Ainsley closed his eyes at the thought and wondered if the other children had been treated the same. He rushed into the adjoining room, and one by one went to each of the victims. Sure enough, they all showed signs of a severely dry mouth, though none had the same distinct smell.
“They have all been washed,” Ainsley said as he walked back to Sidney at the examination table. “But I am certain they all were subdued the same.” Ainsley’s discovery made sense. How else could Jonathon, as strong as he was, be overtaken?
“So what now?” Sidney asked.
“You are going to have one of the most thorough anatomy lessons of your career,” Ainsley answered in complete seriousness. With one major discovery under his belt he wasn’t about to let anything by him.
Chapter 18
The noise beside you, dripping coldly, purely,
Ainsley walked slowly down the second-floor hall at Marshall House, weary from another long day. He began to unbutton his shirt and then slipped off his waistcoat, draping it over the crook of his arm. He required sleep most of all but he knew he would not find it that night. His mind was held hostage by the images he saw that day, another child snuffed of life and butchered like an animal. Ainsley had not slept well in the past weeks and he held little hope of finding any rest in the coming hours.
He turned the corner to his room and found Julia next to his desk, leaning in while surveying some sketches he had drawn.
“Julia.”
Startled, she looked up and quickly backed away from the desk, clutching the feather duster in her hand, closer to her chest. “My apologies, my lord,” she said avoiding his gaze. “They only caught my eye for a minute.”
Ainsley stepped closer, interested in seeing which ones she had seen. His often gruesome, anatomical sketches he left at his office, always fearful one of the maids or even his father might see them. At home, he made sure his subjects were more neutral, and not related to his work. He could see she had found his sketches of his mother, visions he had held in his memories for years, images he was eager to get down on paper after her passing lest he forget them entirely. He pulled the pages off his desk, aligning them so that the corners and edges matched. One remained unfinished, abandoned once he had started work on the surgeon case.
“They are quite good,” Julia said, as she eased away from the desk, heading for the door.
“Margaret told me you were unwell,” Ainsley called after her. He placed the pages down, hiding them beneath a leather portfolio.
“Not unwell,” Julia answered turning, “just overtired.”
Ainsley nodded. There was a quiet tension between them, filling the room like a mist from the Thames. Ainsley wanted so much to go to her, pull her into his arms, but she looked guarded against him. He had wondered if she regretted their coupling, more so if she was angered with him for it.
“I wanted to offer an apology. I never meant to take advantage of you in that way.” The words almost choked him. He wanted her and presumed she wanted him too. She was a stunning woman, but there was more to it than that. There was an unspoken passion between them, there always had been, and he wished there could have been an easy solution to their mutual desire. “It was wrong for me to abuse my position and I shall never do anything like that again.” He turned slightly to hide his discomfort at the words. He could not tell her he cared nothing, for it simply was not true.
“I’m not angry,” she answered, almost panicked, “if that’s what you think.”
Ainsley turned toward her. “You aren’t angered with me?”
“No,” Julia answered, before she glanced toward the door. “I thought perhaps you would be angered with me,” she said, “or already grown tired of me.”
Ainsley let out a quick breath and shook his head. “Absolutely not. I will never tire of you!” He stepped toward her, pulling her behind his open door, where no one walking down the hall could see, and kissed her freely.
Later that night, with the entire house dark save for the lamp at Ainsley’s bedside, the young doctor looked over the sleeping woman in his bed and quietly watched the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. Resting on her side, Julia’s cinnamon hair lay loose on the pillow as she cradled her cheek in the crook of her arm. Ainsley reached over, brushing her hair back from her face, and touched her cheek with his finger. Never had he been with anyone so pure. It seemed almost a dream that she could consider him worthy of her attention. Maid or not, she bore a confidence, an air of royalty that placed her well above the station of her birth. Ainsley smiled, remembering how he had seen that in her the moment he first laid eyes on her.
It seemed unfair, he realized, for her to be born into such circumstances. For her to grow up in an orphanage, to be trained for service from such an early age, her first and lasting misfortune to be born to a poor, sickly mother while he, Margaret, and Daniel bore no such burden.
Ainsley’s hand trembled at the thought, the cruelty of fate. Julia stirred and opened her eyes, a smile touching the corners of her lips. “You do not sleep,” she said softly.
“I cannot,” he answered, disheartened.
She looked him over, pensive and concerned. “Your work haunts you,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Ainsley nodded. “I will not tell you the horrors that I see.” He stroked her hair gently, letting it trail over the curves of her back.
“You could,” she answered earnestly. “It will help ease the burden you carry.”
Ainsley smiled at her offer but shook his head. “No, it is my burden alone.”
She slipped closer, wrapping her arm over his bare chest and snuggling into him. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips. Before long he heard the slow, rhythmic sounds of sleep come over her and he turned to snuff the light of the lamp.
When Ainsley came down for breakfast he found Maxwell standing at attention in the foyer and immediately Ainsley’s mood was soured. The man was not his first choice for butler but, out of the list of candidates, he had been the most qualified. He’d have to answer to his father, at any rate, who would wonder why Ainsley had passed up the chance to hire such a candidate when there were so few to choose from.
“Good morning, Lord Marshall.” Maxwell gave an exaggerated bow as Ainsley reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Has Cutter shown you the butler’s office?” Ainsley enquired, forcibly hiding his contempt for the new staff member.
“He has, Lord Marshall, and a fine office it is, sir.” Maxwell began to follow Ainsley as he passed. Eager to get back to his morgue, Ainsley went straight for the cloak closet, opened its double doors, and began riffling inside.
“Is there any way I can be of service to you, Mr. Marshall? I’m afraid our interview ended abruptly and, well, the fact is, I was surprised when the agency called me. I thought for certain I had displeased you in some way.”
Finding his coat, Ainsley turned and refused help while putting it on. “Do not mistake my hiring you as an acceptance of your character,” he said as he adjusted the collar. “In this house we frown upon our maids fraternizing with the male staff and I suspect we are not the only house in the city that operates so.”
Maxwell nodded, keeping a sharp eye on Ainsley as he spoke.
“We expect discretion in all things and will not tolerate deception.” Ainsley saw the hypocrisy in his words. His real intent was to scare Maxwell away from even looking at Julia. He couldn’t have cared less whether Maxwell entertained anyone at the end of his shift, but he wasn’t going to let this man make eyes with Julia ever again.
“Am I clear?”
Maxwell nodded obediently. “Yes, sir. I would never dream of it, sir.”
“Very well.” Ainsley turned to the clutter that made the foyer look more like a warehouse than a Belgravia entranceway. “Margaret’s auction is this evening and I am sure she will be instructing the staff most of today with auction business. Please indulge her. One more day and we shall be back to normal.” Ainsley began pulling
at the cuffs of his shirt beneath the sleeves of his coat and shrugged his shoulders to entice the coat to sit properly on them.
Maxwell nodded. “Is Lady Margaret expected back soon?”
“What do you mean? Has she left the house?” Ainsley stopped his fidgeting and looked to the new butler with confusion. “It is not yet nine o’clock.”
“Yes, sir, I thought it strange as well but nor did I see it my place to question the young woman’s coming and goings.” The smile that crept over the butler’s features fell abruptly when his eyes met Ainsley’s. “Forgive me, sir.”
“You must understand, Mr. Maxwell, she is my sister and the only remaining member of my family with whom I am close. It is my wish to protect her from all things and I shall need you to be my accomplice.”
Maxwell nodded, eager to please. “Yes, sir.”
“I will speak with her when I return.” Ainsley reached into the closet and pulled down his hat from one of the shelves. “Cutter will be in charge this day but in the morrow I should like to see you at the helm. I hired you for a particular purpose and I may not like you, but I believe you will do well.” Ainsley cocked his head toward the back stairway that led down to the kitchens. “Go to Cook and familiarize yourself with our family’s requirements. My father will not return for some weeks and it is my intent that you should be thoroughly educated regarding the intimate details of this house.”
“Yes, sir.” Maxwell slipped past Ainsley and headed for the stairs.
The exchange left Ainsley depleted. The family had been spoiled for years with Billis’s quiet presence. He knew everything with regard to the family, the staff, and the needs of the house. Aside from the odd request, Billis knew what the family would need long before they did. Those days were over, Ainsley realized as he watched the new butler make his way down to the kitchens. The next few months would be fraught with mistakes, forgotten chores, and flaring tempers, and it certainly was not something Ainsley was looking forward to.
Chapter 19
Of spirits’ tears.
Margaret pulled at her gloves as she walked the halls of the hospital, cautiously peering through each doorway as she passed in the hopes Jonas could be found. Each room held horrors more gruesome than the last. The cries of agony, some muffled, some shrill, were easy enough to ignore but the expressions on the faces of the patients, those seeking relief from their pain as well as those wishing a quicker and more humane end to their suffering was almost too much for her to bear. It was this that made her doubt her early conviction to be a surgeon. Her brother had taught her how to detach herself from the dead, but it was the suffering of the barely living that crumpled her resolve. Since her mother’s death she hadn’t had much time to think about it, which was all the better, she told herself. She doubted she had the fortitude to challenge the establishment’s view regarding female doctors, to say nothing of the views society had for a high-ranked person going into trade.
She envied Jonas and Peter, though. They had such freedom to do as they pleased, though Peter would argue it was nothing of the kind. Margaret never wished she had been born a man—she was well-suited to her female form—but it was the lack of understanding that she could do without. She wished there could be more people advocating for the issues of women and less advocacy for control over them.
Margaret’s intent was to arrive early and find Jonas before he started with his surgeries. Her plan seemed so well-formulated in her mind that she had not considered tracking him down would be so involved. There was one final door on that floor to try and when Margaret peered around the corner she found a great beast of a woman scowling back at her, her face so sour Margaret was sure she had been raised on a strict diet of lemons.
“What ye want?” she asked hoarsely.
Margaret stammered, put off by this woman who had to be three times her size.
“Ye can’t go ’round spyin’ on all and sundry because yer ladyship wants ta. We ’ave rules, you see.”
Margaret nodded. “Yes, sir, er, ma’am. I beg your pardon. I was only looking for Dr. Davies. He’s a surgeon—”
Margaret was cut off by the woman’s cackle. “Ye and everyone else, I s’pose.” Margaret waited as the woman turned in place, rocking her excess weight back and forth from one leg to the other as she tried to pivot in place. Retreating to a desk Margaret had not even realized was there, the woman used it to hold herself up as she spoke.
“If ’er was up ta me, I’d ’ave never ’ired him. Too distracting for my girls, you see. I’ze needs workin’ girls, not swoon and giggle girls.”
Margaret nodded, for a moment feeling she could have easily been talking to a calculated madam in a den of ill-repute, instead of a head nurse at a respected hospital.
“Dr. Davies is usually on the second floor, visiting patients. Best if ye start there.” The madam gave Margaret a black-toothed grin, which did little to soften the manner of her delivery.
Margaret nodded, expressed a quick thank you and retreated with haste.
Grateful for the relative quiet on the second floor, Margaret noticed most of the doors were closed and felt less inclined to brazenly snoop for Jonas. Instead, she approached a handful for girls, nurses in training or so Margaret guessed, huddled a few yards away. Judging by their size, they could have been no more than fourteen and their matching giggles only served to reinforce that belief.
“Excuse me,” Margaret said as she approached.
The girls, all childish and ill-mannered, turned quickly at the sound of Margaret’s voice. “Shh!” one of them hissed. “It’s a right proper lady.”
“Can I help you, Miss?” a second one asked, forcing down a mischievous smile. She swatted her hand at one of them that pulled at her skirt.
Margaret smiled. Their youthful mischief made her nostalgic. “I am searching for Dr. Jonas Davies.”
One of the girls gasped and was quick to place a hand over her gaping mouth. Margaret’s smile faded as her impatience grew.
“Dr. Davies, ma’am?” the second one asked.
“Yes.” Margaret decided to use her authoritative voice in this instance. The girls seemed to respond better to it. “Where is he?”
The girls looked to each other and finally the second girl pointed to the door they had been pressing their ears against. Confused, Margaret approached, but the girls did not dissipate. They allowed her to pass between them but waited on bated breath as Margaret opened the door.
Inside, Margaret found Jonas, half-seated on the edge of a desk and a young woman, older than the girls in the hall, thank goodness, pressed against his legs teasingly. They moved quickly at the sound of the door but not quickly enough. Margaret had seen Jonas’s hand at the back of the woman’s neck as if kissing.
Margaret straightened her spine, pulling her shoulders back and inching her chin slightly higher. She raised an eyebrow coolly, unwilling to allow either of them to see how much she was actually trembling.
“Good morning, Jonas,” she said. She offered a calculated smile as she looked from Jonas to the woman and back again. “I came to ask you to breakfast,” she lied. “I see you have already had some.”
Turning on her heels, Margaret left, not caring in the slightest if he ever spoke a word to her again. She imagined he’d follow, running after her, begging the opportunity to explain, but he didn’t. She pushed through the group of girls at the doorway, who feigned scandal and made for the stairs, but Jonas still did not come. By the time she reached the front doors, she realized how much she had expected his rebuttal and even thought to slow down some, and give him the chance to catch up. Once outside the front doors she looked up to the second-floor windows, wondering if she could catch a glimpse of him begging her to wait. Instead, she saw nothing and it was his silence, more than anything, which hurt her the most.
Jacob had dutifully kept the family carriage at the front doors, though off to the side. He gave a look of relief when he saw her approaching and quickly opened the door and offere
d a hand for her to climb in. “Where to now, Miss?” he asked.
“Home, please.”
Jacob nodded and snapped the door closed quick enough to latch. Margaret slid to the opposite side of the carriage bench, the extra half a foot giving extra distance between her and the cause of her pain. The carriage rocked into motion, easing into the traffic of the other carriages while Margaret stewed.
Her brother had been right. Jonas Davies was a rogue, a scoundrel, a womanizer, and she deserved better than that. The reality of these statements, however, did not ease the pain nor halt the cascade of tears.
Chapter 20
The yearning to a beautiful denied you,
The hospital looked like a fortress that day, and though Ainsley once looked upon it with awe and admiration he now saw it as a prison for the dead and dying. No longer did he look forward to his work; instead, he dreaded it and further regarded his tasks with little hope of gaining further information. He wondered whether the honeymoon was over and this was the drudgery others spoke of, when work, once enjoyed, became nothing more than repetitive actions toward a repetitive reward.
As Ainsley walked the hall, and down the back stairs toward the morgue he could feel a sense of despair begin to creep into his consciousness. He had identified chloroform as the murderer’s first contact with the victim. Alice, the mudlark, had been bathed, but from what he could tell, the others had not. Maryanne and Jonathon specifically looked as if he had butchered them where they lay. Ainsley could not say so for any of the others since he did not see where they were found. And his original thought that the murderer was known to the children was not entirely true. Though it could be, Ainsley interjected, and so completing the circle that kept funnelling in his head.
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