Ripper by Amy Carol Reeves Page A

corpse’s lung. “You might have ceased your anatomical studies with Miss Sharp up here. Have a little decency.”
    Crack!
    Without breaking his gaze from Simon’s, William flashed a large smile as he cracked the last rib of the corpse.
    I suppressed a laugh with such difficulty, my chest ached.
    Simon merely turned to me. “Abbie, would you mind coming with me? We have a delivery downstairs.”

    After bringing the infant that Simon had delivered into the nursery, I stopped to check on Lizzie. Her crib lay in a stream of sunlight, and she was kicking her feet weakly.
    â€œHow is she doing?” I asked Josephine.
    She came to stand beside me in the front of the crib. “She is not feeding well. Rose Elliot’s milk has dried up. Also, particularly at night, we are short-staffed and cannot give her all the special care that she needs.”
    My heart sank.
    Then a reckless plan entered my mind.

Ten
    T h at night, after Richard, Ellen, and Grandmother had gone to bed, I slipped out of the house. Near the Thames, I hopped onto the back of a carriage heading east and reached the hospital before too very long. Although I saw constables patrolling sporadically along Whitechapel Road and Commercial Street, no one questioned me about being out at night. I cynically observed that Scotland Yard seemed more interested in catching the murderer than in making sure women were safe from him.
    When I entered the hospital, patients slept soundly, and I did not run into a single nurse. Some light streamed down the stairs. Perhaps the few night nurses were busy up there. Either way, I made my way to the nursery, took a bottle, and fed Lizzie until about four o’clock in the morning, when I made my way home.

    The next morning, I could barely keep my head up at breakfast. I needed to find more time to sleep. Perhaps, after these nights that I worked at the hospital, I could leave a little earlier in the afternoons. Dr. Bartlett’s carriage would soon arrive for me and I felt as if I had already worked a full day.
    â€œArabella? Are you unwell? Did you hear me?”
    I was so tired, I think I might have fallen asleep briefly at the breakfast table.
    â€œI asked you how you have liked your work at the hospital.” Grandmother’s thin lips pursed. After a quick look at my face, she put her morning spectacles on and resumed reading her morning mail.
    â€œYou look awful, Arabella,” she added. “Absolutely awful. I only required that you work at the hospital for one week.”
    â€œI’m going to continue.”
    The eagle-eyed gaze and pursed lips again. “Very well. I’ll have my carriage bring you home at one o’clock today.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œMy official answer is that we are invited to tea at Lady Violet’s house.”
    â€œAnd the unofficial answer?”
    A great pause, as Grandmother put down her mail and took off her spectacles. She glanced toward the doorway and lowered her voice.
    â€œLady Violet’s ward, Mariah, has been quite restless as her wedding approaches. When Mariah is restless, she … misbehaves.”
    I raised my eyebrows.
    â€œDon’t let your imagination run too wild, Arabella. Violet is just concerned. That is all.”
    I assured her I would be ready for the carriage by one o’clock, and that yes, I would have plenty of time to wash before we left for Violet’s house. This would be easy, as Violet lived even closer to us than Catherine did—on our street, in fact.
    As I resumed eating my scrambled eggs, I privately wondered if Violet suspected anything about Mariah’s planned elopement. Although Mariah had confided in me, the whole affair was none of my business. I had no plans to interfere—either to expose Mariah or to cover for her, should she choose to involve me.

    Our time at Lady Violet’s proved to be more interesting than I had thought it would be. Instead of taking tea inside,