CHAPTER 1
Dr. Julia Lewis eyed the morning’s post and a stack of earlier unanswered letters.
Her recent wrestling match with a killer and plunge into Regent’s Canal had kept the postman busy. Most of her friends and acquaintances—and a surprising number of strangers—had written to wish her well.
Over the past few days, letters of a different sort had arrived at her grandfather’s Finsbury Circus town house. A small item in the Sunday Telegraph had mentioned Julia’s addition to the list of Scotland Yard’s medical examiners, the first woman to be named.
One writer asked, “Have you learned nothing from your ordeal? Women belong in the domestic sphere as God intended. Remember, only the quick work of the men of Scotland Yard saved you from drowning.”
Julia tossed the letter aside. As if I need reminding. On that fog-shrouded day, the killer meant for her to die. Instead, she’d been granted a second chance.
Julia abandoned her pen and pushed back the chestnut strands that had fallen from her hairpins. Her fingertips brushed the bandage on her neck. Had the knife slashed an inch to the left, her story would have had a different ending. She’d been lucky.
Restless, Julia drifted around the drawing room, taking in the blue-and-white tiles surrounding the fireplace and the light spilling between starched, white curtains.
But domesticity wasn’t the life she’d chosen, and two weeks of empty mornings and afternoon naps had bored her silly.
It was past time she returned to her medical clinic in Whitechapel.
If some think that’s unnatural, to hell with them.
Julia looked up with curiosity and relief at a knock. Muffled voices and footsteps followed.
Mrs. Ogilvie opened the door. “Inspector Tennant is here to see you, Doctor Julie.”
The housekeeper stood back, and the tall, dark-haired detective with the erect bearing of a former army officer entered the room.
“Richard,” Julia said, smiling. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Not yet noon. It’s much too early for a social call.” Her eyes dropped. “And you’ve held on to your hat. Does Scotland Yard beckon so soon?”
“Quite right. I see you haven’t lost a step.”
“This is a pleasure.”
“I hope you’ll still think so after we talk.”
“Hmm . . . sounds ominous.” Julia patted the armrest of a chair by the fireplace and sat in its twin.
Tennant settled in and fixed her with his grave and steady gaze. “How are you?”
“Recovered.” She touched the bandage.
“Do you feel ready to—”
“More than ready.”
“I wonder if your grandfather agrees.”
“My only ailment is acute boredom.” Julia waved around the room. “All this quiet is driving me batty.”
“Let me see . . . two weeks caged in the house. I imagine Mrs. Ogilvie and the rest of the staff share the feeling.”
“Itching for Monday when they’ll finally see the back of me.”
“Who’s been in charge in Whitechapel?”
“Nurse Clemmie. But on paper, Gregory Barnes, a young doctor from the London Hospital. He’s filling in at the clinic, thanks to Uncle Max.”
“Doctor Maximilian Franklin to the rescue.”
Julia smiled. “Useful when the hospital’s chairman is your godfather. Doctor Barnes will stay on at the clinic, working two nights a week and every other Saturday.”
“Something of a breather for you. Much earned, I’ll add.”
“Thank you.” She sat back and looked at him over tented fingers. “Now tell me. What do you want me to do that I won’t like?”
“I sought you out because . . . well, to be frank, the services of a female doctor would be useful.”
“Sounds promising so far.”
“Last night, a constable took a young woman into custody near St. James’s Park. He spotted her walking alone on Birdcage Walk and talking to a pair of privates from the Wellington Barracks. So, she was—”
“Let me guess. The copper arrested her under the Contagious Diseases Acts.”
“Correct.”
“And you want me to perform a forced medical examination on her?”
“An examination required by law.”
“Because the law presumes any unaccompanied female walking near an army barracks is a prostitute, most likely a diseased one.”
Julia stood abruptly, her chair legs scraping the parquet floor.
She crossed to the window and pushed the curtain aside.
A wrought-iron fence edged her front garden, enclosing it from the foot traffic beyond.
Sunlight caught the gilded pickets, a golden barricade pointing skyward. Anger radiated like a burn.
“Would any constable question my right to walk Finsbury Circus at dusk?”
Tennant stood. “Of course not, but—”
Julia dropped the curtain and turned. “But working women hurrying home in the evening? That’s another story.”
“Julia, don’t pretend you don’t understand the problem. Venereal illnesses are epidemic in the army. Parliament has raised questions about the readiness of our forces.”
“And passes laws that omit the forced examination of males.”
Tennant sighed. “Must we make this another argument about the many ways the world treats men and women unequally?”
“When Scotland Yard hires its first female copper, and they arrest the male partners of the women they exploit, then I’ll stop arguing with you.”
“Doctor Lewis, a job needs to be done. Will you do it?”
“I . . . I don’t think I can be a party to it.”
“For God’s sake, Julia.”
She threw out a hand. “I’m not the only one who thinks forced examinations are medical rape. I signed a petition to repeal the wretched acts. How can I—”
“You can stand on a soapbox on Hyde Park Corner, picket Parliament, or write to the queen, for all I care.”
“But—”
“If you don’t examine this young woman, the divisional inspector will call in a doctor who will. He may be less considerate of the girl’s feelings than you. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not.” Julia dropped onto her desk chair. She plucked a pencil from the desktop and tapped it distractedly on the blotter.
“The girl had a crown and six shillings in her pocket. It’s quite a sum for a hatmaker from Aldgate. She claims she works part-time as an artist’s model and was heading home to her bed.” Tennant shrugged. “She may be lying, but I’m inclined to believe her.”
Julia looked up. “Why did they call you? Prostitution is too commonplace a crime to involve the Detective Department.”
“I was at the station house on another matter. When I suggested a female doctor, the divisional inspector’s first response was . . . let’s say he wasn’t keen.”
“You surprise me.”
“If you want to know, he questioned your credentials. And he’s impatient to get the girl out of his station house. So, the longer we argue—”
“I’ll do it, Richard.” Julia stood. “Of course I will. The poor girl . . . where is she?”
“King Street police station.”
“Julia half smiled. “Shall I bring my medical registry certificate to convince this inspector person?”
“Division Inspector Evans, and documents won’t be necessary.”
“I’ll get my bag. My Aunt Caroline expects me for tea, so I’ll take a cab from King Street to Sussex Terrace when we’re finished.”
Tennant smiled faintly. “We won’t keep Lady Aldridge waiting. I wouldn’t dare.” He put his hand out and stopped Julia before she went through the door. “She’s young, and she looked frightened. Her name is Annie O’Neill.”
* * *
Mary Allingham was late. Her bonnet’s sapphire ribbons streamed behind her as she flew along the paths by the boating lake of Regent’s Park. She was tall, fair, light on her feet, and waved to the Regent’s Park groundskeeper who’d doffed his cap. Mary felt as sunny as the cloudless afternoon.
And why not? Mary knew she was singularly blessed.
Although she’d lost her parents while still in the cradle, she’d come of age with a generous income and an older brother too amiable and indolent to check her independence.
At twenty-three, she was clever enough to understand her good fortune and sensible enough not to let it go to her head.
Men lost theirs in her company, something she’d understood since she was fifteen.
But to Mary, her golden good looks were like her money, invested in the funds at five percent: not an object of pride or vanity but an asset she’d be a fool to deny.
The groundskeeper returned to his work. Mary watched him lift and drop his iron mallet with a resounding crack.
Birds flocked to the water he’d freed from the ice.
She stopped at the end of a path, shielding her eyes from the low January sun, tracking a swan’s graceful flight and landing.
Each beating wing rose to form a perfect V, the bird gliding until its webbed feet skimmed the ice, sliding to a stop.
Fifty yards from shore, about twenty stick-wielding men chased and passed a slippery disk.
One hockey player followed the puck to the pond’s edge, digging in his blades to stop, nearly colliding with the mallet-wielding groundskeeper.
When the skater stepped back to push off, his boot broke through.
He pulled out his foot, shook off the water, and skated away.
Mary caught the parkkeeper’s eye and smiled.
He gave her a salute and resumed breaking the ice at the lake’s edge.
Mary picked up her pace and spotted her sister-in-law standing by a bench along the south shore.
She was easy to find. Louisa was as tall as Mary but more amply shaped and held herself like a queen.
Her abundant auburn hair spread like wings under her cobalt hat, gathering at the back in a braided chignon at the nape of her neck.
When she turned her head to peer down the pathway, her hair caught fire in the slanting sunlight.
Mary smiled at Louisa’s indifference to the admiring glance of a passing gentleman.
“Here I am,” Mary called, coming from the opposite direction.
“You’re late, my dear,” Louisa said, sounding worried.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry.”