Page 21 of Taken By the Ripper
Clara pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed a deep sigh. She didn’t know how to handle this. All she was trying to do was take care of her family and her patients. But pride and delicate feelings? She was not equipped with the knowledge to deal with this.
Remembering she had an audience, she turned around. “What did you mean when you said…” Her words trailed off when she found the room empty save for a pair of flimsy curtains billowing in the gentle breeze.
Jack the Ripper was gone. And all she had of him was the pinprick of blood on her wrist and confusing feelings swirling in her chest.
A monster had kissed her hand. And she had liked it.
She released a breathy, disbelieving chuckle and rolled her eyes. It looked as if it were time to check herself into the battyhouse. Because dallying with the Ripper was a one-way street to either death or an insane asylum.
T
hey arrived at half past noon. Full and vibrant with a sweet aroma that managed to quell the stench of sickness and pain of the infirmary.
Clara stared wide-eyed at the bouquet of flowers resting within a vase on the drawing room table, the pinks, yellows, and reds a stark contrast to the white and light blue of the room around her and Norma.
She remained several steps away from the flowers, almost as if she were to touch them, she might catch a case of poison ivy and break out in hives.
“You’re sure they’re for me?” she breathed.
Not once in her life had she ever received flowers. The only bouquets to grace this household were the ones Mazie collected from admirers. Which were often innumerable. It was any wonder Mazie hadn’t chosen a husband yet. But now Clara suspected she was holding out for someone foreign. Someone like…
Claude La Cour.
“‘For Clara,’” Norma read.“‘A thank you for yesterday. All my adoration, Claude.’” A sly grin pulled up on Norma’s lips as she fanned her face with the small note card. “Flowers and informally using your given name? I think he’s attempting to court you.”
“Attemptingis the right word here.” Still, she stared slack-jawed at the bouquet, still in disbelief. She was too old for this. Too old to be swept away in the throes of courtship and passion. Too old for men searching for a young bride to give them plenty of babies and to be chained to the oven for the majority of the day.
Men didn’tgiveClara flowers. Ever. What was the detective trying to do? What did he want from her that she could possibly give?
She didn’t trust him. Not for a single second. First yesterday and now today? She was beginning to grow highly suspicious of his intentions.
“Is anyone there?” a man shouted from the direction of the infirmary. “Help! Please help.”
Clara spun around and rushed down the hallway and into the infirmary only to find one of her long-term patients stumbling out of one of the isolated infirmary rooms with his hand against the wall guiding him forward. His gaze was distant, confirming her fears.
He’d gone blind.
“Mr. Harvey,” she said as she took his hand and squeezed. “I’m Nurse Thompson. Allow me to guide you back to your room, and I can answer any questions you might have.”
Instead of following when she tugged lightly on his hand, he broke down in tears, his opposite hand covering his eyes. “Why can’t I see? Why is my sight gone?”
She released a long breath and gave him a look of sympathy that he couldn’t see. “You contracted scarlet fever. You were in bed for a long time. But the fever spread. It’s lucky you are alive.”
“But my sight is gone!”
“I’m sorry. I did everything I could to cure you. But sometimes—”
“You did this to me!” he screamed, wrenching his hand away. “You made me blind. This is your fault.”
“Now, sir, please calm down, and we can discuss your options in another room—”
“I’m blind because of you! How could you do this to me?”
The patient moved so quickly, Clara found no time to dodge when he struck out with his fist. She cried out in alarm and instinctively flinched with her hands braced in front of her face. But rather than the man’s fist making contact, someone caught the blow with his own hand and twisted until the patient’s arm was bent precariously behind his back.
Her eyes shot wide open in shock to find Detective La Cour standing before her, protecting her from the threat.
“Now, why on God’s green earth would you strike a woman?” he asked the patient in a low, threatening tone.
