The Ripper's Wife

Chapter Four

Diana winced as her eyes flickered open. Harsh midday sun blinded her momentarily, so different than the dark, foggy night that she'd been in previously. She was elevated, on some sort of table that had been cushioned with pillows and blankets, her head supported comfortably in her sleep.

She was still on the street where Mirabelle's carriage wheel had broken. In fact, the carriage itself was there on the side of the street, the wheel still lying in splintered pieces. Black-coated officers strode around the length of the street, tightening ropes that had been tied down the width of the street to keep the growing, curious crowds away.

Cringing slightly, Diana's fingertips went to the back of her head, where they brushed the abnormally rough surface of dried blood on her hair. The tender spot pounded terribly. As she analyzed her wound, the full memory of last night came back to her, and she shuddered violently.

"Oh, you're awake!" a voice exclaimed from behind her, and she shifted against the pillows to see Mirabelle walking towards her. "I was so worried about you," her friend said, standing by Diana's makeshift bed. "Are you in pain?"

Diana nodded. "A goddamn lot of it too." she added bluntly, pressing the heel of her hand into her aching temple. She looked over at Mirabelle, whose blonde curls were disheveled and messy, her pretty gown dirty and hanging awkwardly on her frame now that the fabric starch had worn off. "You look terrible."

Mirabelle laughed, looking down at her dirty hands. "You should see yourself." she shot back humorously.

Diana smiled. "How bad is it?"

"You sort of look like Death himself at the moment."

"Lovely." Diana said sarcastically, her hands exploring the tender planes of her face. Her lip was definitely swollen, and the dried tightness on the side of her face led her to believe that her brow had been split open in the chaos.

"Here's some ice." Mirabelle offered, handing her a soaking wet rag filled with melting ice cubes that had been laid by her bed.

Diana took it gratefully, wincing as the cold came in contact with her bruised and bloody skin. A sigh of relief escaped from between her lips as the pain began to fade.

"They thought you might have had a concussion and didn't want to move you. But the doctor checked your pupils while you were unconscious and said he thought you were just fine." Mirabelle waved the matter off. "I don't know, I'm no doctor. But I'll suppose he'll take another look at you soon."

Diana nodded grimly. "What happened?" she asked after a silent moment.

Mirabelle chewed on the skin of her thumb, her blue eyes flickering between Diana's and the ground. "He got away." She took a deep breath to steady herself. "Carson shot at him a few times, but nothing hit. I think it was just too dark. When...everything was over, he ran the other way down the street and disappeared into the night. Emma and I didn't manage to get a good look at him. The police came quickly after that."" Mirabelle bit her lip, the expression on her face making it clear that she was reliving the terrifying memory. "He was dressed in all black, like some kind of demon."

"Oh God, Emma!" Diana exclaimed, sitting upright. "I almost forgot about her. Is she okay? Lucian's going to hate me."

"Don't worry, Emma is fine, they gave her some tea and she's sleeping now. Still has that damn dress box clutched in her little hands I believe. Lucian's on his way. The Detective Inspector sent a local boy to Brynbella Manor to let him know what happened."

"The body?" Diana asked stiffly.

"They covered it with a sheet so no one could see how bad it was." Mirabelle's lip curled in disgust as she spoke. "They didn't want any women fainting, presumably. They wanted to interview me as a witness, but I left the yard before anything happened. They'll want you to do it."