“I do indeed. All right, I approve.”
That made Anna laugh. “Because his parents keep bees?”
“Because you do nothing by halves,” Amelie said. “And because it’s clear to me that he did indeed sneak up on you, which means you let your guard down, and that tells me everything. Hand me that tin, would you?”
She put things on the table: a teapot with a mismatched lid, thick cups on chipped saucers, a jug of milk and a bowl of brown sugar lumps. Then she levered the lid off the cake tin so that the smells of browned butter and cardamom could slip out, like a genie released from a bottle.
Amelie said, “Do you have a case for me?”
“No,” Anna said. “Not today. But I have cases I wanted to tell you about, to get your opinion on.” She went to the sink to wash her hands, then dried them on the towel Amelie handed her.
Amelie leaned back in her chair. “Start at the beginning,” she said. “And don’t leave anything out.”
? ? ?
WHEN ANNA HAD finished recounting all she knew about Janine Campbell, Abigail Liljestr?m, and Eula Schmitt, Amelie went about cutting cake. Anna let the silence stretch out, patient with Amelie because patience and patience alone would bring rewards.
“I read about the Campbell inquest in the paper,” Amelie said finally. “Tell me, why didn’t Sophie send the woman to me?”
“You know why,” Anna said. “We said we wouldn’t send anybody until Comstock stops this campaign of his. Mrs. Campbell’s husband actually works for Comstock. It was too dangerous, and in the end your safety was more important to us.”
“You thought Comstock would follow her here,” her cousin said.
“You know he does that kind of thing.”
She rocked her head from side to side, considering. “So you think that the Campbell woman went to somebody who advertised himself as a reputable doctor, but wasn’t. You know that happens every day.”
“It’s more than that,” Anna said. “Whoever did Janine Campbell’s procedure was angry. It was more like a stabbing than anything else. I didn’t see the postmortem, but I did read the Liljestr?m autopsy report, and the similarities are hard to deny. Then this third case, and more of the same.”
“What does your Jack think?”
Anna took a few moments to gather her thoughts. “He thinks there’s a man, maybe a doctor, maybe not, who has a compulsion to do this to women. Somebody very intelligent, who plans ahead.”
“Does Jack know about me?”
Anna had been waiting for this question, and she shook her head. “Not yet.”
“He’ll disapprove.”
“I think he’ll withhold judgment until he meets you, and then he’ll be satisfied.”
That got her a smile. “Now, that you’ll have to explain.”
“He’s unusual, Amelie. Because of his family background, he doesn’t jump to condemnation and he tries to see below the surface. It’s the reason we were drawn to each other, I think.”
“A perfect man.”
“Hardly,” Anna said, laughing. “And I still haven’t met all his family, so there may be trouble waiting there. In fact, I know there is.” This was not the time to talk about Bambina, though she would have liked to.
“If you want my opinion, Jack may well be right in his suspicions about the way these three women died,” Amelie said.
Anna had been expecting something less definitive. “Can you explain to me how you come to that conclusion?”
“It just feels off to me, based on forty years of looking after women.”
“Do you have any suggestions on where to start? Any names?”
Her cousin studied her teacup for a good while. “There was one doctor, thirty years ago or more. He wasn’t young then, so he’ll be long gone. But he was brutal with his patients, more bent on purifying their souls than saving their lives. I could imagine him letting a woman die. I think he probably did, and more than once. But that’s a far cry from these cases of yours. Something like this takes a special kind of monster.”
Anne retrieved the page of the newspaper she had brought with her from the city and, laying it in front of Amelie, pointed to the advertisement that had raised her suspicions.
To the refined, dignified but distraught lady departing Smithson’s near the Jefferson Market yesterday morning: I believe I can provide the assistance you require. Write for particulars to Dr. dePaul, Station A, Union Square.
When Amelie finished reading and looked up, Anna asked her question.
“Isn’t Smithson the druggist who takes messages for Sarah?”
“It is. Or it was. Sarah moved to Jersey to live with her son’s family.”
“She’s unwell?”
“She’s seventy-eight this past November.”
Anna gave her an apologetic half smile. “I didn’t realize. Did someone take over her practice?”
“I thought Nan did,” Amelie said. “You remember Nan Gray.”
“Vaguely. Is she one of yours?”