Read Online Ripper by Amy Carol Reeves - Free Book Online Page A

suppressing the lump of grief that began to swell in my throat. I knew very little about Mother’s life in London before she eloped and gave birth to me. Even Grandmother rarely talked about her.
    â€œHow well did you know my family?”
    Dr. Bartlett did not take his eyes off his work as he spoke. “Decently well. Your grandmother for years has donated generously to various charities. In fact, she was one of our main financial supporters when I began this hospital.”
    I sniffed in spite of myself. Giving to charities, for Grandmother, was quite “vogue.”
    He had finished the stitches and, after laying aside the needle and thread, he began wiping blood away from the wound.
    â€œI dined with her and with Caroline a few times. Caroline, as part of her artistic pursuits, attended a few of my surgeries in the operating theatre at Oxford.”
    â€œOperating theatre?” I asked.
    â€œEssentially a place exactly like this surgery room, except that the surgery is conducted on a sort of stage surrounded by an auditorium where medical students and physicians might observe the surgery. Once in a while, artists attended my lectures—to learn more about the anatomy and structure of the body as they painted. Your mother was one of those artists.”
    He turned to wash his hands in a nearby basin.
    â€œLady Westfield and I have corresponded through the years, but unfortunately I lost touch with Caroline once she moved away from London.”
    The air became heavy with the unspoken. I felt sure Dr. Bartlett was aware that the reason I had returned to London was Mother’s death.
    Gracefully, he changed the subject.
    â€œAbbie, on Friday evening, would you join me and some of the other physicians at my home? We meet frequently for socializing purposes, though we also review scholarly topics and medical ethics issues together. I value their input as I develop this hospital, and I would very much like you to be included in these meetings.”
    â€œI would love to attend!”
    â€œWonderful.” He moved to leave the room. “I cannot accompany you, but I will send my carriage. About seven o’clock?”
    â€œYes, that will work well.”
    As I left the operating room to assist William in the second floor ward, I felt a flurry of excitement. Through allowing me to attend the surgery and now in this invitation to his house, Dr. Bartlett was treating me with the same respect he gave the younger physicians who worked with him. I had not said anything to him about possibly pursuing a career as a physician, but I felt encouraged, now, that he would not make any issue of my gender. I made a mental note to ask him about medical school.
    I had not seen William since Monday when he escorted me back to Kensington; however, the second floor ward was so busy that I scarcely had a chance to talk to him. Almost every bed along the wall was filled. For three hours, I did nothing but change sheets and chamber pots, and help some of the nurses give medicine doses to patients.
    Shortly before it was time for me to leave, I found myself in a side room of the second floor, a sort of laundry room, folding towels and bedsheets. My feet and back ached and I wanted nothing more than to sleep.
    â€œI see you survived Lady Westfield’s wrath the other evening.”
    William stood in the doorway. His stance was awkward, unusual for him.
    â€œYes, I’m still here.”
    I felt myself flush against my will. The story of William’s bohemian upbringing had intrigued me, and I wanted to know more of him. Also, as always, his presence could be so disorienting. I felt my heart thud repeatedly inside my chest.
    There was a strange pause in the air. I steadied my breathing and placed another folded towel in a basket.
    â€œI heard that Dr. Bartlett invited you to his house.”
    â€œYes. Are you going to be there?”
    â€œNo. Christina will be volunteering at New