Epilogue

A month passed, as James healed from his injuries. The newspapers had moved on to more recent, if not as lurid, topics of interest after Jack the Ripper once again went silent.

“I think the last of the injuries have finally healed.” Anne commented, looking over James carefully one last time. “Okay, put your shirt on.”

“Thank you.” James muttered. The cobbler shop he called his home had many things to recommend for his purposes. Plenty of space on the ground floor for a workshop, laboratory, and now Anne’s apothecary tools. Above, there was more than enough room for a bachelor, or a young and childless couple he mused, to live. The one thing it did not have was good insulation from the cold and the November air was penetrating deeply.

“I’m still amazed you didn’t get an infection during that fight. The injuries you sustained, in that environment… it should have been guaranteed.”

“I’ve always been a healthy one.” James observed with a smile.

Anne, blushing, shook her head. “I can stop sharing dreams with you, if you’re going to be such an improper flirt!”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“You wouldn’t dare.” James teased. He grew more serious. “I spoke to Emily’s father while you were reading, earlier.”

“How’s she doing?” She asked. While James had avoided any infections, the young red head had not been so lucky. Only days after the attack upon her, she had come down with a fever that had nearly killed her. Anne, with James’s help, had managed to get a mixture of her mother’s to her several times over the following week and, albeit barely, the girl had survived. She’d still been bedridden from the experience, trapped in a hospice paid for by James.

“He said she’ll be coming home soon. She’s finally getting her strength back.” He said with a smile.

Anne let loose a sigh of relief. “I’m glad! It’s been too quiet without her blowing things up next door.”

“Strange how such things become fond memories, isn’t it.”

James whipped around in surprise when the door to his shop burst open. Elbert stood there, hat in hand with an expression that was a mix of anger and sadness. He was wearing his spirit monocle which somewhat surprised James. Elbert had, it turned out, taken great delight in tormenting Anne by simply not seeing her. Often times James wondered if they were truly mere cousins, or siblings.

“What’s wrong?” Anne asked, easily noticing his stiff posture. “Come in out of the cold and tell me what’s the matter!”

Elbert nodded and did as he was bid. With a sigh, after fiddling with the door for far longer than closing it required, he turned and looked up at Anne. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but…”

“Spit it out, Elbert. If you owe someone money again, I’m sure James won’t shoot you… probably.” Anne teased.

“No, it’s not that!” Elbert said with a grimace. “It’s… Anne, it’s your father.”

“What did Richard do this time?”

“He died, Anne.” Elbert said. “Your father is dead.”