Ainsley nodded. “No major studies have been done on female health and there is much that remains a mystery,” he explained for the benefit of Thomas and Samuel.
“And Frobisher disagreed with your stance?” Thomas asked.
“He more than disagreed with it. He forbade it. On more than one occasion he threatened me, and others, with disciplinary action if we persisted in supporting such a change to our policy. I refused to back down,” Jonas said, pulling a frown. “He may have been my superior but he would not act as my conscience.”
“That hardly seems enough to formulate motive for murder,” Samuel said with a laugh. “No prosecutor could win by bringing that forward in trial.”
“Except, it went deeper than that. It wasn’t just about our change in policy. Frobisher wanted us to reverse decisions that had already been made regarding the role of women at the infirmary and throughout the school.” Jonas looked about the carriage. “About ten days ago I found him with one of our female clerks.” He paused briefly before continuing. “He had her by the collar, about to strike her. I had no doubt he would have had I not intervened.”
Everyone in the carriage gave a look of discomfort at the details.
Thomas wrote furiously on his book. “What was his reasoning for the violence?” he asked, taking his time to choose his words carefully.
Jonas sneered at the memory. “I hadn’t a mind to ask. I was so incensed by what I saw it was enough for me to stop the violence.”
“What is the girl’s name?”
“Rebecca Stewart. She’s an assistant for Dr. Waters mostly.”
“Let’s hope she can corroborate your version of events,” Thomas said, jotting down notes at a furious pace.
“I’m not telling falsehoods,” Jonas said sharply.
“I am aware, Dr. Davies,” Thomas said. “It would be remiss of me to not perform due diligence.”
Jonas cast a sideways look at Ainsley and settled back into his seat.
“Had any of Professor Frobisher’s arguments with you taken place in front of third parties?” Thomas asked.
“Many of them. His difficulty as a colleague is well known. I daresay there won’t be many with kind things to say about him. My blood boils every time I think of the terrified look on that young woman’s face. What he did was inexcusable.”
Ainsley could see the frustration in Jonas’s face as he explained their quarrel. Opportunities to further the medical establishment’s understanding should not be wasted so.
“This is concerning, Dr. Davies,” Thomas finally said, nearly tsk-tsking as he spoke. “A proven track record of discord may only serve to hinder our case.”
“I did nothing wrong. It is Frobisher who should answer for his actions, not me.”
“But Professor Frobisher is not here!” Thomas’s voice reverberated through the carriage and no doubt beyond. “If you speak of Professor Frobisher again in such a way, to anyone, the prosecutor will have enough to see you are hanged.”
Jonas quickly turned to Ainsley, who was equally alarmed. “I only speak the truth,” Jonas said.
“We know,” Ainsley said quickly, taking care not to alarm Jonas further.
“Truth or not,” Thomas said, folding up his book, “a judge will most likely see a motive amongst your confession. Pray that the prosecution does not sniff out your animosity. A single witness who testifies to a quarrel is enough to rip our defence to shreds.”
“There needs to be more evidence than that to convict a man,” Ainsley said, slipping to the end of the bench.
“You forget how our esteemed doctor was found,” Thomas said. “The evidence is already damning enough. If you expect to free your friend, Mr. Marshall, you’d better collect enough evidence to prove that Dr. Davies did not use that knife, or any other tool, to snuff the life out of Professor Frobisher.”
Chapter 10
Margaret smiled as she watched Mrs. Crane fuss over the care and feeding of John, Ezra, and Giles. The housekeeper clearly relished her role of caretaker and enjoyed her new position with the professors. The men, for their part, did not abuse her doting nature. They all showed their eagerness to assist, making multiple trips to the adjoining room with cups and saucers, trays of baked goods, as well as the sugar and creamer.
Once everything was set, John pulled out Mrs. Crane’s chair while Giles pushed past Ezra to hold Margaret’s for her. “Brute,” Ezra muttered softly against the sounds of teacups and chairs. If Giles heard, he made no note of it and promptly took a seat next to Margaret.
“So, Miss Margaret, you have met our wondrous Mrs. Crane before?” Giles asked.
“She was the housekeeper for Dr. Bennett at the time.”
“Lord rest his soul.” Mrs. Crane’s eyes lifted to the heavens before passing Margaret a filled teacup and saucer.
“Mrs. Crane has told us bits and pieces over the past month, since Jonas first told us about you,” John confessed.
“And then Jonas filled us in on the rest,” Ezra added, nearly laughing when he saw the look of shock on Mrs. Crane’s face.
“’Tisn’t a time one wishes to remember,” Mrs. Crane said disapprovingly. “Were it not for Miss Margaret, Dr. Davies, and Dr. Ainsley I don’t think I would have managed the ordeal so well. One does not expect their employer to wake up dead.”
Giles and Margaret exchanged amused glances at Mrs. Crane’s choice of words.
“Tell me, Mrs. Crane, how anyone wakes up dead?” Giles teased.
Mrs. Crane waved a dismissive hand at him. “Oh for Pete’s sake, Dr. Grant, you know of what I mean.” The housekeeper began spreading the jam on her biscuit more pronouncedly than previously. Margaret wondered if this dynamic was typical for the household. She imagined it was hard for a woman, even an older one, to live amongst four learned men.
“Well, I for one, am glad to see Mrs. Crane so well cared for this past year,” Margaret interjected, flashing a smile to Mrs. Crane. “She looks so happy and well. It is a credit to you all.”
The doorbell rang, which broke the tension much better that Margaret’s words. John was first to his feet. “Do not trouble yourself,” he said to Mrs. Crane, coaxing her back into her chair. “I know it is for me. I’m expecting a parcel.”
With John gone, Mrs. Crane reached over to Margaret and clasped her hand tightly. “It warms my heart to see you too, deary.”
A few moments of silence passed before Margaret realized Ezra and Giles were leaned together and speaking in hushed tones across the table. They both looked to her abashed.
“Ezra has something to ask you,” Giles said, clearing his throat.
“Giles!”
Margaret looked at Ezra expectantly.
“Jonas told us it was you who performed the dissection on Dr. Bennett.”
Mrs. Crane dropped her knife on her plate. “Merciful heavens!” She stood up. “I shall see if we have some more hot water.” She went for the door only to turn back for the teapot.
“Don’t mind her,” Giles said, after Mrs. Crane closed the door behind her. “She always does that when we wish to speak of university matters.”
Margaret eyed the closed door to the kitchen.
“So, is it true?” Ezra asked.
Margaret nodded. “Yes. I was eager to learn.”
Ezra smiled broadly while an irritated look flashed over Giles. A second later Ezra was holding out his hand, palm up, and Giles was sliding a folded bank note into it.
“Giles thought Jonas had made the entire story up. He said a woman wouldn’t have the stomach for such a thing. Whereas I had heard so much about the Formidable Margaret from Jonas that I knew it must be true.” He slipped the bank note into his trouser pocket.
Margaret was amused by the idea of their little wager. “During what possible conversation did this topic come up?” she asked out of curiosity.
“There was a discussion, amongst the faculty,” Giles offered reluctantly.
“About what?”
“A
woman’s suitability for medical school.”
A minute later the tea service was cleared away and the dishes brought to the kitchen. Margaret pulled an apron from a peg on the wall and positioned it at her waist.
“No, no,” Mrs. Crane yelped. “There will be none of that. I shall see to it, deary, as I always do.”
“But how shall I repay your kindness?”
Mrs. Crane stopped and looked down her nose at Margaret. “Your presence here today has lifted my spirits considerably.” She placed a loving hand on Margaret’s upper arm. Her eyes glistened slightly as she spoke. “You should not believe a word of what’s been printed in the papers. Our Dr. Davies is an exemplary man and I do not believe for one moment that he is capable of such a deed. And neither should you,” she added.
It had never once occurred to her that Jonas could be guilty of such a thing as murder. Everything was either a misunderstanding or part of something much more nefarious.
“Now away with ye,” Mrs. Crane snapped, playfully waving a towel at Margaret to shoo her from the room. Margaret found herself laughing as she allowed herself to be pushed out. “Very well,” she said, “very well.”
Margaret was easily guided into the hall. Near the front door, John was hunched over an open lid box that was set on the corner of the hall table. The box itself was a wood crate and held another box, this one made of tin. As Margaret approached she could see fine wood shavings were pushed in between the two as a cushion.
When John straightened his stance he pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “My shipment was delayed,” he said with concern. “The driver told me he almost turned around when he saw the crowd. I must say, I am rather grateful he didn’t.”
“Something for your research?” Margaret asked.
John produced a giddy smile. “Would you like to see?”
John’s laboratory was housed on the fourth floor, the attic space once reserved for the servants of the families previously living there. Margaret followed behind him as he carried his shipment up the narrow stairs. He placed the box on the top step as he fumbled for his key.
“One can never be too careful,” he said, as he slipped the key into the lock and opened the door.
John hurried inside, despite the dark, whereas Margaret went in slowly, using the wall to keep herself steady. After John placed the box on a centre table, he used a match to light a lamp on the table and then the gas lamps that hung overhead.
The room was easily the largest in the house with an expansive floor space and high beams overhead. Mismatched counters were pushed up against the wall in between high shelves. No surface or shelf was left unclaimed. All manner of scientific necessity and apparatus were housed in John’s laboratory, as well as a number of oddities like baby crocodile skulls and a dried puffer fish.
Margaret couldn’t stop herself from reaching to a dangling string of bones suspended from the ceiling and realized it was a collection of human vertebrae placed in order to resemble the human spine.
John moved the lamp in front of him to reveal a sizeable glass box that took up much of the centre table. As Margaret drew closer she realized the glass box was filled with water nearly to the top edge. Small stones lined the bottom and a few plants resembling ones found by the sea were placed inside.
“It’s my aquaria,” John said, beaming. “I’ve been working for years to get the balance and temperature right.” He skimmed his hand over the top of the water and then watched closely when he pulled it out as the droplets made ripples in the water’s surface.
Margaret came alongside him and smiled as she looked down. Inside was a starfish splayed out over one of the larger rocks. “I saw one of these when I was a child,” she said, crouching down to look at it from the side. “Mother took us to the Fish House at the London Zoo when it was first installed. I remember Peter and I were so fascinated by it.”
While still crouched down, Margaret reached her hand over the top. The water was soft like the ocean but warm as it was in the Mediterranean, nothing like the waters on the shores of England.
“Is this part of your research?” she asked.
John turned to his shipment and pried open the tin box. Margaret saw that it too was filled with water.
“This is my research,” John said.
He pulled the tin box as close to the aquaria as he could before reaching in and pulling out a sea creature Margaret had never seen before. The creature looked stunned as John transferred him to the larger box of water. Once it was in the water, Margaret was afforded a better look and realized it was a wide fish of some sort with stumpy legs, each with fingers laid out similar to a human hand. The fish had a long, wide body that slimmed down into a flat tail. Its skin was slick and light pink with a fan of tentacles framing its head. Two tiny black eyes stared back at her through the glass of the aquarium.
“I’ve never seen one before. What is it?” Margaret asked, unable to take her eyes away.
“Axolotl,” John said. He lifted the tin box and gingerly poured the water into the large tank.
Margaret saw a few tiny axolotls fan out into the depths of the aquarium. “Those ones don’t have legs,” she pointed out.
“Not yet. They’re amphibians, like frogs. They start out more like fish and as they mature they grow legs. But these guys”—John crouched down beside Margaret—“they don’t ever lose their gills.”
“So they can’t breathe out of water.”
“That’s right.” John smiled. “I wasn’t sure if they were going to survive the trip.” John stood and circled the table. “I have a friend in Paris who was willing to send some to me with the understanding that they may not survive the journey.”
“They look healthy enough to me.”
“They are only found in Mexico.” John crouched down on the other side to observe some of the smaller ones. “They are essential to my research. I’m experimenting with limb regeneration. Both star fish and axolotls can grow back entire limbs if they become severed. Certain species of lizard can grow back their tail, if for some reason it gets separated from their body.”
Margaret regarded him quizzically as she stood up from her crouching position.
“Say in a predator situation”—John turned and pulled a preserved lizard specimen from the shelf behind him—“a large animal snags an iguana by the tail.” John pinched the end of the lizard’s tail with his fingers, using them as if they were the mouth of a larger predator. “The iguana has evolved to release its tail, which allows it time to scamper away to safety.”
Margaret nodded.
“Nature decided it was better for the iguana to lose its tail than its life. But what I want to know is, how does the iguana grow its tail back? Perhaps if we can figure that out we can help humans grow back a finger that was crushed in the mill, or even a limb that needed to be amputated.”
“And the university funds your research?” Margaret asked.
“Oh yes,” John said, pushing his glasses back. “Well, begrudgingly. I won’t pretend that I am their favourite researcher. Ezra and Giles believe I am wasting my time, but I’ve made a lot of progress in the last few months.”
“How long have you been focusing on this project?”
“Four years, less a few weeks.”
Margaret worked hard to hide her surprise. “Oh. You must be very dedicated.”
John kept his eyes on Margaret for a few extra seconds before looking away and nodding. “Yes, sometimes too dedicated, I think.”
Even in the dim light Margaret could see regret in his eyes. She regarded him for a few moments before he turned and began gathering some books from his desk and stacking them in a single tower.
The doorbell rang and they both froze.
“Do you think that could be Peter?” John asked.
Margaret recoiled slightly at the thought. She was still angry with him for trying to trick her into leaving the city. When she saw him again, she knew their meeting would not be a comfortable one. Margaret gave a
closed-mouth smile and hoped John didn’t recognize her apprehension.
***
As Margaret manoeuvred the stairs to the main floor she made some decisions on how she would approach her brother. She couldn’t allow him to believe he could shuffle her about at will as if she were some sort of adornment or accessory. She also couldn’t allow her anger to boil over. She knew by doing so she wouldn’t be taken seriously. In the end, she decided it was best to show her displeasure coolly. He never was capable of withstanding her rejection for long. She would show him she had not been unseated and remind him how much her opinion of him mattered.
And if Jonas is with him? Margaret paused midstep at the thought. She could not trust herself to be so calculated around him. He was the only person who could pull the air from her lungs and the sense from her brain. For the past year she had been fighting the hold he had on her before finally succumbing just a few months ago. Even now she wondered if he was meant for her. Perhaps their promises to each other had all been born from lust and not genuine feeling. He had weakened her, defiled her, and now had no need of her. She winced at the thought.
Giles stood at the door, his back toward the stairs as Margaret came down the last couple steps. Through the closed kitchen door, Mrs. Crane hummed a folk ballad while going about her work.
“Is it Peter?” Margaret asked, hopeful.
Giles turned to face her and stepped away slightly. Beside him, resplendent in a newly fashioned blue taffeta dress with bustle and tilted hat, stood a tall brunette with a beautifully slim neck and oval face. She was a familiar sight, though Margaret couldn’t say precisely from where. The pair looked to Margaret expectantly, giving her no choice but to come down the last few steps and approach them.
“And who is this?” the woman asked Giles, as she switched her folded gloves from one hand to the other.
“This is Miss Margaret, Peter’s sister,” Giles explained.
The woman raised her chin and allowed her lips to form a slight smile. “Ah yes, the Formidable Margaret.” She slid her hand toward Margaret in greeting.
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