Bloody Business

by Ash, C. B.

  “I see Moira got my message to you,” Captain Hunter said while Thorias approached.

  “Oh yes, with nothing short of her usual grace and elegance,” the doctor said dryly.

  “Leaning over you while grinning like a gibbon, was she?” Hunter said with a polite chuckle.

  “That woman,” Thorias said with a long sigh, “I swear there is something wrong with her. I just haven’t found what to call the condition, yet. But I’m quite sure it’s some sort of derangement.”

  “It’s called a healthy exuberance for life, old bean,” the captain replied. “She just has it in abundance, that’s all. I count my blessing’s that she’s on our side.” Hunter said, sitting forward. “Doctor, I prescribe a stout tonic for your current delicate condition,” Hunter pushed a pint across the table.

  Thorias smiled, “in my professional capacity, I must concur.”

  “How are the others fairing?” The captain asked, watching as Thorias took a drink. “I was able to inquire as to Mrs. Givens and William, to which I know they are both recovering nicely. Beyond that, they ushered me along rather rapidly when I asked after anyone else, such as Miss Olivander or Detective MacTaggart.”

  “Quite my fault, there,” the doctor explained. “I warned the staff that Miss Olivander’s condition was rather … brittle. So, she needed as little excitement as possible. Therefore I suspect they may have taken a rather draconic stance over it. Although, before I left, she had been drinking tea and was sleeping soundly. That is a very good sign in and of itself. Detective MacTaggart and Constable Martin are recovering nicely, as well.”

  Hunter took a sip of his own drink, “you attended to them?”

  “I assisted,” Thorias corrected. “The police contacted the Medical Academy for one of their top surgeons. Nice work, as well. Both the detective and the constable should make a fairly speedy recovery, as well as anyone can from a bullet wound.”

  “Of that I’m all too familiar,” Hunter said darkly.

  “What of our mad scientist?” Dr. Llwellyn asked. “And her menagerie of assistants?”

  “As I understand it from Constable Anderson, Dr. Hereford is being remanded into the care of an asylum. Predominantly for the criminally insane, though I’m sure they see all kinds.”

  “I’d say ‘poor woman’, but given what she did, I can’t muster the sympathy,” The doctor said grimly. “From what I saw of Liam, he couldn’t have survived the jolt he took from that CASS.”

  Hunter shook his head slightly, “no, he didn’t. He’ll be answering to Providence for his misdeeds, not any court.”

  “So, what of Sirrah Conor O'Daily, and the Monkhouses?”

  “Ah well, you see once all concerned were brought in, I heard that Conor was quite cooperative.” The captain explained. “Earned him passage right to the Royal Navy shipyards at the Bermuda penal colony instead of to a noose. Mrs. Anita Monkhouse has been remanded to prison until her hearing. I suspect she’ll be sent right back there after the trial. Her husband, well, he’s quite a different story.”

  “How so?”

  Hunter took a short drink, “As it was told to me, he suffered a breakdown. He is cooperating, but he is under direct medical observation. I suspect he’ll be tried if he fully recovers.”

  “Did the police uncover anything about Dr. Hereford’s … project?” Thorias asked with a grimace.

  “Yes, they discovered a laboratory nestled underneath the factory from directions provided by WIlliam,” Hunter explained, “once he was awake and in his own mind. Monkhouse was, through his wife, purchasing ‘upgrades’ for his factory. He knew something of what was going on, but kept a blind eye to it. His wife managed the direct dealings with Dr. Hereford.”

  “So the victims were prototypes? Simply experiments to validate the process?” The doctor asked, horrified.

  Hunter took a drink of his stout, setting the glass down carefully. “Experiments … yes. And the failures were sold as revenue sources to augment the stipend from Monkhouse.” The captain looked thoughtfully across the tavern while more patrons entered, settling at tables or along the bar. “What of Miss Olivander’s … Lydia’s … condition?”

  “Ah, yes, her ‘condition’,” the doctor echoed. “On one hand, I’m horrified. Vivisection of a helpless girl struggling to make a life? Monstrous. Although, the work was itself brilliant.”

  Thorias hesitated, as if the words were painful to say. “I can’t remove any of it, you know. She’d die for certain. As it stands now, amazingly, I believe she’ll survive just fine.

  “Although, the ‘enhancements’ haven’t caused her any medical grief that I can see,” the doctor said with a shrug. “As long as she sees a physician regularly, I suspect she’ll recover to enjoy a very long life. I sent word to a gentlemen I know, a Dr. Joseph Bell. He lectures at the University of Edinburgh when he’s not busy in the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. Brilliant fellow. He enjoys a challenge.”

  “How extensive were her … ‘enhancements’?” Hunter asked carefully. “Do you know how much was replaced?”

  “Extensive,” the doctor replied grimly. “Bone and sinew replaced at key stress points, her lungs have been replaced, her heart augmented with some clockwork timing mechanism. I didn’t perform any deep surgery for fear of causing her great harm. I swear I thought I heard more, but I didn’t find anything else when I was removing the metal filings that sliced her so badly.”

  “You only worked around and in her wounds, yes?” The captain asked.

  “Yes, just where she was sliced when she was tossed into the wagon,” Thorias replied. “Although there were faint burn marks on the base of her skull, near what looked to be a scar. I didn’t know what to make of that, so I let it be for the moment.”

  He then frowned, giving Anthony a suspicious look. “You’re driving somewhere with this. What are you after?”

  Hunter looked at his friend in surprise. “Me? Nothing.”

  “Rubbish,” the doctor replied. “I’ve known you far too long. You’ve deduced something. What is it?”

  The captain shook his head, “it’s a theory. Nothing more. If I’m accurate in my guess, I’m not certain if I should be elated at solving the mystery, or greatly disturbed.”

  Moira walked up to the table with Rodney in tow, both ducking between a small knot of teamsters that were entering the tavern at the same time.

  “Theorizin’?” Moira asked curiously. “About what, Cap’n?”

  As Hunter glanced up, a ghost of a smile spread over his face. “Ah, smashing! You’re both here.” The captain stood, lifting the coat from the chair next to him. “Which means we need to go.”

  “Wait, what?” The lady blacksmith said in surprise. “Go?”

  Dr. Llwellyn continued to look at his friend suspiciously while Moira and Rodney exchanged a befuddled glance.

  “Pray tell, where are we going, Anthony?” Thorias asked, “you’re being right cryptic, even for you.”

  “To prove a theory,” Anthony said, donning his coat. “Or to disprove it. Care to join me in a field test?” With the ghost-like smile still on his face, he dropped two coins on the table.

  “Hasn’t anyone wondered, through all of this, why were the heather blossoms left at the overturned cart? Fresh blossoms?” Before anyone could answer, the captain turned away, heading briskly for the door.

  “Infuriating,” the doctor said with a ragged sigh, “just infuriating.” Taking a last drink from his stout, Thorias rose, following Anthony to the front door.

  Rodney shrugged at Moira, then turned to follow the first two.

  “What theory?” Moira sputtered with a frustrated glare aimed at the trio exiting the front door. When no one answered, she rolled her eyes as she raced to catch up with them.

  Chapter 36

  A noticeable quiet had settled like a blanket, softly covering the length of the Grassmarket. Where earlier in the day, merchant carts and stalls had lined the area, only trampled grass and muddy footprints r
emained. Tall buildings with darkened windows looked on like silent observers, watching the few pedestrians passing by.

  Captain Hunter walked briskly along as one of the pedestrians, the stale smell of the factories drifting across the early evening air. Nearby, voices could be heard through an open window mingled with music – a family enjoying one another's company just before the evening meal. Beside him, Thorias Llwellyn and Rodney Barnes moved quickly to match the captain’s pace. Not far behind, Moira raced to catch up.

  “Granted, I have been curious over the flower blossoms,” Dr. Llwellyn said, “although of late, I confess I’d forgotten about them.”

  “As had I,” Hunter admitted. “However, Will was awake when I asked after him today. He mentioned the flowers to me – that the ones we found had been freshly cut, or nearly so.”

  “But that means somebody had to put ’em there,” Moira interjected, catching up with the group.

  The captain nodded, “indeed. Someone did. Someone placed those flowers there as a cry for help, I suspect.”

  Hunter led the small group along Candlemaker’s Row, past the curve that followed the wall outside the cemetery at Greyfriar’s Kirk. He continued his explanation while he walked, “Will mentioned that Mrs. Givens remembered three women asking after Miss Newt: Lydia, Vivian and a woman named Mary. Mary, based on accounts, I believe is Mary Hereford. Vivian is Vivian Carpenter. Lydia I believe to be Miss Olivander.”

  “So one of them left the flowers?” Rodney asked.

  “Wait, I see what you’re driving at,” Dr. Llwellyn interrupted, “Any could have done it, but you’re assuming the gears were left at the same time.”

  “Yes,” Hunter replied with a reserved smile, “the gears were too clean to have been laying in the soft mud for all that long. They are specialized, being of a type used at woolen mills, and from what Mrs. Givens told William, Mrs. Monkhouse did often purchase fresh heath blossoms. Whoever laid those by the cart knew that.”

  The captain turned at the corner of a tan brick building and stopped at the stone stairs and cemetery gate of Greyfriar’s Kirk. “Given that, Vivian would have no access to the gears from the factory. Mary would, but why leave any evidence? She had been obsessed with keeping everything quiet. Lydia remains.”

  “Wait, wait,” Moira said abruptly, “Lydia was the one getting us to go ‘round looking for her friend. She was surprised to even see the wagon. If she already knew about it, why be surprised?”

  Hunter smiled, “if I’m correct with this outlandish theory, Lydia truly did not know.”

  “Twins?” Rodney suggested, to which Thorias shook his head.

  “No,” the doctor replied, with a suspicious glance at Anthony. “Something else. Twins would not be ‘outlandish’, just a handy coincidence.”

  Captain Hunter walked up to the gate and slowly ascended the ancient stone stairs. Overhead, black ravens watched from the treetops in silence, their obsidian eyes glittered against the coming night. The captain held up a hand to warn the others to wait.

  The baleful eye of the full moon had risen, peeking between the boughs of trees. Bone-white moonlight glittered off the cemetery tombstones, casting long shadows that danced in glee with the hint of fog that had just begun to rise from the grass, faintly damp from the evening air.

  Unable to sustain her patience, Moira leaned forward to stare at the silent cemetery. “What now?” She whispered. “What are we lookin’ for? Ghosts?”

  “After a fashion,” Anthony replied in a hushed tone. “We should know in a moment.”

  Just then, the figure of a young lady, wearing a blue dress with tan trim and draped in a gray shawl, stepped from the shadows across the dark grass. From their vantage point at the gate, the observers could not make out her identity, although Captain Hunter smiled satisfactorily.

  “There’s our answer now,” he told the others while he stepped out onto the grass, walking towards the lone figure.

  The air itself seemed to pause while the captain headed across the grass, slowly approaching in such a way that he would intercept the young woman just as she reached three long mounds of earth. Fresh earth filling new graves with clean, small headstones.

  One of the headstones was for Hiram Jones, another for Vivian Carpenter. They had been interred only just that day. Next to those stood a third stark white headstone marked ‘Allison Newt’, thrust up like a bone through the ground.

  Five yards away, Captain Hunter pushed his hands into his coat pockets and stopped walking. The others paused alongside him. The young woman quietly knelt and placed fresh sprigs of heather blossoms onto the fresh graves.

  “Miss Allison Newt, I presume?” Captain Hunter asked quietly, “We’ve been on quite the merry chase to find you.”

  While it was the form of Lydia Olivander that turned to look at the captain, her voice was not the timid alto tone that belonged to the brave young girl from the woolen mill. It was more self-confident, yet at the same time, sad, as if from someone who had been through a staggering ordeal. In the pale moonlight, Hunter watched while the young woman’s eyes changed color to a deep, greenish-hazel. Lydia smiled warmly.

  “Ah shouldn’t be surprised to find ye and the others here, Cap’n,” She replied with a noticeable Scottish accent; one that Lydia did not possess. “Of course, that’s why Ah suggested Lydia go into the White Hart Tavern that night. Ah had a good feelin’ that all of ye would be the right ones to help us.”

  “Us?” Dr. Llwellyn asked curiously before a kernel of understanding took hold. “Wait … ‘us’ … Oh my word … ” He said in shock.

  “I … I don’t understand,” Rodney stammered, his voice quavering, skin as pale as a sheet.

  Moira stared wide-eyed at the woman that looked like Lydia Olivander, but spoke with the voice of another young woman altogether. “She’s possessed,” she said in a hushed tone.

  Lydia-Allison stood and brushed the dirt from her simple dress, then folded her hands in front of her.

  “Ah apologize, Doctor,” she told Dr. Llwellyn. “Ah’m sure yer vexed with me for draggin’ Lydia out of bed like this. What with Greyfriar’s Kirk being only a short coach ride from the hospital, Ah thought no harm would be done.” She hesitated, embarrassed, “Ah also be afraid that we’d never get another chance to be payin’ respects, once people eventually … found out about me and Lydia.”

  Medical responsibility to his patient came to the fore in his mind, spurring him to action. “Oh! Well, you should be more careful, young lady, er, ladies … “ he stumbled over his words while walking quickly over to Lydia-Allison. “You might have pulled one of your stitches.”

  The young woman lifted an arm to allow the doctor to inspect her wounds as best he could through the clothing. “Ah be quite careful. Last Ah ever want would be to hurt Lydia.”

  “Lydia? Don’t you mean ‘you’ … not ‘Lydia’,” Rodney suggested, still struggling with the entire moment.

  Lydia-Allison smiled, suppressing a laugh. “In a way, Ah do, but Ah mean her too, Rodney.”

  “Fortunately, no harm done physically,” the doctor said after a moment. “Nothing that I can right away see or feel seems to be loose or bleeding.” He gave the young woman a deep frown, “you should be more careful in the future.”

  “We will,” she replied.

  “Miss Newt,” Hunter said carefully, “how did his happen? What do you remember?”

  “Ah remember most of it, especially how it started,” Lydia-Allison replied. “It be all about that one night. Ye remember the one, Rodney?”

  “Yes,” Rodney replied, an embarrassed flush turning his cheeks a faint crimson. “I remember. It’s when I accidentally broke my opti. You said you saw something strange along the avenue.”

  Lydia-Allison nodded, “yes, the two with the carpet. Ah followed them quite a ways that night, thinking ye could still hear me. Ah followed them all the way to that accursed factory, and then below it.” She shook her head sadly, “Ah should’ve gotten h
elp, not gone alone. When Ah caught a glimpse of it being Lydia in the carpet, Ah just couldn’t wait.”

  “What happened then?” Moira asked, wide-eyed.

  Lydia-Allison glanced over at the tombstones, embarrassed. “Ah got away from me own common sense. Ah hid among the boxes, waitin’ for them all to leave. Dr. Hereford and her two men, that is. When they stepped out, Ah raced for the little room. What a nightmare it was! Lydia had been strapped down. Machines were all about her with surgical tools. Ah panicked. Runnin’ over, Ah tried to move the machinery, but it was too heavy for me. So Ah unstrapped Lydia instead.” The young woman paused, “Ah was too slow.”

  She glanced back at the group, “Dr. Hereford caught me just as Ah worked at the last strap! Ah was so close! Before Ah knew it, that mad woman screamed at me, grabbing up a knife to run me through. She was screamin’ Ah’d ruin everything and she wasn’t going to let me.”

  Lydia-Allison shrugged, “we fought for the knife, and somewhere in there Ah fell against that devilish machinery. It was some electroshock generator. Why that mad woman had such a thing is beyond me thinking. When Ah fell into it, it ignited, shocking meself and Lydia.”

  “Electroshock?” Thorias said, surprised. “That wouldn’t cause … this to happen to you.”

  Lydia-Allison smiled at the doctor, “no, but it did nearly kill Lydia and meself. Mostly Lydia. Dr. Hereford decided that wouldn’t do.” Her smiled faded, closing her eyes while her voice shook just slightly from the memory. “So she used parts from the opti, parts from me, parts from other things. All of it to repair and make what she wanted. Lydia never had ta wake from it … thankfully. As for me, Ah remember … long painful moments, but not all of it. Ah think they disposed of me body later.”

  “The mortuary,” Hunter said thoughtfully. “The young woman with no identity.”

  “Wait though,” Moira interjected, “Her hair be black as a raven, an she wasn’t burnt any.”

  “Leather dye for the hair,” Lydia-Allison replied. “Ah do remember her tellin’ one of her men that she was worried someone might remember what Ah look like. So she took great pains to change what Ah looked like.” The young woman hesitated a moment, “to erase me.”