Death at the Workhouse

by Emily Organ

  “Of course. You have my word.”

  Chapter 30

  “So you’ve enlisted the help of a priest who fancies himself a detective, have you?” asked James as we walked along the Embankment to meet Kit the shoeshine boy at Temple station. Clouds of smoke from a passing steam barge on the river drifted through the cold air.

  “He seemed rather pleased to be of help,” I replied. “He feels my concerns are justified and said he would be happy to ask around and find out if anyone else saw a man near the murder scene.”

  James took a sharp intake of breath. “He must be careful about that. If the master, clerk or board of guardians learn what he’s up to they won’t allow him to visit the workhouse any longer. That would be a great shame as I’m sure the priests do good work with the inmates there.”

  “He understands that he needs to be careful.”

  James shook his head again. “He’s a priest though, isn’t he? He’s not a detective. He needs to know how to ask the right questions in the right way. We don’t want him putting ideas into the inmates’ heads and creating a whole host of sightings of this possible other culprit.”

  “But we want sightings of him!”

  “We want proper sightings, not something the men come up with because they think it’s what the priest wishes to hear. We don’t even know if this alternative culprit exists.”

  “Then we need more witnesses, don’t we? I don’t know how else we’re supposed to go about it, with the police refusing to co-operate—”

  “We’re not refusing, Penny. We’ve already carried out some investigative work, but it’s complicated by the fact that the case is considered to be resolved and that the only possible witness is a man who some might consider unreliable.”

  “Then you must surely agree that if Father Keane can find out something more, it will give you the opportunity to have the police involved as they should be. Father Keane is perfectly positioned to carry out some careful investigations and he’s extremely keen to do so.”

  James sighed. “Let’s hope he’ll be able to help, but if the board hears about it I fear something could go terribly wrong.”

  “Good mornin’, Inspector,” said Kit as we arrived at Temple station. He stood with his hands stuffed into the pockets of an oversized scruffy overcoat, his shabby wooden shoeshine box sat by his feet.

  “Good morning, Kit. How did you get on with the blacksmith in Shepherd Market?”

  “I sawed a lady go in there, sir, like as you said she would.”

  “How was she dressed?”

  “Nuffink fancy, jus’ a bonnet and shawl.”

  “How old would you say she was?”

  “I ain’t too good with ladies’ ages. Twenny or thirty, I reckon.”

  “And how many times did you see her visiting the blacksmith?”

  “Twice.”

  “And was she carrying anything with her?”

  “Yeah, she ’ad a bundle under one arm.”

  “When she was arriving or leaving? Or at both times?”

  “She ’ad it all the time, I fink.”

  “Thank you, Kit,” James handed him some coins. “That sounds like an extremely useful piece of information. I’ll visit the blacksmith again and ask him a few more questions. If he proves uncooperative I shall apply for a warrant to search his premises.”

  After leaving Kit we paused on the embankment above Temple Pier, where a steamboat had just called in. We watched the passengers disembark.

  “I’ve been thinking about the two books you were sent,” said James. “I wish I knew who they were from.”

  “Inspector Ferguson?” I suggested. “Mr Lennox? Mr Hale? Miss Russell?”

  “It’s rather cowardly, isn’t it? If they have something to say to you they should write you a letter or pay you a visit. They should be able to talk about the matter sensibly rather than leaving books about the place. It’s rather ridiculous behaviour.”

  “Similar things have happened to me before,” I said. “I’m used to it.”

  “You shouldn’t have to get used to intimidating behaviour!” fumed James. “It simply shouldn’t happen. These people should be addressing their own wrongdoings rather than wasting time threatening you.”

  “It’s not particularly threatening on the face of it, is it?” I said. “There are far worse things they could give me than a couple of books.”

  “But as you’ve said yourself, Penny, the manner in which they were left on your desk and doorstep suggests someone is watching you. That thought is far more menacing than the books themselves.”

  “I can live with it if they do nothing more than leave books for me to find.”

  “You can live with someone watching you?”

  “Well, perhaps you could find out who is responsible if you think it necessary. This is something I could ask the police to look into, is it not?”

  “It is.”

  “Only I’m sure they won’t be overly bothered as presumably I have in some way asked for this by angering someone?”

  “I would never take that view, Penny.”

  “But many of your colleagues would.”

  James sighed. “Yes, sadly they would. However, I shall ask a few of my men to do some reconnaissance and see if we can find out who is behind this.”

  “I’m sure there’s no need, James. The police have far more important matters to deal with. For the time being this doesn’t worry me too much. I’m sure it won’t be long before the mysterious book-giver leaves a clue. And although it isn’t entirely pleasant, this sort of behaviour suggests to me that I must be doing something right. If someone wishes to intimidate me it’s because I’ve come a little closer to revealing their secret.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. But what if this situation becomes something more threatening than the sending of books?”

  “Then we shall have to worry about that if it happens.”

  “I’d rather prevent it from happening altogether.”

  “I feel sure that if someone could get to the bottom of what has been happening at Shoreditch Workhouse this intimidation would naturally come to an end. Once the culprits are uncovered they will have no way of threatening me anymore, will they?”

  “But what exactly do you think is happening at Shoreditch Workhouse?”

  “I don’t know, but something isn’t right, is it? Two men supposedly fought to the death and the body of another man is missing. And I can’t help thinking about Bill, who seemed fine when I saw him that evening when I stayed on the casual ward, yet he was dead by the following morning. I had hoped Mr Weyland would have been interested in doing more, but he seems like rather a waste of space to me.

  “Unfortunately, it seems few people share my concerns. Sometimes once I have convinced myself of something, I begin to wonder whether I’m fooling myself. Perhaps I’m missing an obvious explanation or could it be that I’ve talked myself into thinking about this in a certain way?”

  “Don’t start to doubt yourself, Penny.” James turned away from the river to face me. “I think there may well be something in this.”

  “You’re not just saying that to humour me, are you?”

  “No. I think there could be something untoward happening, and I think these two books are indirect evidence of that. You’ve unnerved someone, Penny.”

  “I want to learn a little more about dissection.”

  He gave a snort of surprise. “Why on earth?!”

  “How much do you know about the industry of selling bodies for dissection?”

  “I quite doubt that it is an industry, as such.”

  “Do you know anything about it?”

  “Very little, Penny.”

  “I wonder if Dr Macpherson could help.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I attended his anatomy lecture at the School of Medicine for Women. Do you remember?”

  “Yes, I do now.”

  “I’m sure he could explain it to me.”

&nb
sp; “Do you think it might have something to do with the deaths at Shoreditch Workhouse?”

  “With Mr Connolly’s death, perhaps. The poor law inspector told me that the Shoreditch Union does not sell unclaimed bodies to the medical schools, but perhaps someone is doing so in secret.”

  “I doubt that Dr Macpherson would know anything about that.”

  “He won’t. But he should be able to explain how the system works. And I want to understand how much demand there is for corpses. If there is a high demand, unscrupulous people will be looking to exploit it, won’t they?”

  “They will. But are you sure about this, Penny? The days of bodysnatchers are long gone, and that sort of business is highly regulated these days.”

  “At least, that’s what we like to think, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 31

  I had last visited the medical school at St Bartholomew’s Hospital while reporting on the murder of Richard Geller at the museum the previous summer. It was difficult to imagine how warm the weather had been that day as I walked through the frozen quadrangle of the hospital buildings toward the entrance of the medical school.

  As soon as I stepped into the lobby, I was reminded of my reason for being here. To my left I saw a door labelled ‘Dissecting Room’, while the door to my right was marked ‘Anatomical Theatre’. An odd smell lingered in the air. It was the scent of carbolic soap mixed with the undeniable odour of a butcher’s shop.

  The diminutive Dr Macpherson greeted me warmly in his second-storey office, the large window of which overlooked the elegant spires of the neighbouring Christ’s Hospital school. Beyond it rose the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral.

  “I see that you appreciate the view from here, Miss Green.”

  “It’s certainly an interesting one.” I walked up to the window. “It’s rather intriguing to be able to see Newgate from this vantage point.” The notorious prison, with its forbidding granite walls, gave me a chill whenever I passed by it.

  Dr Macpherson joined me at the window. “I like to keep an eye out to ensure that none of the inmates are attempting to climb out over the walls! Actually, if you and I had stood here just a few hundred years ago, Miss Green, we’d have been looking at the Great Wall of London.”

  “Would we indeed?”

  “Yes. Once upon a time this location was just beyond the city walls. They ran just in front of us here.” He gestured the direction with his hand. “The more recent school buildings were constructed on top of it, which is a bit of a shame. However, I don’t think the wall was in a great state by then.” He walked back to his desk. “Now then, I’ve forgotten what you came here to speak to me about. Do I rightly recall that you attended my talk at the Women’s School of Medicine?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I wrote about it for the ladies’ column in the Morning Express.”

  “Excellent. There is no doubt that many more members of the fairer sex are taking an interest in medicine these days.” He gestured for me to take a seat opposite him. “Do please remind me why you’re here.”

  “I should like to understand how the anatomy trade works,” I said.

  The smile on Dr Macpherson’s face remained fixed, but his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

  “The anatomy trade.”

  “Is there a trade?”

  “I’m not sure quite how to refer to it. What I mean is the sale of corpses for dissection.”

  His expression suddenly grew more serious. “Oh, I see. That’s not something I am at liberty to discuss, I’m afraid.”

  “But why not?”

  He cleared his throat. “It’s rather a political subject, and a controversial one too. We simply aren’t serving ourselves if we discuss these matters in public.”

  “In public?”

  “I’m assuming that everything I say will be printed in your newspaper.”

  “Not necessarily, Dr Macpherson.”

  “That is why you’re here though, is it not?”

  “I’m here to expand my own personal understanding. I have no intention of publishing an article about it.”

  “I see.”

  His shoulders relaxed slightly and I took the opportunity to share my fruitless attempts to discover the whereabouts of Mr Connolly’s remains.

  “If I had a better understanding of how the arrangement between the medical schools and the workhouses worked, perhaps I could make some progress with this particular mystery,” I added.

  “Indeed. I am more than happy to explain it to you, Miss Green, but only if you promise not to write a single word of it down.”

  “I see.”

  “Do I have your word?”

  “Yes.”

  “I really must have your word, because whenever this matter finds its way into the public arena we end up with protestors at the door. It’s a topic the man on the street has strong opinions about but very little understanding of the reasons behind it. Now, if I have your word, Miss Green, I am more than happy to explain it all to you. You’ll soon realise that the system isn’t half as gruesome as you are probably imagining.”

  “Thank you, Dr Macpherson. You have my word.”

  “Good. Now, you’re aware of the Anatomy Act, which was passed a little over fifty years ago?”

  “The act that put an end to the resurrectionists?”

  “That’s exactly what it did: no more bodysnatching. The act not only prevented it but also allowed licensed teachers of anatomy legal access to unclaimed corpses. That was very important.”

  I gave a reassuring nod.

  “Have you heard of the Medical Act of 1858?”

  “No.”

  “This act established the General Medical Council, which maintains the register of qualified doctors. Since then, the number of students wishing to study medicine has soared, and among those numbers are many women, as you well know. Properly qualified doctors are desperately needed in this country, and dissection is the only way for them to learn anatomy and surgery.”

  “What about learning from books?”

  He gave a laugh and sat back in his chair. “Believe me, Miss Green, I would be delighted if books could provide all the education our future doctors needed! Unfortunately, books do not allow a student to learn everything for himself. They do not permit him to practise his discipline slowly and regularly, as he gradually learns the idiosyncrasies of each individual patient. Would you like a surgeon who had never touched a human body before to attend to you?”

  I shook my head and he smiled in response. Then he opened a notebook on his desk. “These are the notes I have made for the forthcoming term. You’re welcome to read them yourself. I take it you are not a lady with a nervous disposition?”

  “No.”

  “Good, I didn’t think you would be. Now then, let me read some of these notes to you. I currently have seventy-one students, and between them they need twenty-four heads.”

  “Heads?” I felt my stomach turn.

  “Yes. Twenty-four heads for dissection. There are three classes a day and I need eight for each class. That’s one head between two or three students. For the coming term I also need eighteen arms, fourteen legs and twenty abdomens. The list goes on from there. You may look at it in more detail if you wish, and you can see my class plan here. Winter is an excellent time for dissection because the cadavers remain fresher for longer. There are chemicals for preserving them, of course, but the general rule is that the fresher they are the better.

  “Now, between you and me, Miss Green, procuring cadavers for dissection is not an easy task. We predominately rely on unclaimed corpses, some of which come from the workhouse, while others are released to us by coroners when bodies have been found in the river or on the street. We pay the hospital porters for amputated limbs, and occasionally we might get a brain from a post-mortem. But if I don’t have sufficient cadavers for dissection, I end up losing students to these new night schools that are now appearing across town. This institution was founded in the twelfth century, and we take g
reat pride in our long history of teaching. Imagine if we were to lose out to these new schools?

  “Matters haven’t been helped by the enthusiastic work of the new chair of human anatomy at Cambridge. He spends most of his time greasing the palms of the workhouse masters, coroners’ mates, hospital porters, dead house staff, midwives and undertakers. And he doesn’t just do it in Cambridge; he has bodies brought in via the railway lines from as far away as Hull and Brighton, not to mention London! Three times a week an express train leaves Liverpool Street Station with windowless carriages. What do you suppose is inside those carriages? For those in the know, it’s the dead train, and its route to Doncaster conveniently takes it through Cambridge. Now, I don’t consider it fair that Cambridge is able to take bodies from London. I acknowledge that the medical school there is twice the size of ours, but there should be rules in place about certain boundaries.”

  I could scarcely believe what I was hearing, having previously had no idea that corpses were still so prized. “Is it fair to say, then, that medical schools are battling one another over the unclaimed bodies of the poor?” I asked.

  “I don’t think the word battle quite describes it, but there’s no doubt that there is a little treading on one another’s toes. And all it does is push the prices up, of course.”

  “How much do you usually pay for a body?”

  “About three pounds for an elderly man, rising to twelve pounds for a young adult and more for a woman or child.”

  “Why is there such a difference?”

  “There are certain features of a woman’s anatomy that are of particular interest to students and are extremely important for learning about childbirth and the suchlike. I’m sure there is no need for me to explain any further. Children make extremely interesting subjects, and abnormalities and deformities are also in high demand. Some of these remains aren’t buried but are preserved in our medical museum.”