Free Ripper by Amy Carol Reeves Page B

had short brown hair, and seemed much friendlier. He stepped forward to shake my hand and we exchanged pleasantries. The scholar , I remembered William saying as he introduced himself to me.
    â€œDo you teach at Oxford occasionally?” I asked.
    â€œYes.” He chuckled lightly. “But not medicine. My mind is not inclined anywhere in that direction of study. I lecture for the history and philosophy departments at Kings College. Robert here,” he said, patting the man next to him, who I assumed was Dr. Buck, on the back, “is our scientist—both botanist and zoologist, specifically. You can find him lurking around the laboratory upstairs at Whitechapel Hospital, though he has his own laboratory here that he shares with Julian.”
    Dr. Buck, tall and spectacled, seemed almost as formidable as Reverend Perkins. He stepped forward, giving me by far the firmest handshake of the group.
    After meeting them, I wondered when the younger man would arise to greet me, but when I looked toward the ottoman again, he was gone. Discretely, I glanced across the room to where the small group of guests sat.
    He was not there, either.
    Dr. Brown placed a drink in my hand.
    â€œIs Scotch all right?”
    â€œPerfect, thank you.”
    I had never had a Scotch. I rarely drank anything stronger than wine, but having noticed that most of the others drank hard liquor, I did not want to seem weak.
    For the first time, I noticed that Dr. Bartlett and his housemates had no servants. They served the drinks, closed the drapes as the evening progressed, and turned the lamps on and off.

    Two hours passed; my head began to swirl after I unwisely drank a second Scotch. I became hesitant to talk too much for fear that anything I said at that moment might sound foolish. Then, perhaps because of the alcohol, I felt a wave of nausea.
    â€œAre you quite all right?” Simon whispered from where he sat beside me.
    â€œYes, quite. I’m just going to find the water closet.”
    â€œIt’s upstairs. Do you need me to … ”
    â€œNo, no. I can find it myself.”
    I focused on walking steadily as I crossed the drawing room. I paused at the jellyfish aquarium when another small wave of nausea swept over me. Stepping closer to the glass, I waited for the bout to pass. The talk and laughter from the other part of the room funneled away, and I became completely absorbed in the swimming creatures. I had only seen sketches of jellyfish in books, and they had seemed much larger than these. Also, no sketch could ever do justice to their gossamer loveliness.
    â€œLovely, aren’t they? But deadly. This type will kill within minutes, often within three minutes.”
    Blood roared in my ears and I felt a scalding flush spread across my cheeks. The man I had encountered at the hospital now stood quite close beside me, staring into the glass and smoking a cigar. I had not heard him approach; neither had I smelled the sweet cigar smoke, which in my less-than-sober state dizzied me a bit.
    He glanced down at me. In the light from the aquarium, he was darkly handsome, and his eyes arrested me. He averted his face, blew the smoke away, and refocused again on the aquarium.
    â€œDr. Buck discovered them in the waters around Indonesia last year. They are, as yet, unclassified as a species.”
    He looked back down at me. My spine prickled and I straightened, not wanting to succumb to his spell.
    â€œI remember you from the hospital, but I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Abbie Sharp.” I put my hand out.
    He hesitated for a moment, looked down at my extended hand, something of amusement upon his face. His expression seemed uncomfortably intimate, as if a handshake between us was foolishness.
    But after a second, he took my hand and squeezed it firmly. “Max Bartlett, Julian’s nephew.”
    â€œAre you a physician?’
    He chuckled and did not answer. He stared listlessly at the jellyfish,