Page 15 of Taken By the Ripper
“Surely, it can’t be that bad.”
This time, he set his notebook in his lap to give her a pointed look. “He sliced a lung and the heart attempting the feat. Even a drunkard off the street would be more competent than this imbecile.”
Clara quickly ducked her head and covered her mouth with a hand to keep herself from laughing. Yes, the detective might be rude, but he had an amusing sense of humor.
“Ah, here we are,” he murmured moments before the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the morgue. It was as if a cloud passed over the sky, sending the world spiraling into a morbid sense of darkness. A murder of crows perched in a tree above the building, likely drawn to the smell of death and decay.
The detective produced a handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish and handed it to her, also finding one for himself. “The smell isn’t too bad. But better to be safe. Just in case.”
She gratefully accepted it from him. “I assure you, the things I have smelled at my infirmary pale in comparison to a decomposing body.”
He stopped on the step down from the carriage and studied her over his shoulder. “Huh.”
“What is it?”
He shook his head, stepped to the ground, and held out a hand to help her out of the carriage. “It’s nothing. Only that you continue to surprise me, Miss Thompson.”
This time, she couldn’t help but laugh as she accepted his strong hand, his long fingers momentarily wrapped around hers. “Is it so surprising that a young lady might have an interest in the macabre?” Well, she wasn’t quite as young as she used to be and was considered a spinster to the upper-class society, but she did not feel like an old maid. Yet.
“Yes,” he chuckled. “A young lady, such as yourself, should be interested in courtship and marriage, babies and sewing. Instead, your eyes light up at the very mention of human dissection.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “Which is why I’m not married. Any such husband would forbid me from practicing my craft. I won’t give it up for anybody.”
“And if your husband supported your craft?”
Her gaze snapped toward the detective, and suddenly she found her hands stealing the moisture directly from her mouth. It dried while perspiration only seemed to grow colder on her palms.
His expression remained blank, and his intentions entirely unreadable. Therefore, she opted for more humor. “The poor sap would be thoroughly wrapped around my little finger if that were the case. Anyway, we’re here.”
They reached the door of the building, and the strong scent of chemicals and decay hit her nose like a hammer to the skull.From previous experience, she knew after a few minutes, she would become desensitized to the smell. But the first few breaths were always the most difficult.
“D-d-detective,” a short man with a patchy beard said as he rushed forward. But as La Cour pushed past him as if he confidently knew where he was headed, the shorter man kept up at his side like a dog obediently following its master. “The body is ready for…” He trailed off and stared at Clara as if he’d never seen a woman in his life. However, the prolonged staring became uncomfortable, even more so when his mouth dropped open and he was dumb with silence.
“Eyes ahead, Coroner,” the detective barked. “We all know she’s beautiful, but it’s rude to stare.”
At first, surprise jolted through her body at the man’s words. But then a scowl pulled on her mouth, and she clutched her basket tight to her chest. Was he trying to belittle her? What was his game?
The coroner showed them the prepared body lying on a table, and Clara immediately went to work as she set out her tools on a nearby table. The short man retreated to a dark corner while La Cour remained by her side, a little too close for her liking.
The moment the silence stretched a bit too long, she murmured, “There is no need to mock me.”
“Mock you?” He reeled back as if she’d struck him in the face. “Do you even realize at least half of your patients who were conscious followed you with their lovestruck gazes when you weren’t watching? I assumed you knew you were a beautiful woman.” He paused and pressed his lips together. “It seems you don’t.”
Her face burned at the blunt comment. She would have assumed he was now mockingandteasing her. But the sincerity in his eyes threw her off center.
“Well then.” She tied an apron around her dress before turning back to the body. “It’s a good thing Mazie doesn’t like being near my patients. No one would give me a second glance.”
He snorted but made no other comments about her appearance. Though the moment she opened the body to peer inside, she noticed he seemed just as hyperfixed on the task at hand as she was.
“Mmhmm,” she murmured as she carefully examined the insides. “Missing a kidney. A slice to a lung and the heart.” She lowered her voice as she briefly glanced at the coroner hiding in the corner like a scared little mouse. “The coroner, indeed, bungled the autopsy.”
“If it were in my power, I’d sack him.”
Turning her head to meet his eye, she jested, “If the sacking came from you, I think he’d go off trotting happily because you gave him the time of day at all.”
Another snort, but this one came with a lingering grin. “I do have that effect on people.”
“Clearly.” She turned back to her work to study the clean slice across the woman’s neck next. Something was odd about it. The slice was too large to be a knife but too clean and precise to be from an animal attack. “Hmm…”
