by Suzanne Weyn
Doggedly I went from one hotel to another, starting with the outer ring of the newer part working my way in toward the medieval section, asking after Johann and his father. My search went on for over an hour with no success. Finally, I came upon a narrow, dirty hotel with a threadbare green awning. The name ROOSTER’S CLAW INN AND TAVERN was scrawled in chipped paint across the front window. It seemed a disreputable establishment — not the sort of place Johann and his father would frequent. Just as I was turning away from it, though, a horse-drawn carriage came along the road and turned into an alleyway beside the hotel that was just barely wide enough for it to fit.
Could Johann and his father be sneaking out at dawn to avoid the police? I didn’t want to let them slip away, so I turned down the alley, determined to have a look at what was going on.
When I rounded the corner, two men were standing at the back door of the hotel. Immediately I ducked back behind into the alley so they wouldn’t see me. Surreptitiously I peered at them from around the corner of the building. Instantly my hand shot to my mouth to stifle a gasp. One of the two men was the sinister Gallagher. From this closer vantage he was even more frightening, with rotted teeth and pockmarked skin. His companion was equally alarming, of darker complexion and burlier. He had been the one driving the carriage on the way in.
In the next moment, the back door opened and a heavy man passed them a large package bundled in burlap and tied with rope. It was easily the size of a human body.
There was no conversation exchanged as Gallagher got into the coach and his associate perched atop the coachman’s seat once more. I watched as they left by way of the alley on the opposite side of the building.
So there it was! I had witnessed a dead body taken away in the early hours of the morning. What would they do with it? Where would it end up? How much money would they receive?
I turned to walk back up the alley and immediately saw that my path was blocked by the very same coach. The men had gone around the front of the street and turned back in. As I pivoted to retreat around the other way, my motion was stopped by Gallagher, who stood blocking my way. I was trapped! Instantly I recoiled in fear and revulsion to the stench of body odor and alcohol that emanated from him.
Gallagher gripped my arm roughly and then grinned, displaying his decayed teeth. “You’re a girl!”
I nodded, too frightened to speak.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his smile disappearing.
My lips seemed to be moving independently of my terror-frozen brain. I don’t know where I found the wit to concoct the story I told him. “I’m a medical student. That’s why I’m dressed as a man. So I can sneak into the medical school.”
“A sneak, eh?” Gallagher said. “Nothing wrong with that. Why are you here?”
“Bodies,” I said. “I need money, and I heard you could make some selling bodies to other medical students.”
Gallagher shook me harshly. “And what made you think you could find a body here?”
“I heard things,” I replied, working to keep my voice steady. “The medical students talk. They guess about where the cadavers come from.”
“The dead donate their bodies to science,” Gallagher sneered cynically.
“Yes, I know.” It occurred to me that I might soon become one of those bodies. Gallagher seemed to be a man who could slit my throat and not think twice about it.
Gallagher eyed me up and down. “Are you strong?”
I nodded.
“You need money and I have a job needs doing. I have more corpses to claim, and I could use someone to help pull the bodies into the carriage and sit with them. Sometimes they get stiff and even look like they’re sitting up. You got to knock the body down so nobody sees it. Can you do that? It would free my friend up there to help me with the heavy lifting.”
It sounded awful. But I was fascinated. Besides, what would he do to me if I refused?
“All right,” I said.
“If you tell anyone, I’ll find you and kill you.”
“I’ll never tell,” I assured him.
With a nod, he bade me to follow him into the carriage. I was almost knocked back by the smell of the rotting corpse. “And this one is only a few hours old,” Gallagher said with a laugh. “Wait till we get a few that’ve been stewing for a while.”
For the next hour we drove through the streets of Edinburgh collecting dead bodies. At the hospital we picked up two bodies. I waited at the dark end of a cemetery while Gallagher and his companion entered and returned covered in dirt with another burlap sack. I helped pull it into the carriage.
This body was so rank with decay that I had to lean out the window to vomit. This caused the two men to laugh uproariously. It was the first time I heard the other man make any sound at all.
It was almost fully light before they dropped me at a corner near my hotel. “It’s better if you don’t know where we’re delivering these,” Gallagher said as he paid me from a roll of money he took from his pocket. “You did good by us. If you ever want to work for me again, be at the Rooster Claw at the same time. And remember to keep your mouth shut.”
Nodding, I took the money. “I know.”
When I got back to my hotel room, Giselle still slept soundly. Bathing required me to scrub with an abundance of soap to rid myself of the odor that seemed to have seeped into my hair and skin, into my very skin. My man’s clothing was now so foul that I had to dress and ask the concierge to admit me to Uncle Ernest’s room for fresh clothing. (I claimed he had sent word requesting them.)
It was only then did it occur to me that I had failed in my mission to find Johann and his father. Guilt flooded me as I realized I had let Giselle’s attacker escape due to my obsession with my own scientific pursuits. I had utterly failed my twin! I cursed my selfishness, but the moment to act had passed. Surely they had gone by now.
Soon I was once more dressed as a man and standing in front of the hotel, awaiting Anthony. Maybe I should have stayed back with the sleeping Giselle to tend to her, but I couldn’t stand to miss this next lecture. Once more my ruthless pursuit of science was interfering with my sisterly duties. I was plagued with guilt, but it did not stop me. There was no telling when such a chance would arise again.
“You look fatigued, my friend,” Anthony greeted me. “Were you up all night carousing?”
“You’ll never believe where I’ve been,” I told him. As we walked toward the medical school, I revealed all that had happened.
“That was very dangerous of you,” he scolded.
“What choice did I have?” I countered.
“You should have contacted the police regarding this Johann. In that case, you would not have been out unescorted to begin with.”
“I suppose so,” I conceded.
That morning I once more sat riveted by the sight of a human body with its insides revealed. This day the surgeon lecturer cut out a section of colon and then reattached it. The skill with which he sewed the pieces of flesh together was no different than the way a tailor might connect a sleeve to a coat. I had been taught to sew. I could do this type of stitching.
I gazed down at the two cadavers on the tables. The one being stitched had a cloth over his face. The other was of an elderly woman who appeared as though she was only sleeping peacefully. Naturally I was reminded of my morning’s adventure.
Did I feel guilty about it? Asking myself this important question, I waited for my innermost self to reply.
The true answer was no, I did not.
What did the dead care? They felt no pain or shame. If they had family who might have cared, their bodies would have been claimed.
Did I think all this because it eased my conscience? Because I wanted to think it?
I didn’t care.
Glancing around the arena, I saw all the medical students furiously taking notes. I began to do the same.
By the time I returned home, Giselle was dressed and appeared to be completely returned to her old s
elf. She was wearing a lovely flowered gown with a lace collar. Her Indian-print shawl was draped over her shoulders. She’d swept up her hair in a coiled, braided bun that was very becoming. Even the high-button boots, which had been dirty and scraped yesterday, now gleamed.
“Sister, how are you?” I asked, peeling off my man’s jacket and stepping out of the tightly belted trousers.
With a critical eye, she took me in. “I’m fine. How are you? You look exhausted!”
“I found it impossible to sleep last night,” I admitted. “Then, before dawn, I went out to find Johann and his father.”
“You didn’t!” Giselle gasped.
“I did. And you will never guess what happened to me.”
When I opened my mouth to speak again, I was surprised to discover it was quite dry. My mind also was blank. Some inner impulse was stopping me from telling my twin about my escapade with the body snatchers. This was odd, since I usually told Giselle everything.
“What?” she prodded.
“I couldn’t find them,” I said. “Perhaps they’ve left town to escape prosecution. When Uncle Ernest returns, we’ll enlist his help in going to the authorities.”
“No, we won’t,” Giselle stated firmly. “I’m glad you didn’t find them, and I don’t want Baron Frankenstein to know of this. I couldn’t bear it if anyone was to find out about this humiliation.”
“Giselle, you can’t let him get away with it. He hit you!”
Giselle’s complexion went red with anxiety. “That’s right, Ingrid, he hit me, not you. It’s for me to decide how to handle this.”
I was stunned. I don’t think she has ever spoken to me so harshly.
“But, Giselle —”
“No! You must respect my wishes on this, Ingrid. I want to put this behind me as though it never happened, to block it from my mind completely. We will not speak of it or think of it again.”
“How will we explain your injuries?” I asked.
“I tripped and fell.”
“Is that truly what you think is best?” I questioned doubtfully.
“It is,” she confirmed.
“There is nothing you wish to do? Not at all?”
“There is something,” she replied.
“What?”
“I want to throw a party.”
FROM THE DIARY OF
BARONESS GISELLE FRANKENSTEIN
July 1, 1815
Along with Baron Frankenstein, we traveled by ferry from Scotland to the island they call Mainland and stayed at a hotel in the city of Kirkwall. From there we booked a trip to Gairsay with a boat taking groceries across, but at the last moment I was delayed as the clasp to my luggage broke and my clothing fell from it. They did not notice me frantically gathering my things until the boat had already left the dock.
This unfortunate turn of events left me with no choice but to engage the sailboat of that same taciturn Captain Ramsay for my return trip. I decided to simply remain aloof and not even look at him. Our journey would be over soon enough.
To my dismay, the old man was oddly talkative as we set sail. “So, tell me, girly,” he began in his thick, growling way of talking. “Have you found yourself a lad over there in Gairsay?”
I thought his question impudent, and so declined to answer and avoided looking at him by gazing out to sea.
“Too good to speak to me?” he challenged.
“I can’t hear you because of the wind,” I lied, though I needed to shout to be heard, just the same.
“A loud little trollop, aren’t ye?” he snarled.
I couldn’t believe my ears, and so once more I feigned deafness, staring away from him. From time to time I checked to see what he was doing, and each time I was met with a hateful stare.
When the bay was in sight, the captain did not steer the boat into it but rather into a cove. I demanded to know where he was going.
“Never you mind!” Captain Ramsay replied as he headed into more shallow waters in a quiet, rocky inlet.
I couldn’t imagine why we would be going there and grew frightened.
“Take me back!” I shouted, standing.
“Sit down,” he bellowed.
“I WANT TO GO BACK!”
From his spot at the tiller, he reached forward and grabbed my skirt, yanking at it. The boat pitched, throwing me down onto him at the same time that the mainsail mast swung above us.
“Now look what you’ve done, you stupid girl!” he shouted, struggling to get to his feet and regain control of the boat.
The next thing I knew, we were in the water and the boat had capsized. My luggage was once more open and my things floating in the surf. Fortunately, you, Dear Diary, were safe in my pocket. You are damp and some ink is blurred, but you’re not too much the worse for your drenching.
I did not look for Captain Ramsay, but quickly dragged myself out of the water, which was fortunately low enough that I could stand. Once I was knee-deep in the surf, I hobbled along in the direction of the harbor by hugging the shoreline. Fortunately it was a warm day, and by the time I got there, I was already half dry. I saw Ingrid and Uncle Ernest there waiting for me. Frantic with worry, they hurried to my side as soon as I came into view.
“We were planning to take the next boat back to get you,” Ingrid said. “What has happened to you?”
“I came over with that awful Captain Ramsay and his boat overturned. He didn’t pull into the bay but into an inlet.”
“Perhaps he pulled in there because something was wrong with his boat,” Baron Frankenstein suggested.
“I don’t know. I stood in the boat and we argued, then the boat went over. I have left him to his own devices; he surely doesn’t need my assistance.”
“No, surely not,” Baron Frankenstein agreed, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as he guided me up the hill away from the water. “Let us get you back to the castle so you can rest after such a fright.”
A fit of coughing suddenly seized me, the same low hacking cough I’d experienced upon first coming to the island.
Ingrid was instantly at my side, her hand on my shoulder. “See? This is what I was worried about. This climate is too rough for you. All it took was a fall in the water to set you back.”
I assured her I was fine, but was once again overcome by another spasm of coughing.
Once back up at the dock at Gairsay, we were met by Riff in the driver’s seat of a horse-drawn cart. He had been sent by Mrs. Flett to pick up us and our things.
Ingrid needed Riff’s assistance, since her friend Anthony has loaded her with anatomy and chemistry books he’s “borrowed” from the Edinburgh medical library and loaned to her. Ingrid, with her typical taste for the gruesome and Gothic, also bought a novel in Scotland called The Sargasso Manuscript. She tells me it is about secret societies; cabalists; Gypsies, Muslims, and Moors; and even features a set of beautiful twin sisters.
For the first time, Riff saw us side by side and was clearly shocked by the realization that we were not one and the same. “There are two of you?” he cried in his thick Orkneyan cadence. “I just thought that some days you looked stunning and other days you were plain.”
Immediately I checked to see how Ingrid was taking this thoughtless insult, hoping that she had not understood what he’d said.
I never quite know if Ingrid truly doesn’t care about her appearance. As a twin, one must stake out one’s own territory in order to thrive as an individual, and since I lack Ingrid’s brilliance, perhaps she has generously left the looks as my concern.
Riff’s callousness disturbed her, though: The blush that came to her cheeks told me so, and it hurt me to see how she turned away from him as though his words were actual barbs that had wounded her.
“Of course there are two of us, you dolt,” I scolded angrily. “Any idiot who had been at the castle two minutes would know that.”
As harshly as I delivered my reprimand, he didn’t seem especially perturbed. He held me in his insolent, overlong stare that n
o doubt he used on every girl in Gairsay.
“Fiery when you’re angry, aren’t you?” he leered. “But you don’t look so great today either. You’re a bit of a wet hen yourself.”
“Oh, be quiet, will you?” I shot back.
“That is quite enough from you, young man.” Baron Frankenstein came to my aid. “Just take the packages to the castle, and we will follow on foot. Go!”
Still maintaining his infuriating smirk, Riff turned the wagon and left. “I will have Mrs. Flett dismiss that fellow immediately,” Baron Frankenstein assured us.
“He is certainly full of himself, isn’t he?” Ingrid commented, looking down at her hands.
“Forget about him,” I told Ingrid, taking her hand as the three of us began climbing the road toward the castle. She nodded, though I could see that she was still smarting from the verbal slap.
By the time we got back to the castle, I wanted nothing more than to peel off my wet clothing and crawl into my bed.
Dear Diary, I am so glad this whole wretched trip is done at last.
FROM THE JOURNAL OF
INGRID VDW FRANKENSTEIN
July 1, 1815
Attending Anthony’s classes at the medical school has given me a fever for knowledge. It is so difficult to teach oneself! Frustrating! But this trip has advanced my understanding of anatomy a hundred times over. As soon as I got back to the castle, I settled on a couch and began writing this.
Giselle, poor thing, dashed away for a nap in her room. I fear that this trip was too hard on her, between her awful encounter with Johann and the boat accident with the disagreeable Captain Ramsay. She’s begun coughing again, which is not a good sign.
But despite my worry, I checked to see if there was smoke coming from Walter’s chimney before we’d even reached the front door. There was, and I was relieved that he had made it back safely from wherever it was he’d gone off to in his sailboat. I admire how he manages to get about so well without the full use of his limbs.