Once Robert had secured the assistance of his younger brother Daniel, however, he had distanced himself from the unsavoury business of dissection itself. Earning the respected qualification of physician, he was made welcome in polite society. Surgeons like Daniel were considered somewhat lower in standing; at one time, surgery had been within the barber’s purview. Robert was well-groomed and conversable, moving easily among the aristocracy, while social graces were precisely what Daniel lacked.
Robert and his family currently lived at the western end of the property, separated from the school proper by a central courtyard which also served as the students’ entrance. Daniel was yet to marry, but Robert and his wife had three children. His wife’s family were wealthy gentry with a grand manor house on some ten thousand acres outside Marlow. Their financial assistance had played no small part in the opening of the school.
Passing through the ornate front entrance to Robert’s house on Leicester Square, visitors beheld a room so large it could host a ball, and a private museum of which Robert was inordinately proud. Most of the specimens arrayed for display there had been produced by Daniel and his pupils. Robert insisted that these items were his property, since he provided the funds necessary for their creation. Daniel was not entirely in agreement with this view.
Hales and Bray returned empty-handed to the main dissection room.
“Out of the way,” said Hales, pushing Ben away from the cupboard.
“No violence, pray,” said Ben, placing his hand on his chest. “I have a weak heart. If I am treated roughly, its rhythm becomes quite irregular.”
“Yes?” said Hales, pushing Ben again, much harder.
Ben fell onto his back and began to wheeze. As they watched, his fingers stiffened and his eyes rolled back into his head. The constables shuffled uneasily, then quickly took their leave, pocketing the gold guinea that was still sitting on the dissecting table as they went.
“Well, that is one way to get rid of them.”
“Ben, they have gone. Get up.”
“Oh, dear, he really has fainted. What should we do, Professor?”
“Does he in fact have a weak heart?”
“Not that I ever heard.”
Clarence put his finger to the inside of Ben’s wrist. “His pulse is regular,” he reported.
They slapped Ben’s cheeks and called his name, but this only made him groan.
It was hyperventilation he was suffering from, but the condition was not yet known to medical science at the time.
“If his pulse is regular, there is no cause for concern,” said Barton briskly. “Let him lie.”
His pupils’ faces relaxed. If the Professor said there was no cause for concern, there was no cause for concern. His accuracy as a diagnostician was undisputed.
“Ben, when your breathing returns to normal, give me a precise report on the progress of your symptoms,” Barton said, irritation in his voice. “The rest of you, back to the dissection. Retrieve the cadaver. Clear Charlie off the table.”
The dog tied there let out a whine.
“Mr. Barton, Charlie’s anaesthetic is wearing off.”
“Another dose of ether, then. Someone stitch him up. Where is that young woman?”
“Edward! Let down the body.”
“He may be asleep. Open the secret door and wake him up.”
“To open the door, we must move the cupboard,” said Clarence. “And to move the cupboard, we must move our comatose friend.” He hooked his hands under Ben’s armpits and, with the help of Al and Nigel, dragged the corpulent body out of the way. The three of them then moved the cupboard.
Meanwhile, Barton dosed the dog with more ether himself, swiftly sewed up the animal’s wound, and put him on the floor.
“Edward, hurry up and lower the hook,” said Clarence, opening the door. Refined, elegant Edward tumbled out onto him, making him fall on his behind.
“Professor, Edward has fainted too.”
“Fetch a bellows.”
“Do you intend to test the theory that—”
“Indeed. Hurry.”
The secret chamber in the wall was cramped and entirely without ventilation. Edward had almost expired from lack of oxygen. Oxygen itself would not be identified for several more years, but the symptoms of oxygen deprivation were well known. Barton theorized that these were the result simply of insufficient air, and proposed that such patients might be revived by pumping great volumes of air into them.
His three conscious pupils hurried back with a pair of bellows. Al held Edward’s nostrils closed and guided the nozzle into his mouth while Clarence worked the mechanism, forcing air into his lungs. Barton monitored his pulse, and Nigel, looking anxious, kept a record of the proceedings in a shaky hand, checking the time on a pocket-watch Barton had lent him.
“Good. His heart is beating normally. Remove the bellows,” said Barton. Seeing Edward blearily open his eyes, he embraced him with relief, then turned and resumed giving orders. “Carry him up to bed. Keep him warm and rub him with aromatic oils.”
It was, overall, a rather different response from the way he had treated Ben.
Barton often praised Edward’s intelligence, and openly favoured him over the others. Edward had been his first live-in pupil, and still lived upstairs, sharing a bedroom with Nigel, whom he had brought in later.
Nigel and Al carried Edward upstairs.
By the time their footsteps had faded away, Ben’s breathing had calmed. The others helped him into a chair. “I only thought to scare them at first,” he explained. “But then I could not stop gasping. I began to feel faint, and my extremities were numb.”
“Numb, you say?” said Barton with some interest. “Tell me about the changes in detail. Nigel, record this.”
“Nigel has gone upstairs,” Clarence said.
“Why did he do that?”
“You told him to help carry Edward up there.”
“I did? Well, before we record anything more, let us continue the dissection. Bring the cadaver to the table. Quickly!”
The secret door was still ajar. Clarence removed the catch from the winch handle. The heavy body descended until visible behind the fire door.
“Do not damage it. Lower it carefully.”
Clarence wound the body down slowly, gripping the handle to prevent it spinning out of control under the weight of the load.
Barton was waiting at the base of the fireplace. Leaning in, he managed to land the bundle with both hands before tumbling in himself.
“Professor! Are you all right?” Clarence hurried towards him, letting go of the winch. The handle whirred and the full weight of the bundle fell onto Barton.
Despite some lingering grogginess, Ben lent Clarence a hand, and somehow the two of them heaved the bundle onto the dissecting table, closed the secret door, and moved the cupboard back into place. Al came downstairs to find them crouched over and gasping.
“How is Edward?” Barton asked him.
“He seems unharmed.”
“Let him rest. I did not realize until today how weak my pupils were.”
An anatomist had to be able to saw through bone. The work required considerable physical strength.
“Call Nigel down and have him begin drawing. Everyone else, assist me.”
It was at that moment that Toby appeared to announce some new visitors.
“Who? Never mind, I am busy now. Send them away.”
“They are here on the magistrate’s business, sir.”
The pupils dived towards the bundle, but their visitors were already stepping into the room.
There were two of them. The first was dressed in the fashionable French petit-maître style, with large metal buttons across the breast of a black frock coat and a high-crowned hat, but it was clear from the person’s figure as well as the features that
this was a woman. The other was just as clearly a man: tall, broad-chested, and with a prominent jaw set with teeth that brought to mind a trapper’s snare.
“Anne Moore,” the woman said, offering her hand. Barton accepted it and brushed his lips against it as courtesy required, but his confusion was clear. “I am the assistant to the magistrate, Sir John Fielding.”
It was ridiculous! How could a woman assist a magistrate? A position like that would mean regular contact with the worst sort of thieves, pickpockets, mountebanks, and murderers.
Indeed, it was only women of the lower classes, along with prostitutes, who worked at all, having no other choice. The lot of a young woman from a respectable family was to endure the tedium of sitting demurely at home.
But this woman did not appear to be of low birth, or indeed a prostitute. Was she some sort of virago?
“This is Dennis Abbott, my own assistant,” the woman continued, indicating her companion, who seemed untalkative. “Is that your purchase from the grave-robbers?” The implausible visitor fanned the air before her nose with a handkerchief. “I am no stranger to the odour of death, but the air in this room is particularly foul.”
“I have great respect for all that Justice Fielding has done to improve the safety of London,” said Barton. “If I am not mistaken, my brother Robert also knows him socially. I must confess, however, that the news of women joining the Bow Street Runners had not reached me yet. And—”
At this point his pupils began to speak all at once, drowning out Barton’s forthcoming observation that such a development was quite preposterous. None of them thought it advisable to start a quarrel at this point.
“It was my understanding,” Barton went on, “that the magistrate took a sympathetic view of my work.”
She ignored him. “Open the bundle,” she told Abbott.
Barton’s pupils moved to stop him.
“It is merely a package of meat,” said Clarence.
“A package of mort, perhaps,” said Moore. “Open it.”
“It is not fit for the eyes of a lady,” said Barton, interposing himself between her and the object as his pupils stood guard over it.
“Very well,” she replied. “Instead of opening it, I shall take it back to the magistrate’s office in its present condition.”
She cast a glance at her burly companion, who proceeded to push the others aside, take hold of the bundle, and sling it easily over one shoulder. Following Moore’s lead, he then turned to leave, but Clarence, Ben, and Al clung to his waist, while Charlie got tangled in his legs, the second dose of ether just having worn off. Abbott lost his balance and dropped the wrapped object. Charlie, with flattened ears, scurried under the dissecting table, dragging his sutured leg.
“Be careful!” wailed Barton, clutching at his ginger hair. “Do not damage it! One does not come into possession of a six-months—ah… ah?!”
The bundle had fallen open, but the body inside belonged to a young man of no more than twenty. He was naked, but clothes were draped over him. Both of his arms had been amputated at the elbow, and both legs below the knee. The inner layers of the cloth itself were stiff with dried blood.
A protracted silence ensued.
“I thought the body looked small,” said Barton finally, although his pupils once again tried to smother his voice, aware that, whatever was afoot, alluding to a second package containing Miss Roughhead certainly would not help matters.
“Who is this boy?” demanded Moore.
“I do not know,” said Barton.
“Did you not buy him from the grave-robbers?”
“I am uncertain.”
“Not grave-robbers, no,” she mused. “They would have taken his clothing also. How did you come by this cadaver?”
No one replied.
“Remove the clothing,” she said to Abbott.
The garments did not appear to belong to a man of the working class.
“Check for anything that might reveal his identity,” she said.
“I fear it will not be a decent sight,” objected Clarence. “He is not wearing any drawers.”
Moore turned her stony gaze on him. Clarence shrank back.
“Nigel, sketch the cross-section of his stumps,” ordered Barton.
“Nigel has gone to the privy,” said Clarence. “He looked to have taken ill.”
“Training to carve up corpses for a living, and a sight like this makes him ill?” asked Moore scornfully.
“You must excuse me also,” said Edward, leaving the room with a hand over his mouth.
Abbott removed the clothing draped over the body.
“What in Heavens… ?”
The youth’s chest was liberally smeared with a blue substance, as if someone had emptied an inkpot onto him. The blue had also seeped into the lining of the clothing that had concealed it.
Moore peered closely at the truncated, stained cadaver. “We have two problems combined here,” she said, folding her arms. “This boy was clearly murdered, for which the magistrate’s office must apprehend the culprit. And then there is the other body.”
“Are you referring to a Miss Elaine Roughhead?” put in Clarence. “We were given to understand that her body was stolen.” He faltered briefly under the stern gaze of this unlikeliest of magistrate’s assistants, but continued nonetheless. “Our premises were thoroughly searched a little earlier by two constables who came here insisting that we must have her. We told them we knew nothing of the matter, but they would not believe us. They even disturbed the specimen room, which naturally disturbed us all as well.”
Moore looked at Abbott. “Who is assigned to this street?” she asked.
“Hales and Bray, ma’am.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly. It was Al who recognized that she, too, knew that the two policemen could be bribed, perhaps because it was Al who always did the bribing. “They came here?” she asked Clarence.
“A most uncivil and rough-mannered pair,” he answered.
She turned to Abbott. “Did they report anything to you?”
He shook his head.
“Who is it claims to have sold Miss Roughhead’s remains to our school?” asked Clarence.
“We received information to that effect.”
“From whom?”
“The letter was anonymous, and the messenger boy who delivered it did not know the man who engaged his services. We shall look into the matter.”
At a signal from her, Abbott began searching the premises.
“Is this cupboard for hiding bodies in?” Moore asked.
“Certainly not,” said Clarence, shaking his head along with the others.
She opened the double doors. “Empty,” she observed.
“Is it against the law to leave a cupboard empty?” asked Clarence.
“Surely it merely gets in your way?… What is your name?”
“Spooner. Clarence Spooner.”
“I shall remember it. Loquacity is often employed to distract from a topic the speaker would rather not see examined too closely.”
“Clarence has always been loquacious,” said Al. “We call him ‘the Chatterbox.’”
“And your name is?”
“Be careful!” yelled Barton suddenly, watching Abbott stride around the neighbouring room. “Do not damage anything!”
“This body,” Moore said, returning her gaze to the dissecting table. “Was it obtained through illegal means?”
“Anatomists being denied sufficient material for our research, we have no alternative,” said Barton, compelled as usual to vent his spleen once the topic had come up. “Does Sir John not understand that knowledge of anatomy can help disclose the truth in criminal matters too? I would dearly have them change the law. If that were done, our clandestine dealings with felons would be eliminated at once.”
&n
bsp; “We must respect the law. Ignore it, and there is disarray.” Her voice softened slightly. “Sir John recognizes, as do I, the benefits of anatomical knowledge in criminal investigations that you quite rightly proclaim. For this reason, we overlook whatever use men such as yourself might find for the bodies of itinerants expiring by the road and others of that nature. Similarly, though the law frowns upon the purchase of cadavers from the poor, we do not pursue such matters in the absence of complaints from anyone involved. But the theft of the mortal remains of a daughter of the Roughhead family cannot be dismissed so quietly, and when someone is murdered as cruelly as was this boy here, we must do all we can to discover the culprit.”
Returning from his search of the specimen room, Abbott reported that he had found nothing.
“Please search the entire building,” she told him. “The second floor also.”
“Allow me to be your guide,” said Al.
Before he could go, she asked, “What is your name?”
“Albert Wood, madam.”
“I shall remember it.”
“I keep many valuable things in my study,” said Barton. “Al, watch this fellow closely and make sure he does not manhandle them more than is necessary.”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Abbott, the dining room and kitchen account for the rest of the ground floor, beyond what you can see. There is a cellar below, partly used for storing coal. Finally, the doorkeeper’s quarters are beside the entrance. Will you examine every room?”
“Of course he will,” said Moore.
Al led Abbott towards the students’ dissection area.
“Other anatomists also seek cadavers for teaching purposes,” Clarence pressed on. “Why not continue your search for the remains of Miss Roughhead with them? Whatever tales those constables claim to have heard from the grave-robbers were evidently fabricated. They came hoping for a bribe, perhaps, but found nothing and left disappointed.”
“Our search for Miss Roughhead may proceed elsewhere. However, with regard to this young amputee a separate investigation is indicated. Mr. Barton, your source for this cadaver, if you please?”
The Resurrection Fireplace Page 2