Surgeons’ Hall

by E. S. Thomson

  ‘Is everything well with you, uncle?’ she said.

  ‘Quite well, my dear.’

  ‘One of the écorchés has fallen,’ she said. ‘Did you know?’

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Yes. I—’

  She frowned. ‘It is broken,’ she replied. ‘Eve is broken.’

  ‘Dr Crowe seemed to think you might still be here, Flockhart,’ said Dr Cruikshank. His face was stony. ‘He sent me to find you. I believe you are coming to us for dinner tomorrow. It is in honour of Dr Wragg, a dear colleague whom Dr Crowe knew for many years as a friend, as well as a mentor, and a colleague. A small gathering but enough to acknowledge the doctor’s passing. He was an atheist, so there will be no funeral, no burial. He is already dissected. If there are any parts of him you would like for your own collection—’

  ‘Thank you, no,’ I said. ‘But it is a most generous and tempting offer.’ I wondered whether these men had spent so long amongst the dead that they no longer realised how macabre they were. I could see the expression on Will’s face and all at once I struggled not to laugh. Dr Cruikshank’s gaze flickered from Dr Strangeway, to the silk scarf Will still held in his hands. A look of pain seemed to cross his features. But then he assumed his act once more, seizing his lapels in his fists and jerking his head back so that his ringlets danced.

  ‘Capital, capital!’ he cried. ‘The old rogue deserves a send-off. And to be pickled and lodged in his own museum for all eternity – what better way for any surgeon to end his days?’ I could not share his enthusiasm. Instead, all I saw was that a second murdered body had been neatly and cleanly anatomised, its organs, limbs, appendages, like the first, now distributed far and wide beyond all hope of recovery. What justice was there for either of them in that?

  Precognition for the murder of Mary Anderson,

  18th December 1830.

  Post-Mortem Report by Dr H. Cruikshank and Dr A. Wragg.

  19th December 1830

  Post-mortem Examination of the body of Mary Anderson, 19th December 1830. Surgeons’ Hall, Edinburgh. Summary of report.

  By virtue of my position as police surgeon, within the mortuary at Surgeons’ Hall, I, Dr Henry Cruikshank, with the assistance of Dr Angus Wragg, have conducted a post-mortem examination of a female aged approximately eighteen years and identified as one Mary Anderson by Miss Catherine Anderson and Constable James Wilson of the City of Edinburgh Police.

  External Appearance

  The woman was fairly well nourished, given her known lifestyle and habits, though crippled by an extreme form of rickets which accounts for her twisted lower limbs, and the softening and deformity of the bones in general. The legs are somewhat wasted, being rarely used, though the arms are well developed, and extremely muscular about the shoulders, upper arms, forearms and hands, the result of a lifetime spent propelling the subject through the streets on crutches. The body of the woman showed evidence of considerable bruising about the torso, arms and legs. The bruising was, for the most part, pre-mortem, predating the subject’s death by some weeks. The marks of violence on the body that are of recent origin fall into three distinct sets:

  1. Bruising about the neck

  2. The complete removal of the flesh of the face

  3. The slicing open of the abdomen (from the umbilicus to the top of the pubis).

  Internal appearance

  Examination of the larynx revealed that the windpipe was almost entirely crushed, the bruising of the tissue surrounding the 3rd and 4th cervical vertebrae showing clearly that violence was applied to the neck and throat.

  The internal organs – the lungs were of a dark appearance, and showed evidence of the early onset of phthisis. The heart was congested, and the presence of amniotic fluid in the birth canal suggested that parturition had started at the time of death though had not taken place. The skeleton was afflicted with a spinal scoliosis that tilted the pelvis up to the right, so that it lay almost at right angles to its correct alignment.

  The womb had been slit from point (A) to point (B), the cavity pulled open and the foetus removed. There was evidence that the womb had ruptured. The placenta remained in place against the uterine wall, the umbilicus neatly severed.

  Opinion

  From the appearance presented at dissection, and based on an interpretation of the scene of the crime and the location of the body, we the undersigned have reached the following conclusions:

  1. That the subject Mary Anderson was pregnant at the time of her death.

  2. That the subject was strangled minutes prior to death.

  3. That strangulation was not sufficient to cause death, but would have rendered the victim apparently lifeless.

  4. That the subject’s foetus (missing) was full term.

  5. That the foetus was removed via caesarean section through the abdominal wall.

  6. That the opening of the abdomen was the cause of death.

  7. That the subject’s face was mutilated post-mortem for reason or reasons unknown.

  8. That the skinning of the face and the slicing of the abdomen were undertaken with precision and skill.

  True on soul and conscience,

  [Signed] Angus Wragg, Henry Cruikshank

  Gloag had kindled a huge fire at the foot of the garden. The students had taken what they wanted from Dr Wragg’s corpse, slicing him up and preparing his body parts as they pleased. One of the students – Renshaw, whom I had first met in the student common room – had even taken the worn sockets of the old man’s hips. I had seen him leaving the building carrying the entire pelvis, boiled and varnished, under his arm. Some bits they had added to their own collections, others had gone to the Corvus Hall anatomy museum. What remained was now shoved into the bonfire along with any other bodies that were to be got rid of that day. Dr Crowe, Dr Cruikshank, Dr Allardyce, Will and I had stood respectfully by while the flames consumed the bundled remains of Dr Wragg.

  After that we made our way to the dining room along the finely carpeted hallways of Dr Crowe’s wing of the building. It was a long elegantly proportioned room with two casement windows looking out onto the garden at the back of the Hall, and from which we could see the dark outline of the dead house and beyond it the dancing flames of Dr Wragg’s funeral pyre. The room was comfortably furnished, with chairs beside the fire, and warm carpets upon the floor. It was easy to forget that what lay just the other side of the wall was an anatomy school.

  It appeared that Dr Crowe maintained an entire household in the east wing of Corvus Hall. There was no evidence of his profession about the place, no specimens in jars, no books or drawings of body parts, no bones. Even the smell of the dead room, which pervaded the rest of the building, was mercifully absent, though I noticed bowls of herbs, citrus peel, eucalyptus and lavender stood about on side tables and on the mantel, and they did much to sweeten the air.

  I hoped it would not turn into an ‘evening of medical entertainment’. I had been to such things many times, when specimens were passed around for comment and discussion. Occasionally a dog would be brought forward and an experiment would take place. Sometimes drugs – medicines, poisons, new mixtures – might be tested, one or two of the company taking the stuff while the others stood by to watch, to take notes and to administer emetics and purgatives when needed. They were loud, often messy evenings, and I was not in the mood for it. I hoped the presence of ladies would prevent such activities, but knowing Dr Crowe’s daughters there was every chance that it would be they who brought in the dog or produced the unusual specimen. And there they were: the sisters, Sorrow and Silence, side by side on a brocade sofa; Lilith sitting in a wing-backed chair beside the fire. Their heads turned as we entered. I saw Will’s cheeks flush with pleasure as Miss Crowe smiled at him. I dropped my gaze. I knew Silence was watching me, I knew she could read my feelings in my face. I wished I could talk to her, but there was no opportunity for it here.

  Beside the bookshelves Dr Crowe was talking to Tanhauser, who was looking rather out of his depth at
the company he found himself in. His fellow student, Squires, was speaking to Dr Allardyce – both of them occasionally glancing towards the door, as if they wished themselves elsewhere. I noticed that Dr Allardyce had refused a glass of wine – perhaps he feared alcohol would cause him to say or do something that he might later regret. He was staring at a portrait that hung on the wall above the fire. It showed a young woman sitting in a chair. She wore a green dress and had a blue shawl about her shoulders. Her face looked familiar, and I saw that her dark, expressive eyes were the eyes of Lilith Crowe. Behind the woman was a tall window, which looked out at the walls of another building. It was heavily faced with great blocks of grey stone, and as tall as a fortress – nothing like those we had in London. Was it Edinburgh? It seemed likely. On the table before her was a skull and, on its side, an hourglass.

  ‘My sister,’ said Dr Strangeway in my ear. I had not heard him approach for the carpet deadened all footfall. I noted that his neckerchief was high at his throat that evening, and that more than once he put up his hand to it. ‘I painted it from memory. And from a . . . a model who bore a likeness to her. It was some months after her death, before my hands—’ He held them out, both curled into fists. ‘I could not bear to do it sooner, and yet if I had not done it at all we would have nothing to remind us—’

  ‘She is very beautiful,’ I said.

  ‘Oh yes. You can see where she gets her looks, and her charm, of course.’

  Will was looking at Miss Crowe, hoping she would look up and see him, no doubt, but she was talking to Dr Cruikshank and Mr Halliday. Dr Strangeway seized Will’s arm and steered him towards Tanhauser. Both Dr Crowe and Tanhauser appeared relieved to have a third party in their midst – the former glad to escape a conversation that had run its course, the latter thankful to be no longer required to think of anything intelligent to say. At length Dr Crowe asked us if we would all take our places at the table.

  ‘We are an informal house,’ he said. ‘Please, sit where you choose.’

  I had instructed Will to find out what he could. ‘About what?’ he had replied. ‘Shall I ask each in turn whether they murdered Wilson and Wragg?’

  ‘Just listen,’ I had said. ‘And observe. I don’t know what we will learn this evening, or whether any of it will be of any use, but to have all these people together is an unexpected opportunity. Whatever is going on here involves them all – or surely most of them. You should listen, especially to those you are not talking to.’

  ‘You mean I should eavesdrop?’

  ‘I think it is essential to do so.’

  I had never been one for dinner parties and soirées. It seemed to me that groups of people thrown together often looked for an outsider, a scapegoat, to mock or belittle, and I had never wanted to find myself singled out in that way. What if someone had sensed my disguise or suspected that I was not what I seemed? But I saw straight away that that role tonight was most likely to fall to either Dr Allardyce or Tanhauser, the former due to his self-conscious sense of personal failure, and Tanhauser because of his stupidity. But Tanhauser was bluff and doltish and had a well-developed sense of humour – much of it directed at himself. I could not imagine that he would be the one who drew the scorn of the table that evening.

  I had Dr Cruikshank on one side of me, and Silence Crowe on the other. Tanhauser waded in with a clumsy attempt at flattery by suggesting to Dr Cruikshank that Dr Crowe’s daughters take the examination at the Royal Colleges, or the university, and become surgeons proper.

  ‘An admirable idea, sir,’ replied Dr Cruikshank. ‘Perhaps you might ask them yourself, Mr Tanhauser, since they are sitting right beside you and – as you imply – are more than capable of thinking for themselves.’

  Tanhauser blushed. ‘Miss Crowe,’ he said. ‘I apologise.’

  ‘No apology necessary, Mr Tanhauser,’ she said. ‘I would not wish to practise as a surgeon myself as my interests do not lie in surgery. Like Dr Allardyce I would rather explore the human body and understand it, than cut and sew living people.’

  ‘I’m sure you would be more than capable of it,’ said Will gallantly. ‘You just choose not to.’

  ‘And of course, she can’t anyway,’ said Squires loudly. ‘She can’t be a surgeon as she’s not passed the examinations. And she can’t pass the examinations because she cannot sit the examinations. She cannot sit the examinations because she is a woman and her mind and body would not stand it.’

  I saw Miss Crowe’s fingers tighten about her fork, as if she were trying to master an urge to plunge it into the back of Squires’s hairy hand. I saw that Dr Cruikshank had perceived it too. He turned the subject to ask about Tanhauser’s plans for the future.

  Conversation remained for the most part on otherwise anodyne subjects. Occasionally conversation would flag altogether, so that all that could be heard was the crackle and snap of the fire and the scrape and chink of cutlery on china. I saw Tanhauser and Squires exchange a glance and raise their eyebrows. Dr Crowe talked about the new anatomy textbook he was writing, comparing other books that the students were often obliged to rely on. He complimented Will on his drawings.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Will. ‘Though I admit I am not looking forward to more work in the dissecting room.’ Dr Crowe inclined his head. ‘We will try to make it as pleasant as possible for you, though a corpse is a corpse and we will do our best to find you the freshest and most youthful.’

  ‘Are you any relation to the Flockharts of Edinburgh?’ said Halliday.

  ‘My father’s cousins,’ I said. ‘Druggists. I have never met them. You know them?’

  ‘I know of them.’

  ‘You know Edinburgh, Halliday?’ said Dr Cruikshank sharply. ‘I was not aware of it.’

  ‘A little,’ he shrugged. ‘One can hardly study medicine without at least visiting the place. I did a year at the extra mural school. But it was not for me.’

  ‘I think it’s a dashed poor show if women become doctors,’ said Squires loudly. ‘The profession’s crowded enough as it is without them. I’m sorry to say it, but that’s how it is.’

  ‘Why should they not?’ said Sorrow. ‘Why may women not enter the profession if they are good enough, if they are as good as or better than men? Why shouldn’t people benefit? Women in particular might rather be treated by a female.’

  ‘Better?’ Tanhauser snorted. ‘Better than men?’

  Dr Allardyce gave a simper. ‘I have examined the female brain on many occasions and it is not fit for purpose – not when it comes to study.’

  ‘There is little difference in brain size,’ said Sorrow. ‘Men are bigger overall than women, and once this is accounted for there is little enough to distinguish the brain of one from the brain of the other.’

  ‘Strength and stamina are required for study as much as for anything else and in this the male evidently excels,’ replied Squires.

  ‘But a woman is stronger physically than the male,’ replied Sorrow. ‘She must gestate, must create another human being from her own body, she must give birth. What strength of mind and body, what strength of spirit is there in that?’

  ‘Besides,’ Tanhauser took a quaff of wine, his face was sweaty, and scarlet from the warmth of the room, and the quantity of wine and food he had consumed. ‘The study of anatomy? Forgive me, Dr Crowe, but no wonder your daughters have never got a husband, sir. Who would have them? The things they have seen. It’s all very well letting the ladies in to general lectures about hygiene and the circulation of the blood and what have you, but what about the real details? The organs of generation, the viewing of a naked body – the male body – these your daughters have seen time and again. It is hardly decent for a woman to view these things, whether it is in the name of science or no.’

  ‘Come, sir.’ Dr Crowe put his glass down. ‘You forget yourself.’

  Tanhauser blushed. ‘I am not the only one who thinks it,’ he said. ‘Wilson said so too, and look what happened to him.’

  The room
fell silent. There was no sound other than the crackling of the fire in the grate – which served to remind us all of the fact that another body was at that very moment rather conveniently being incinerated on the back lawn of the house. And then my blood froze in my veins as Sorrow Crowe said, ‘Mr Tanhauser, how do you know women are not already practising medicine? They may be amongst us even now, disguised, concealed, showing men that they are just as good, just as capable but not able to show their true selves for fear of what might befall them if they did. Would you know it if they were? Anyone might hide who they are sir, if they wish it. Anyone might deceive their friends and acquaintances, might conceal their heart, their views, their true personality. Why might not they also conceal their identity too? And how would we ever know? How many of us truly know what lies beneath the face others present to the world?’

  She could not see the effect her words were having on the room. Her dead gaze swept unseeing over us all. For a moment she seemed to linger on me and I felt as if she saw into my very soul. I was overcome with the urge to leap to my feet, to cry out, ‘Yes! Yes, it is I who deceives you, I who walks amongst you unseen, a woman who practises medicine as well as any man!’ I felt a cold hand grasp my own beneath the table. Silence Crowe did not look at me, but held my fingers tightly in hers until the feeling passed. Only then did she let it go. I glanced over at Will, a sheen of sweat dampening my brow. But he was gazing entranced at Lilith who sat with her eyes downcast, her lashes dark against her porcelain cheeks, her hair like burnished jet in the candlelight.

  ‘You think I don’t see you all?’ cried Sorrow. ‘You think blindness means I have no vision? But I don’t need eyes to see. I can feel the fear rising from you the way heat pours from a fire. You are afraid of women. You are afraid they will best you and you will have no power over us. Men are superior only in physical strength. You may overpower us and crush us, you may beat us and rape us, but you are not our masters, and you are not our betters. You are brutes, every one of you!’