Page 5 of Taken by the Ripper (Time for Monsters #9)
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 feeling of 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?”
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 about you . About his case . 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. Perhaps Clara 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.