Page 10 of Taken By the Ripper
At least she had the decency to look horrified at the statement. “I-I-I didn’t know anyone would die.”
“No, you didn’t. Because you weren’t thinking about anyone but yourself.” She dropped her hands to her sides as she realized this retaliation was because of her suggestive position in the drawing room with the detective. “Is this behavior because of La Cour? All of this because of a man?”
“But it’s not fair!” she shouted. “I had him first.”
Mazie’s response alone was indication enough of her immaturity. But had Clara enabled her behavior? She, herself, had been forced to grow up quickly as a child, and her interest in her father’s profession had occupied her time with scalpels, medicine, and sick patients rather than men and courtship.
In a calm manner, she replied, “I provide for all three of us. My work allows us to keep the house rather than living on the edge of poverty like many others. All I ask of you is that you help weed the garden and pick up my deliveries. But if you’d like, I can relieve you of your duties.” She paused and lifted an eyebrow. “And you can find your own job to support yourself.”
Mazie had the audacity to stomp her foot. “That’s not fair!”
“Isn’t it? I am not your mother, Mazie. I am your sister. And we all need to pull our weight around here.”
Her sister threw up her arms and paced across the anteroom. “I wanted to get away from this place! Claude is from Paris. He could have taken me away from here. Given me a good life out of this hovel of a city. And you ruined it.”
“I did nothing of the sort.”
“Didn’t you?” Tears now streamed down Mazie’s face, the skin around her eyes bright red with errant emotion. “I’ve visited him several times. He even came to see me once. And the only thing he talks about? You. He asks questions aboutyou. About hiscase. He has no interest in me. In my life.”
“Then bat your eyelashes harder!”
Silence descended upon the estate like hungry wolves as Mazie’s eyes flashed with shock, hurt, and betrayal. PerhapsClara should have taken back her words, but anger and frustration continued to vex her until it became all-consuming.
If escaping Whitechapel was what her sister wanted, all it took was a few carefully placed words, a little flirting, and flaunting that natural beauty of hers. But she’d decided to acquire a difficult target—a man who was married to his job. It was not Clara’s fault that all her flirting and batting eyelashes had failed.
Mazie spun on her heel, rushed up the staircase in a flurry of skirts and hair falling out of its pins, and moments later, her bedroom door slammed and echoed throughout the house.
Norma peeked over the railing, the guilt in her expression giving away the fact that she’d overheard the entire conversation. She wouldn’t be surprised if the patients had overheard the shouting as well.
“What will you do?” her little sister squeaked. “That baby will follow soon without that medicine.”
“Likely before sunrise,” she murmured in agreement.
The window drew her attention. More specifically, to the dark blue, yellow, and pink of dusk waiting just behind. If she hurried, she might be able to reach the post office before sundown. But unfortunately, it would leave her vulnerable to travel the night alone on the way back.
With a murderer on the loose.
More specifically, a murderer of women who walked the streets alone. She was a prime target for Jack the Ripper.
But she had no choice.
And she had no time to spare.
She rushed upstairs to her room, changed into men’s trousers and shirt, and tucked all her long, copper hair into a cap. Although she still looked far more feminine than a boy, she hoped the clothing was enough to deter any unwanted attention.
Without giving fear time to incubate, she stepped out of her home…
…and braved the darkness.
C
lara reached the post office when the lamplighter lit the first lamppost for the evening. The flicker of flame encouraged dread rather than safety as she watched the last of the sunset descend upon the horizon, leaving room for a dark chill to grab a hold of her chest and squeeze.
“Everything is fine,” she murmured to herself as her soft footsteps echoed against either side of the alleyway leading to the back of the post office. The Ripper seemed to murder a new victim a week to a month after the last. The previous victim had been killed only a few days ago. Nothing would happen to Clara. Nothing at all.
Still, she glanced over her shoulder to find the alley empty and the streets quiet. Uneasiness climbed her trousers and settled in her heart from the silence. Whitechapel was never this quiet.
But…
