Page 7 of Taken By the Ripper
A groan from the opposite end of the infirmary pulled her attention to the woman battling an infection from childbirth. The father had taken the boy and had left the woman to recover alone. However, she hadn’t recovered, and Clara feared she never would.
She measured and poured a dose of honey-scented medicine into a small vial before lifting the woman into a sitting position to help her drink. The woman cried out at the pain of simply sitting, and once administered the medicine, she slumped exhausted on the cot and closed her eyes. Perhaps at this point medicine was no longer effective. What she needed was pain relief until the infection took her.
“Does no one help you here?” the detective asked, glancing around them.
As she administered medicine to another patient, she answered, “My youngest sister, Norma, washes and folds the linens. She also handles much of the paperwork and discharging patients.” She placed a thermometer into a feverish mother’s mouth and next checked the temperature of her baby lying next to her. The fevers were too high, but she was confident they would pull through.
Dipping clean cloth into a bowl of cool water, she wrung them out and placed them against either forehead. It wasn’t much, but it would help.
“And the middle sister?” he asked. “What does she do?”
Clara couldn’t help but snort in amusement as she pinned him with a pointed stare. “It was only a matter of time before you asked about her.”
“Oh? And why is that?” He leaned forward on his cane, pinning her with an equally haughty stare.
“She’s thebeautiful one.” She rolled her eyes, thinking of all the attention her sister received. It irked her. Not because it didn’t happen to her but because Mazie’s admirers often visited her hospital for “emergency care” if only to catch a glimpse of the beautiful blonde sister. “I don’t blame you for your interest, but I ask you to take it elsewhere.”
“Interest?” His expression contorted into something resembling a mix of appall and disbelief. “She is at least ten years younger than me. No interest exists, I assure you. I was simply curious about her duties.”
She picked up a few piles of discarded bandages and placed them in the wash bin. “She is supposed to handle supplies and deliveries, but I can’t get her to do anything half the time. She likes to pretend we still live a life of luxury and enjoys being idle. But it’s fine. Because she’sbeautiful.”
Envious of her sister? Not at all. But she often wished she’d inherited her mother’s blond hair rather than her father’s golden copper strands.
Trying to distract her frustrated thoughts, she jotted her recent values on the existing charts and silently prayed to not receive another patient today. Maybe tomorrow. But not today. Not after the terrifying ordeal last night. Only her bedroom had received gouge marks while the rest of the house was gouge-free.Perhaps a bear had entered her window and had left promptly after. What else could it have been?
Detective La Cour cleared his throat. “I have,” he cleared his throat again, “questions. About my case. Can I spare you for a few minutes?”
Clara grinned as she briefly glanced up from her charts to find him flexing his fingers over the knob of his cane and looking anywhere but at her. “I see you’ve discovered that I’m the onlydoctoravailable until you reach London. No one in the profession wants to work in Whitechapel. Not when the pay is horrendous.”
“Ah. Yes. Well.” Once again, he cleared his throat. “I think I will take that tea now.”
“Just so you can watch it grow cold with a sneer on your face?”
He returned her grin with one of his own. “Yes. Exactly that.”
She released a dramatic sigh. “Decorum demands it, I suppose.”
The chuckle from his mouth caused her stomach to flutter unexpectedly, and she quickly smashed a brick over the rising emotion until it resembled a smooshed insect splattered over hot cobblestone. She refused to resemble one of those foolish, giggling girls swooning right and left over the man.
Without further ado, she prepared tea a second time for the detective. They took a seat across from each other in the drawing room with a small round table between them. This time as she placed the teacups on the table, she watched as he dropped in several cubes of sugar, stirred for a length of time, and took a sip before stirring in another cube.
It seemed the belovedly rude detective had a sweet tooth.
He rested an ankle on his opposite knee and leaned back in his chair, fixing her with another intense stare. “How much do you know about vampires, Miss Thompson?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Is this the part where I tell you to stop wasting my time and show you the door? I have work to do, Detective. I don’t have time to entertain fables.”
But as he continued to stare without a word, her smile fell, and discomfort twisted her belly until she thought she might retch. Had the words come from any other mouth, she might have laughed again. Unfortunately, this was Claude La Cour. Serious as could be.
“Vampires are fables,” she tried again. “Made-up creatures to scare children into behaving. Nothing more.”
With a shake of his head, he replied, “Vampires are very real. They are one of the creatures I hunt for a living. My department tries to cover up their existence to keep the masses from chaotic panic. I’m only telling you this now because of what you have witnessed as a…physician.” He nearly spit the word out as if it tasted like dirt.
Silence permeated the air like a suffocating whisper as she tried to figure out his sick little game. For what purpose was he trying to frighten her? “You are jesting.”
“Stand up, if you will. I’d like to explain.”
She paused as she cast him a distrustful stare. First, he had written her off entirely. And now he was spouting nonsense about vampires? Was the man a bit batty in the head?
