Ripper. Part 8

He remained quiet.

"You don't have to protect me from this information. I am working here. I need to know. Why was she discharged then?"

Simon remained collected. "As you know, I was not here Friday night. Neither was Josephine, nor most of the other physicians. Nurse Nancy, perhaps unwisely, allowed Miss Chapman to leave when she became argumentative. Like many others here, Miss Chapman was a severe alcoholic, and she probably left to find drink. The hour was late, but Inspector Abberline has maintained increasingly vigilant patrols in the area due to the extraordinary brutality of Polly Nichols's murder. No one expected it to happen again."

"Josephine said she was eviscerated. It's probably the same killer," I said, almost to myself.

And I've seen him.

I wanted to tell Simon, anyone, about the visions. But I feared his reaction.

"So what are we going to do about nightly discharges?" I asked quickly.

"Unfortunately, patients are legally free to leave anytime they wish. But we're still going to have to be more careful. Abberline has promised even more patrolling in this area."

I began to wonder if the killer was specifically targeting Whitechapel Hospital patients, but there had only been two murders; it seemed futile to speculate too much at this point. The day had just begun, and I had too many tasks awaiting me.

When we returned to the main part of the second floor ward, I found that one of my first challenges was just learning patients' names. Many did not go by the official name they were admitted under. Nicknames abounded. Liz Stride was "Long Liz." Maudie Brooks was known as "Mad Mother Maudie." "Sister Dotty," whose actual name was Dorothea Brighton, was a prost.i.tute, not a nun. But she had earned her t.i.tle among the patients due to her fondness for loosely quoting from the Bible whenever convenient. When I brought her water that morning, she said, "She who gives the wh.o.r.e some water will receive her reward in heaven."

Sister Dotty's bed was at the far end of the second floor ward. Like Long Liz, who according to Simon suffered from syphilis, Sister Dotty also was afflicted by the disease. But Dotty was also in the final stages of liver failure. Simon later told me that she would likely die within a month.

After giving her the water, I began stripping the two empty beds next to her. They were the last beds at the end of the room, immediately beside Dotty's bed.

"You know that was her bed. She was next to me, she was." Sister Dotty grabbed my hand and nodded toward the bed closest to her.

"Who?"

"You know, Annie Chapman, the latest one the killer caught."

Although I had not met either of the victims, Chapman's empty bed caused a small knot to form in my stomach. I wondered if she had a family, and if they knew about her death yet.

"I'll be back in two hours with your medicine," I said.

I bundled up the dirty sheets and turned to leave.

"Don't you want to ask me about the other bed?"

I stopped.

"On the other side of Annie, that bed belonged to Polly. He's goin' down the row, he is."

"Dotty ... "

"Don't hush me. He's after us."

She let go of my hand and settled back on her pillow. She stared ahead, up to the ceiling.

"Don't matter much if he gets me." She closed her eyes. "I'm not leaving 'ere alive. Whether he gets me or the disease gets me. As the Bible states, 'There is a time to die.' "

"Miss Sharp, Miss Abbie Sharp!" someone shouted.

I looked up, recognizing instantly the girl I had given money to outside the grocer's. She was calling out to me from the entrance of the second floor ward. Simon stood beside her, slight amus.e.m.e.nt on his face. Clutching the bundle of dirty bedsheets to myself, I hurried away from Dotty's bed to meet them.

"Miss Mary Kelly here says she has repayment for you." Simon's mouth twitched.

"I'm sorry, I saw you go into the hospital earlier," Mary said, slightly out of breath as if she had been running. "I went through the first floor looking for you. A nurse-large, big-boned lady, dressed like you but she had a cross around her neck ... " Mary had to pause to take a few breaths. "She confronted me and said the prost.i.tutes were on the second floor."

Sister Josephine. I suppressed a laugh. Simon's lovely long mouth broke out into a smile.

Mary's nose wrinkled in irritation. "Prost.i.tute! I couldn't believe it. Anyway, I told the lady that I had borrowed money from a young woman who I had seen walk in here, and that I had to find her. She told me to get out. I started to run up the stairs, seeing that you weren't on the first floor and this kind gentleman here ... Doctor ... ?"

"Simon."

"Simon." She turned back to me. "He listened to me when I described you and said he thought Abbie Sharp might be the one who I was looking for. So-" She held out her hand with a few coins. "Here is your money back."

Then, proudly, "I told you I would repay you."

"Thank you." I could tell by her expression that refusing the money would do no good.

With a hurried stride, Dr. Bartlett and Dr. Buck entered the second floor ward. Dr. Bartlett possessed his usual poise, but his expression seemed troubled. I noticed Abberline's hulking form shadowing the doorway.

Dr. Bartlett spoke to me quietly. "I am afraid, Abbie, that I am going to have to take Dr. St. John away from you. I have no concerns; you will be quite capable here on your own for the time being. If you need any help, Sister Josephine is downstairs, and Dr. Siddal should arrive at any time."

I felt Abberline's unnerving gaze upon me and tried to suppress my unrest.

"Simon," Dr. Bartlett continued, "I would like you to accompany Dr. Buck and myself to St. George's Mortuary. The district surgeon has some ideas, and I would very much like to hear your opinion."

"Most certainly. If Abbie feels comfortable by herself here?"

"Quite. I'll summon Josephine for a.s.sistance if I must."

Mary stood by us, wide-eyed, taking in the whole conversation with curiosity. I wondered if she knew about the murders.

As Dr. Bartlett, Dr. Buck, and Simon left the ward, I stared around at the many patients.

"Do you have a job?" I asked Mary.

"No."

"Do you want one?"

"Yes ... very much."

I was certain that I was breaking the rules, but it was an unusual day. And I knew that Dr. Bartlett would pay her for her work.

I extracted an ap.r.o.n from a nearby supply closet and thrust it into her arms.

"You're employed."

Mary provided invaluable help on the second floor. She proved to be both efficient and stern with the patients. When Sue refused to take her medicine, Mary raised her voice to such a shrill pitch that I heard her from the other side of the ward. "Fine. Then I won't empty your chamber pot. Sit in your p.i.s.s all day. See if I care."

Sue promptly relented and drank the medicine.

I felt curious about Mary's story. She appeared desperate for money, but I did not think she was a prost.i.tute-she had taken such genuine offense at Josephine's words. Yet I heard her gossiping a bit with the patient Cate Eddows, and she seemed somewhat familiar with East End life.

We conversed briefly while stacking some folded sheets in the closet.

"How long have you been here?" I asked. "Your accent's Irish."

"Is that a problem?" Mary's expression hardened.

"It was just a question. I lived in Dublin for seven years."

She sniffed. "Two months. I've been here two months."

"Me too, actually."

I saw her glance at me sideways and relax her expression a bit.

"Your friend the other day-the one who found the job," I continued. "Did he come over with you?"

"Aye, my friend Scribby and his sister Liliana both came with me. There wasn't much for us in our village in Ireland; we thought we needed a change of scenery. London seemed exciting. Liliana found a job right away working at the Ten Bells pub on Commercial Street. Scribby and I have had a bit of a harder time. But now that we're both employed, we might be able to make a go of it here. Liliana lives with me, and she has barely been able to make our rent."

"Where do you live?"

"Miller's Court." She shot me another look and I said nothing. Several of our patients lived in that area near Dorset Street-a particularly dodgy district. If Mary had trouble paying rent in that area, she must be hurting for money. I decided to speak to Dr. Bartlett about making her position permanent.

I worked nonstop alongside Mary until early afternoon, when things slowed a bit and I checked the supply closet. We were completely out of one of our most necessary antiseptics: carbolic acid. Simon had told me earlier that the largest supply closet in the hospital-

actually, more of a small room that also served as the hospital's pharmacy-was on the fourth floor, attached to the laboratory.

The fourth floor seemed quiet except for some whispers coming from an office on the right side of the hall, not far from the stair landing. I saw the large open doors to the laboratory at the end of the hall, near Dr. Bartlett's office.

As I started toward them, the voices from the open office seemed harsh and excited, as if the speakers were arguing. I realized that part of the reason I could not understand the conversation was because it was not spoken in English. I paused, listening.

German. My knowledge of German was extremely poor.

One voice belonged to Dr. Buck. He must have returned already from the mortuary.

I could not recognize the other voice.

Suddenly, the voices broke off. I froze. They must have heard my footsteps.

Max Bartlett suddenly stepped out of the office, an annoyed expression on his face. Then he saw me, standing only a few feet away, and the look immediately dissolved. He smiled.

He shouted something in German back to Dr. Buck before descending the stairs.

As I walked past the office doorway, I saw Dr. Buck sitting behind a desk, bent over several books laid out in front of him. "h.e.l.lo, Miss Sharp."

He awkwardly adjusted his spectacles and seemed uncomfortable. A great taxidermied horned owl, perched on a nest on the short bookshelf behind him, caught my eye.

"I hope that your work on the second floor is going well, Miss Sharp."

"Yes, quite. I have help now."

"Excellent. Let me know if I can do anything."

"Thank you."

As I proceeded toward the laboratory, I wondered about what I had overheard. Neither Dr. Buck nor Max had any hint of a German accent. Why were they speaking in a foreign language?

The laboratory was larger and more interesting than I had imagined. Shelves lined with gla.s.s tubes, bottles of colorful fluids, and odd-looking instruments covered every inch of the walls. I saw dozens of labeled gla.s.s jars containing what looked like organs-though from humans or animals, I could not determine. One long shelf displayed jars of various fish specimens, such as shark and stingray fetuses, each organism suspended in blue liquid. Formaldehyde. The odor permeated the room.

My eyes stopped at a giant, slablike table, on which a woman's naked white corpse lay. Her hair was shaved off and her chest cavity opened. A stack of notes and a journal lay on the counter behind the table.

I felt my body stiffen as an image of another corpse flashed through my mind. The vision lasted only a few seconds-I saw a woman's naked, pale corpse floating in a large metal tub. The water surrounding her rippled red. Crude dark st.i.tches stretched across her lower belly, along various places on her chest, and across her throat, and her graying brown hair billowed out like gritty tentacles from her face. Blurred figures shuffled around the body.

The vision faded as I clutched the slab table and refocused on the corpse before me. I knew intuitively that in the vision, I was seeing one of the victims. Perhaps Annie Chapman, moments after her autopsy.

Still shaking, not having had time to process too much of what I had seen, I heard water running loudly from a side room.

William stepped out. He seemed surprised to see me. "If it were any woman up here other than Abbie Sharp, I'd be worried about her fainting," he said.

"As a woman, I take issue with that compliment," I replied lightly, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to stop trembling.

William returned to examining the chest cavity, alternating between looking at the open chest, checking his lightly bloodstained notes, and scribbling more notes into the journal.

Something in the corpse's left lung area interested William. He peered closer. "Interesting. This is what killed her. She has a blackening tumor in the lung. Small but quite malignant."

He wrote some notes.

"Who is she?"

William shrugged. "A corpse, donated to science. Family gave her to the medical school, so now she's part of my own anatomy studies."

He moved across the table to where I stood. "Excuse me. I need to have a look at the right lung."

He bent over the corpse. I tried to ignore the cracking sound as he began breaking each rib with his hands. William turned around once again, his mouth twisted