the man in question. Unless these so-calledvampiresare your Ripper.”
But the detective shook his head. “I’m not sure these cases are related. But I do, unfortunately, believe that Whitechapel is attracting creatures of the night.”
She glanced over her shoulder on her way up the staircase and gave him a look of disgust. “Prostitutes, you mean?”
“No.” He rolled his eyes. “Actual creatures of darkness. Vampires. Demons. Ghosts.”
That sealed it. Detective La Cour was a nutter. But this wasn’t the correct institution in which to admit him.
They needed to steer this conversation elsewhere. She’d had enough talk of vampires for her lifetime. “Why did you come the other day? Did you end up finding a doctor for your issue?”
“It wasn’tmyissue,” he huffed. “Elizabeth Stride was found missing a kidney. I need a doctor to examine the body. I am unsure if you will know what you are looking at—”
“Excuse me?” She stopped directly in front of the door leading into the quarantine room and turned to face him. “I have seen the insides and outsides of more dead bodies than you will encounter in your lifetime. I’m quite certain I can identify whatever it is you are searching for.”
Sure, she needed to distance herself from this lunatic, but when her pride was at stake, she couldn’t help but rise to the challenge.
“Tomorrow at the morgue then,” he replied with a challenging eyebrow.
“Fine.”
“Fine.” He placed his hat on top of his head and tipped it in her direction. “Have a good night.”
A shudder raked down her spine as she watched him leave, his words reminding her of the gouge marks in her window. The claw-like item she’d found seemed to weigh heavily in the pocket of her dress, a despairing reminder of the hours she still had to pass during the night.
She almost called the detective back to show him the claw. Almost. But then she decided it would only give him the opportunity to make up a wild story about some dark creature of the night while he wore a serious expression on his face.
No… Better to keep it to herself. For now.
“It’s nothing,” she reassured herself. But the weight of the claw continued to burn a reminder through her pocket as she passed the next several hours taking care of her patients, all while continuously listening for the front door to open and anticipating Mazie’s arrival.
Where was she? Clara needed that medicine. And fast.
But as the afternoon transitioned to dusk, and dusk settled into the dark hush of night, her annoyance slowly melted into worry. Where was she? Could someone have attacked her on the street? Was she hurt? Injured? She didn’t usually stay out late unless she informed Clara first.
Not too long after, her patient—the mother of the sick baby—passed, which left the child an orphan for all she knew. No father was listed on the patient’s chart, and she had no idea how to begin searching for him.
Clara braced herself against an armchair and released a worn, ragged breath. Yes, she lost patients occasionally, but it always created a pit of despair raging within her chest. A feelingof regret and incompetence encompassed her, and she couldn’t stop the doubt from clouding her judgment. This could have been avoided. She could have prevented the woman’s death if she’d had that medicine, if she’d had more ice, if she’d done something differently. Those two had had no one else. Only Clara.
And she’d failed them.
Her hands fisted against the armchair when her frustration won over her worry. The death could have been prevented with that medicine. It should only have taken Mazie less than an hour to fetch the delivery. Where was she?
As if on cue, the front door opened. Clara rushed down the hallway to find Mazie slipping inside.
With no delivery in her arms.
“Where have you been?” Clara hissed. “You should have been back hours ago.”
Mazie slipped her gloves off and stuck up her nose. “With friends.” But the stench of alcohol and tobacco indicated a merrier time than simply shopping or seeing the sights.
“Where is the package I asked you to pick up?”
Her sister turned a cold shoulder to her, hardly acknowledging her presence. “I’ll get it tomorrow.”
Clara’s hands shook with frustration and anger as she steepled them together and pressed them to the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath to calm herself before she replied.
“A mother died, leaving the baby an orphan and preventing us from getting paid for our efforts. And do you know what could have saved her life? Medicine to bring down the fever. Tell me, Mazie, why you neglected the one task that I asked you to complete?”
