Death at the Workhouse

by Emily Organ

  “I’ve seen some of them.”

  “Fascinating, aren’t they?”

  “They are for medical students, no doubt.”

  “We pay a good price, and when we purchase a body from a poor law union there is no need for them to pay cemetery fees or to fund a coffin, carriage or undertaker. This presents significant savings for ratepayers, of course. In fact, the argument that lies behind this entire system is that the poor are paying society back for the welfare they have received in life. These people are not typically ratepayers, and public money has been spent on their poor relief, whether it has taken the form of outdoor relief, medical relief or accommodation in the workhouse. If a pauper is dissected after death his debt to society is repaid.”

  This comment left me speechless for a moment. “No one chooses to be poor,” was all I could manage after a brief silence.

  “Indeed not.”

  “So if someone is destitute they not only have no choice about where they live and work, but are also given no choice about what happens to them after their death!”

  “You’re beginning to sound like one of those protestors we get at the door, Miss Green. I’ve explained how it all works as clearly as I possibly can. I realise the subject can stir up a little emotion, but imagine if your son wished to become a doctor, or perhaps even your daughter? Would you deny your children the proper education and training required?”

  “I haven’t ever given it any thought. I don’t have children, Dr Macpherson.”

  “But if you had children and, God forbid, one of them fell dangerously ill, wouldn’t you wish for them to be attended to by a properly qualified doctor at the earliest possible moment?”

  “Well yes, I would.”

  “Of course you would. It’s what everyone would wish for. Sometimes there are no easy solutions.”

  Chapter 32

  Close to the medical school was a shop called Marshall & Hawes, which sold supplies to medical students. I had passed it a few times before, but on this occasion the two skeletons grinning at me in a macabre fashion from the window caught my eye.

  A thought occurred to me that had never crossed my mind before. Where had those bones come from?

  The long, narrow shop was cluttered, and for some odd reason it stocked magic and party tricks alongside the surgical instruments and medical supplies. A crooked staircase led up to a gallery above my head, and a musty smell hung in the air.

  “How can I help you?” asked a dry-looking man with prominent yellow teeth. He had long grey hair and wore a faded velvet fez on his head.

  “I’m interested in the skeletons you have for sale here,” I said.

  “Ah yes. A lady medical student are you?”

  I was about to correct him but quickly decided to play along. “I am, yes.”

  “The Women’s School of Medicine, I presume?”

  “The very same.” I gave a sweet smile, hoping he wouldn’t ask me any questions about the institution. “What is the price of a skeleton?” I asked.

  “We call them osteology sets,” he replied. “You’re a new student, are you? I take it you haven’t owned one of these before?”

  “No indeed. I’m quite new.”

  He gave a nod as if this was already clearly apparent to him.

  “Prices start from five pounds and five shillings, then increase incrementally from there. The most superior sets are ten pounds and ten shillings. Many of the cheaper ones are second-hand. They will have been owned by former students who have sold them back to us. The more expensive ones are a little newer. And fresher, I should say.” He grinned, displaying more of his discoloured teeth and gums.

  “They have been recently procured, then?” I asked.

  “Indeed they have.” He led me to the back of the shop, where a number of wooden boxes were stacked on top of each other. He removed one, which was about twenty inches long and eight inches wide. He opened it to reveal a pile of bones upon which a skull had been placed.

  “This is one of the superior osteology sets, and as you can see it includes the study notes.”

  He pointed to a small booklet. A label stating ‘Marshall & Hawes: Dealers in Surgical Instruments and Osteology’ had been pasted to the interior of the lid.

  He picked up the skull, which had a clean cut between the upper and lower half. The two pieces were held together with little hooks and pegs. The skull was stamped ‘Marshall & Hawes’ where I imagined the left ear had once been. The proprietor checked the side of the box, where something had been pencilled on it.

  “This is a young male, and one of good stature as well. We’ve had some excellent-quality sets in recently. This is quite a significant investment but we would gladly buy it back from you once you had finished with it.”

  “For how much?”

  “Three or four pounds for this one if you look after him well.”

  “Where did he come from?”

  The shopkeeper gave me a bemused smile. “I’ve no idea, ma’am. The man’s life is far behind him now.”

  “Where did you obtain him from, I mean?”

  “We source our osteology sets from a number of places. Sometimes from overseas.”

  “And this one?”

  “You wish to know the provenance of this particular set?”

  “It’s a superior-quality set, as you say.”

  “Yes, well I can’t be certain where we got this chap from.”

  “Might it have been one of the medical schools?”

  “Sometimes, if they haven’t been too chopped up, that is. I must say you’re quite interested in all this, ma’am.”

  “I am indeed. Each of these osteology sets was once a person.”

  He gave a nod of agreement. “When you look at it that way, I suppose you’re right. I can’t say that many of the medical students who come in here give quite so much thought to the provenance of these bones. However, as a member of the fairer sex you are perhaps more likely to consider these things.”

  “I’m interested to know how a young man of good stature, as you describe him, came to have been reduced to a box of bones in your shop.”

  He gave a laugh. “An interesting thought indeed!”

  “Might he have been a pauper?”

  The shop owner scratched his chin as he considered this. “Yes, I suppose that would be quite likely. Anyone with means would have been buried in the usual way, wouldn’t they? It’s the unclaimed bodies that find their way to the medical schools.”

  I laughed inwardly at his description, which made it sound as though the unfortunate cadavers somehow transported themselves onto the dissecting table.

  “Well, it’s getting on,” he said, checking his pocket watch. “I’m closing for lunch soon. What do you think to this chap here at ten pounds and ten shillings? He’d be a good investment for your years of study.”

  “I shall have to give it some thought.”

  “Of course. And you’ll need to discuss it with your father, as he’ll be the one paying for it, no doubt!”

  Chapter 33

  “I have a feeling that the missing remains of Joseph Connolly may have been dissected,” I said to Mr Sherman in the newsroom the following day.

  “Really?” His eyes widened with interest. “Have you any evidence, or is this just a suspicion?”

  “It’s just a suspicion at present, but having spent some time with Dr Macpherson at St Bartholomew’s Medical School I now realise how valuable bodies are to those within the medical profession.”

  “They are indeed. My brother would know about all that. I recall that we published a piece called ‘In the Dissecting Room’ several years ago, and I think it’s high time we did something similar again. How about we report on the School of Medicine for Women this time? You could visit the dissecting room there and write an account of what you see the female medical students doing.”

  “I really don’t think I’d be up to the task, sir.”

  “You don’t have the stomach for it?”
>
  “I never thought I would find myself saying this, but I’d rather write fashion tips for the ladies’ column!”

  Mr Sherman laughed. “I understand. Fish! Fancy a visit to the dissecting room?”

  “No thank you, sir.”

  “Potter?”

  “I really couldn’t, sir.”

  “Well, that is a shame. I think a report of some sort is necessary if we can prove that poor Mr Connolly ended up there.”

  “I hope he didn’t,” I said.

  “Well, someone’s got to end up there, haven’t they?” replied the editor. “How else will our doctors learn?”

  “That’s what Dr Macpherson said. But I think people should have a say in whether their bodies are dissected or not. To deny people a choice because they happen to be poor is unconscionable.”

  “You can’t go giving people a choice!” scoffed Edgar. “Everyone would say no if they were asked. No one wants to be dissected, do they? Otherwise, what will happen on the Day of Judgement? One can hardly stand before the Lord cut up into small pieces, can one?”

  “Doctors should be dissected,” said Frederick. “If each doctor offered himself up to be dissected after his death, demand would most likely be satisfied.”

  “I don’t think there are enough doctors for that,” said Mr Sherman.

  “I could check the dissection registers at the medical schools for a record of Mr Connolly,” I said.

  “You are not to spend your time doing that, Miss Green. If any wrongdoing has occurred, it’s up to the poor law inspector to investigate.”

  I gave a derisory snort. “I can’t imagine the poor law inspector doing anything about it.”

  “All the same, it’s not your job to locate Mr Connolly’s remains.”

  I thought of his family and felt saddened that I would be unable to bring them any good news.

  “Let’s get on with the reports on General Gordon’s death at Khartoum,” said Mr Sherman, rubbing his hands together. “That’s the only news people want to hear about at the moment. Two days! If the relief force had arrived just two days sooner, he’d have been saved. What a disgrace. I need your article as soon as possible, Miss Green.”

  “I shall get right on with it, sir.”

  “Good. And I’m pleased that you’re no longer bothering the police about those deaths at Shoreditch Workhouse. Your attention is needed elsewhere.”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  I decided it was best to pretend that I was no longer interested in the case at Shoreditch for the time being.

  “Liverpool Street Station, Penny?” asked James as we met on the cold street outside it. “Why here?”

  “This way,” I replied, striding off in the direction of Bishopsgate Street.

  It was early evening and the light was fading fast. The gas lamps were being lit, and around us smartly dressed clerks and bankers were hurrying through the cold to the train station and their journeys home.

  “Dr Macpherson told me something interesting, so I wanted to come and see it for myself.”

  “And you’ve invited me here to keep you company?” James asked, matching my stride.

  “That was foremost in my mind yes,” I replied with a smile, “but I also thought it would be interesting for both of us to see who might be involved in this.”

  “Involved in what?”

  “I’ll show you. These people don’t want to be seen, so my guess is that they’ll use the back entrance to the station rather than the main entrance on Liverpool Street.”

  “I’m intrigued,” replied James.

  We continued along Bishopsgate.

  “I obtained a warrant to search Mr Brook the blacksmith’s premises,” said James. “And what do you suppose we found?”

  “Some of the items that had been stolen from Lord Courtauld?”

  “Exactly that. Along with a quantity of melted down silver.”

  “I presume he is under arrest now, then.”

  “Yes, but there is still no sign of Maisie Hopkins, unfortunately.”

  “But she sold the items to Mr Brook?”

  “Yes, and I think she must have made some good money from the things she sold to him, as well as the items she pawned.”

  “Perhaps if the Courtaulds had paid her more she wouldn’t have considered it necessary to steal from them.”

  “She has to take responsibility for her actions, Penny.”

  “Yes, she does. But Mrs Hodges explained to me that Lady Courtauld’s scheme to help girls from the workhouse become maids affords them a much lower wage than other maids would be paid. While I realise that Maisie shouldn’t have turned to stealing as a result, that must have caused her to develop great animosity against her employers. Anyone who works as a servant should be paid a fair and equal wage.”

  “Depending on their age and experience.”

  “Yes, that’s right. The fact that a maid has come from the workhouse shouldn’t give her employers an excuse to pay her less. And the Courtaulds are hardly short of money! I reported on their daughter’s birthday party, and it was abundantly clear that there was no hardship among their circle.”

  “I have visited their home a few times and can concur with that.”

  “And that’s just their London home. No doubt they have one in the country too.”

  “I believe they do.”

  We turned left into a narrow lane just beyond a large public house.

  “I have no desire to condone what Maisie did,” I continued, “but I actually have more sympathy for her than for the Courtaulds.”

  “Crime is never the answer, Penny.”

  “No, but if you are unable to arrest her I won’t feel too upset about it. In my mind, the real criminals are those who exploit the poor and vulnerable. They profit from their misery by paying them as little as possible for their long days of hard work. You see it in factories and you see it in wealthy townhouses. And even when the poor souls are dead people continue to make money from them!”

  “Are you sure it was a good idea to find out more about dissection?”

  “Of course! And I’ll tell you what else I’ve discovered. Once the medical schools are finished with the paupers’ corpses, some are sold again to businesses that supply medical students. Some poor individuals are doomed to be a pile of bones in a box for ever, eventually accompanied by a set of study notes! Would you wish that fate upon your loved ones, James?”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “And yet it happens.”

  “I suppose medical students and doctors must have skeletons to aid their study.”

  “Yes, they must. But must those skeletons always be supplied by the poor and the destitute? By those who have no say in their destiny?”

  The lane opened out onto Skinner Street, which took the form of a long bridge over the many railway lines leading in and out of Liverpool Street Station. A train passed beneath us, covering us with plumes of smoke.

  We paused for a moment and surveyed the vast iron and glass structure that covered the platforms. It was lit with the warm glow of gaslight, and beyond it we could see the dark silhouette of the new station hotel, which was under construction. A covered cart passed by before turning left into a narrow roadway that led down to the platforms.

  “That looks interesting,” I said, beginning to follow.

  “I hope it is,” replied James. “When are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “You’ll see for yourself in a moment.”

  We followed the cart down the roadway and watched as it moved onto the platform and halted beside a row of carriages. I quickened my step so we could get a better look.

  “Carriages without windows!” I exclaimed. “Just as Dr Macpherson described them.”

  “And what are they transporting?” James asked. Two men uncovered the cart, and we saw that it was loaded with long wooden chests. “Are those coffins?”

  “This is the dead train,” I replied.

  I explained to James wh
at I had learnt from Dr Macpherson about the anatomy trade as we watched the men unload the coffins.

  “Can you be sure that these coffins are being taken to Cambridge?” he asked.

  “Why don’t we ask the men who are unloading them?”

  We walked down to the platform and saw that the train had three plain, windowless carriages.

  “These are destined for the medical school at Cambridge are they?” I asked two startled men who had just unloaded another coffin.

  “We ain’t at liberty ter say,” one of them replied curtly.

  We continued on our way and soon came across a second cart. One of the men unloading it looked familiar. It was a few moments before I realised that I could put a name to the careworn expression.

  “That’s Mr Finlay!” I whispered to James excitedly. “He’s one of the undertakers I spoke to about Mr Connolly. Now that we’ve seen him he can’t possibly deny that he’s involved in this trade. Perhaps he sold Mr Connolly’s remains?”

  “He may not have done, Penny. From what you’ve told me there is nothing criminal about what these men are doing here. The only reason for the secrecy is that passengers would likely be upset by the sight of coffins being loaded onto a train.”

  “Let’s go and speak to him.”

  “You’re not expecting me to make an arrest are you, Penny? There’s no obvious crime being committed, and we’re also within the jurisdiction of the City of London Police. I’ll need to tread carefully.”

  “I just want to hear what his explanation is.”

  I introduced myself and James once we had approached Mr Finlay.

  He gave me a cautious smile and then glanced at James. “I’ve got all the official papers, Hinspector.”

  “I’m sure you have. I’m not here to question you.”

  “Do you know the chair of human anatomy at the University of Cambridge Medical School?” I asked Mr Finlay.

  “As a matter of fact I do, yeah. D’you know ‘im too?”

  “Not personally, but I hear he’s kept extremely busy sourcing bodies for his medical school.”

  “Yeah.”

  Mr Finlay looked distractedly around him. He clearly didn’t want to be drawn any further into the conversation.