The Gilded Hour

? ? ?

ANNA FOUND PROFESSOR Svetlov sitting in the main lobby, his hat clamped between his hands, his head lowered. At the sound of her voice a tremor ran through him.

“Professor Svetlov,” Anna repeated. “May I speak with you? I’m Doctor Anna Savard.”

Anna dealt with grieving husbands and fathers, brothers and sons every day. She strove for calm compassion without emotional attachment, but it was a battle that would never be completely won.

When she had introduced herself again and expressed her condolences, she forced herself to look him directly in the eye and ask her question.

“Professor, do you have any idea who she went to for this procedure?”

He shook his head, a single sharp jerk.

“Any information would be useful for the detectives. You don’t know what part of the city she went to? How much money she paid? How she heard about his services?”

His voice came raw and rough. “I don’t know any of that. She went out in the morning. She came back early afternoon, and went straight to bed. She wouldn’t open the door to anybody. This morning when I finally got in to see her—” He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and shook his head. “Please, leave me in peace.”

? ? ?

JACK WAS WORKING the night shift, but there was no end of things to keep Anna busy. She could spend the evening reading journals or marking papers, and she owed Sophie a long letter. She go could visit with Aunt Quinlan and Margaret or spend some time with the little girls. What she couldn’t do was talk to anyone about Irina Svetlova.

Talking to the woman’s husband—trying to talk to him—had been a mistake, and she hadn’t even asked the most important question. It seemed unlikely that a wealthy Russian woman would ever have had occasion to frequent Smithson’s, located as it was in the shadows beneath the elevated train, but she would leave that determination to the honorable detective sergeants. They never presumed to perform surgery, and from now on she would leave the police work to them. Unless, of course, they specifically asked for her help.

With that self-admonishment clear in mind, she finished changing into casual clothes and went downstairs to find mail on the hall table. A letter from her cousin Blue, Aunt Quinlan’s oldest daughter who still lived in Paradise at Uphill House, where Anna had been born. Another from one of the Savard cousins in New Orleans. Sales offers from medical supply companies and publishers, a newsletter from the Women’s Medical Society. And one rough envelope with handwriting that was unfamiliar, rather old-fashioned and stiff.

For a moment she contemplated not opening it at all. If it was another of Comstock’s traps, it would ruin the rest of her evening. But she took it to a window to study it more closely and was able to make out the postmark, just barely. Mailed two days before in Rhode Island.

At the desk she slit the envelope open and found two close-written sheets.

Dear Dr. Savard,

I write to you because Det. Sarg. Maroney gave me your address and asked me to send word about how we are getting on.

Henry and Montgomery and me got here by steamer with no fuss at all, clear skies and calm seas, and found a Mr. Knowles who took us and our bags and boxes in his wagon to the house and wouldn’t take a nickel for his trouble. The boys (Hannes, Markus, Wiese, Günther, as we call them now, and they call us Oma and Opa) were just sitting down to supper made for them by Mrs. Barnes, whose husband sold us the house. There was such a great excitement in the kitchen, Henry with tears rolling down his stubbly cheeks for joy, and Montgomery leaping into the air like a rubber ball, and the boys all pressing together against us like they’d never let go.

They were terrible upset to hear about their mam, which is why I took so long to write this letter. It hit Hannes the hardest, but he is slowly coming back to himself. Today he took the baby on his lap and played with him and made him laugh. It does a body good to hear a baby laugh like that, from deep in the belly.

Last night Markus and Wiese both slept through the night for the first time since we brought the sad news with us from home.

Henry is enjoying the fine weather and the sea just as much as the boys do. You will recall that he is fond of fish, and he has already got into the habit of walking down to the bay when the fishermen come in to buy something for supper. He takes a dollar with him, and is pleased to bring back change.

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