Corpse & Crown

by Alisa Kwitney

  “Speaking of romance, when do you think Nance and Bill will get here?” It seemed unfair that they were off somewhere, presumably together, having an adventure or cuddling and kissing, while he was stuck with his least favorite part of the job.

  “Never.”

  “Never?”

  “I’m answering the question you’re not asking, which is, when’s she going to come to her senses?” Faygie met his eyes, then went back to sorting red silk flowers from the yellow and white and blue ones in a basket. “And the answer is, she is never going to look at you as though you’ve got some big secret to happiness tucked inside your mouth and she’s only got to kiss it out of you.”

  Dodger experimented with folding one of the handkerchiefs into a rose.

  “You think I don’t know that?” he said handing Faygie the folded rose. “I stopped pining for Nancy ages ago.”

  “Really?” Faygie took a stuffed parrot and positioned it so it seemed to be pecking at the red glass rubies. “As I recall, it was only last week you was lamenting about how girls only love the blokes that treat them badly. And I said to you, ‘It’s the little bit of goodness mixed in with all that badness that puts the hooks into a girl’s imagination.’”

  “Maybe she just needs to readjust the proportions.”

  Faygie’s all but invisible eyebrows went up. “That’s a thought.” She lifted a fringed pink scarf and wound it around the mannequin so it contrasted with the petticoat. “So...you’ve met someone new, have you?”

  Damn, she is sharp. Dodger attempted to fold a white handkerchief into the shape of a swan, but the fabric was too soft.

  “Someone who likes you back, for a change?”

  He found a starched collar and used it to reinforce the swan handkerchief, letting his hands work out the shape while he thought about Aggie.

  It seemed strange to even consider liking another girl. Yet there was something oddly familiar about Aggie. At first glance, she looked nothing like Nancy—Aggie looked like the kind of ripe milkmaid who decorated adverts for cheese and skin cream, while Nancy could have posed for a wild-haired Ophelia. Yet there was some quality that both girls shared. He’d had fantasies of Nancy grabbing him one day, the way Aggie had, and kissing him. He’d never realized how compelling it was, to be wanted like that. In stories and plays, heroes loved the distant, unattainable girl, and heroines loved the fellow who carried a torch for someone else. He’d assumed that nothing could shake his feeling for Nancy, until the shock of being desired had gone through him like a shot of gin and left him burning for more.

  Maybe he would pick up some bauble for her and bring it to the hospital when it closed its gates tonight. No, Aggie wasn’t the type to be tempted by paste jewels. Perhaps he could convince her to go to the pub for a harmonic evening—but wait, it was a Tuesday, so instead of comic songs and ballads the punters would be debating politics and whether or not the Germans were now a greater threat than the French.

  Bloody politics. As if sitting around and arguing ever changed a damn thing that was wrong with the world.

  “Don’t think I haven’t twigged that you’re not saying no.” Faygie pulled out a drawer of tangled copper and brass chains. “Here, leave off torturing the handkerchiefs. You can tell me the story of this new girl while you set the chains to rights.”

  This was easy work for his fingers, and he let them follow the knotted links. “No story to tell.”

  “Has she got her hooks in that deep already?” Faygie shook her head. “Just try to remember my motto—love’s just another con game.”

  “I’m not in love with the girl. I’m just...intrigued.” Dodger focused on freeing one metal chain from the tangle and set it aside to concentrate on a larger one.

  Faygie snorted. “Intrigued, is it? That’s one step away from snared like a rabbit. Really, Dodger, I would have expected more of a—” She broke off as the bell over the door rang.

  Bill brought the cold in with him, and the clinging, sulfurous smell of London fog. He stamped his boots on the doormat as his dog followed him into the room, then lifted the canvas bag from his shoulder and settled it on the ground with a clank. “Foul out there tonight,” he said, more to himself than to Dodger or Faygie, as Bullseye shook herself and rubbed at her long snout with her paws. Dodger gave the dog an affectionate scratch.

  “That’s quite a haul,” said Faygie, pulling a copper kettle out of the bag.

  “We’re all too old to waste our time picking pockets,” said Bill. “It’s time you and Dodger took it to the next level.” Spotting his dog enjoying Dodger’s attentions, he gave a whistle. “Oi. Bullseye. Come get warm.”

  The dog left Dodger and followed Bill over to the potbellied coal stove, her toenails clicking on the floor.

  “You know how I feel about burgling,” said Dodger.

  Bill held his hands closer to the stove. “Yeah, well, sometimes you have to take a few risks.”

  “We’ve been through this,” said Dodger. “I don’t mind risking my own neck. I just don’t want to wind up killing some bloke because he came home unexpectedly.”

  “Fancy a cuppa?” Faygie was already setting the kettle on the stove, eager to forestall any more conflict.

  “Yeah.” Bill flexed and unflexed his fingers. “Anything to eat? I’m famished.”

  “I’ll put on some sausages.” She pulled out a paper-wrapped package and carefully arranged four sausages on a cast-iron skillet, which she set next to the kettle. “Was Nancy with you?”

  “Nah.” Bill left the stove and sank down into a chair. “She took off on her own.”

  “Typical,” said Dodger. “What did you do, start talking about how you was just friends the moment after you detached her from your face?”

  Bill swung his booted feet up onto a table. “Least I’m honest.”

  Dodger snorted. “Yeah, you’re a real prince.”

  “Dodger,” said Faygie, “care to help make the tea?”

  She was trying to distract him, but he walked over to the kettle anyway. “You’re a piece of work, Bill.” Dodger tried to keep his voice light as he spooned tea leaves into the chipped pot. “Why the hell do you keep starting up with her? You must recall what she was like after the last time you broke things off.”

  “I didn’t have to break things off,” said Bill. “We were never a couple.”

  The kettle began to whistle, and Dodger wrapped a cloth around the handle before removing it from the stove. “Is that what you told Nance? Smooth.” The last time Bill had gotten Nancy’s hopes up before squashing them, she had disappeared for a week. When she was upset, she took chances with herself, and Dodger couldn’t help thinking about all the awful things that could happen to a young girl in the East End.

  What had Twist said about digging up that poor girl? If it’s fresh enough, the doctors will buy a body piecemeal.

  “Come on, lads,” said Faygie, prodding the sausages in the pan so they gave a satisfying sizzle. “Nancy’s a big girl, and we’re all in need of something warm in our bellies.”

  As Dodger poured out the mugs of tea, he glanced at the mantelpiece where Faygie kept three clocks. One was a squat schoolhouse model made of wood, another was flanked by curling ceramic handles and rosettes and the third was made of brass and apparently stolen off a ship. They all kept slightly different times, so all Dodger knew for certain was that it was somewhere between half past six and a quarter past seven. “You think we ought to go look for her?”

  “It’s not that late,” said Faygie, lowering the flame under the saucepan.

  “True enough.” Dodger handed Bill his mug of tea. “But it’s a foul night out, you said.”

  Faygie turned the sausages, which filled the room with a savory smell. “How is the fog tonight, Bill?”

  He shrugged, clearing his throat. “It’s February.” The fogs were always worse
in the thick of winter, when coal fires burned in every house and business that could afford them.

  “Last week, fog was so thick, I walked smack into a horse,” said Faygie, offering Bill a plate of sausages. “My eyes was burning something awful.”

  “Your point?” His voice a low grumble, Bill took the plate while Bullseye licked her chops.

  Faygie sighed. “My point is, maybe one of you should go and make sure she’s all right.”

  Bill tossed one of the sausages to Bullseye. “Let Dodger go, since he’s in such a fret.”

  Dodger said, “So you’re not bothered?”

  Bill took a bite of sausage. “Not particularly.”

  Dodger shrugged, and then, without planning, found himself swinging his arm to shove Bill’s feet off the table, making Bill’s chair rock backward. The chair overbalanced and the last two sausages went flying off the plate, but Bill was already rolling onto the balls of his feet. He grabbed the front of Dodger’s shirt, hauling him up. “You angling for a beating?”

  Dodger didn’t flinch, even though his stomach was twisting with fear. “I’m just giving you what you want, Bill. You want to be the bad man? Go for it. Hit me.” He flicked open Bill’s knife, holding it up against the bigger man’s carotid. “Or don’t.”

  Over by the stove, Faygie drew in a sharp breath. “Jesus, Dodger, put that down!”

  Dodger didn’t take his eyes off Bill’s. “Tell Bill to put me down, why don’t you?”

  “Both of you back down! Look at poor Bullseye—she’s going to have an apoplexy!”

  The dog was wide eyed with anxiety and trembling all over. When Bill and Dodger looked her way, she yawned and stretched and slunk over to them, her tail tucked between her legs.

  “On the count of three,” said Dodger.

  “Sod off.” Bill released him abruptly, forcing Dodger to move his hand away to avoid slicing his friend’s throat.

  “Arsehole.” Dodger folded the knife shut and handed it back to Bill.

  “Keep it. You need it more than I do, you scrawny bastard.”

  “Ta very much.” Dodger slid it into his pocket. “I won’t let it out that you did something nice. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

  Bill looked down at Bullseye, who was wolfing down the last of the sausages that had fallen onto the floor. “I’m not trying to be a big man here. I just don’t think you can keep rescuing people from themselves. Nancy knows what Twist is. If she’s after putting herself in harm’s way to prove something and I go after her, then I’m just setting her up to do the same thing next time.”

  “Great argument, Bill,” said Dodger as he shrugged on his wool overcoat. “You’ve just convinced yourself that sitting on your arse isn’t just convenient—it’s the right thing to do. Good as a bloody barrister, you are.” It was as good an exit line as he was likely to get, and he timed it so he had his hand on the door handle when he said the final word.

  The moment the door was open none of that mattered anymore. It took his brain a moment to recognize that the jumble of red velvet on the threshold was actually Nancy, her battered and bloody face pressed to the cold ground.

  12

  Aggie was at the end of a twelve-hour shift, the back of her head buzzing with fatigue as she tried to take down a patient’s history. That morning, Shiercliffe had made an announcement. As part of preparations for the kaiser’s visit, there would be renovations to the main operating theater, the receiving room and two of the wards, which meant extra work as patients were relocated and dust from the repair work was cleaned away.

  “I’m sorry,” Aggie said, trying to focus on the patient, a pinched-face man in his forties. “Where did you say the pain was located?”

  The man looked flustered. “I don’t like to say, miss.”

  That meant either kidney stones or syphilis. “How badly does it—?” She broke off as she caught a glimpse of Dodger striding into the receiving room. She was surprised by the jolt of excitement she felt, seeing him in his shabby tailcoat, battered top hat and red cravat.

  “Sorry, mate,” said a uniformed proctor, stepping in front of Dodger. “It’s too late for any new patients.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t fit my emergency into your schedule,” said Dodger, scanning the room until his eyes settled on Aggie. She started to smile, then realized where she was and turned back to the flustered man.

  “Now then,” she said. “How badly does it hurt when you relieve yourself?”

  “Agony,” replied the man.

  Probably kidney stones. “All right. I’ll go tell the head nurse. You’ll have to be admitted.” She started walking across the receiving room, flinching a little when Dodger called out to her.

  “Oi,” he yelled, waving his arm. “Aggie!”

  Dear God, what if Shiercliffe had heard? She walked over to where Dodger stood arguing with the mustachioed proctor. “I can’t talk now,” she said firmly.

  Dodger put his hand on her shoulder, preventing her from leaving. “Afraid this can’t wait.”

  The proctor grabbed the back of Dodger’s jacket. “Hands off, mate,” he said, dragging Dodger toward the door.

  Dodger twisted and suddenly the proctor was holding an empty jacket and Dodger was standing in front of Aggie in his shirtsleeves. “You offered to pay me for getting you back to your room, remember? Well, consider this payback time.” There was no trace of humor in his face or voice; whatever this was, it was serious.

  “Fair enough,” she said, hoping she could make him understand what he might be costing her here. “I owe you. But there’s nothing I can do right now. There are still patients waiting to be seen before the gates shut, two of the night nurses are running late and the back of my head’s about to explode.”

  Dodger’s expression remained hard, and for the first time, it occurred to Aggie that he would make a formidable enemy. “Sorry to add to your troubles, darlin’, but my friend’s been beaten, and we can’t wake her up.”

  “I’m sorry, Dodger. I didn’t realize.” She glanced at the big mantel clock that ruled her day. Nearly 7:00 p.m. Which meant there was an hour before the front gates closed for the night. Think, she told herself. What would Shierclife do? “Is your friend somewhere safe and warm? Is there anyone looking after her?”

  “Yeah, but she doesn’t seem right.”

  That didn’t sound good, but then again, Dodger might be overreacting. On the other side of the room, Ursula Shiercliffe was deep in conversation with Professor Moulsdale and looking particularly unhappy. “Look, just watch your friend tonight—keep her warm and comfortable—and bring her round in the morning.” She turned to leave but his hand on her elbow stopped her.

  “The morning might be too late. Her heart’s racing, and she’s having trouble talking.”

  Which meant the girl probably needed a doctor or a trained and experienced nurse. Not that either one was likely to show up for her. “I can’t leave for another half hour,” said Aggie, without consciously making a decision.

  “Make it fifteen.” He hesitated. “Please.”

  There were four more patients to be assessed and sent home, and then she was meant to see that the cleaning staff had arrived to sweep the floors and dust and polish the intricate woodcarvings and brass doorknobs and railings. That would be half an hour at the very least.

  Taking a deep breath, Aggie said, “I’ll do my best.” She smoothed her hands over the front of her apron as she approached Shiercliffe, trying to think of a way to frame this that wouldn’t sound irresponsible or suspicious. An orderly moved a gurney aside, revealing Professor Moulsdale standing and talking to Shiercliffe, saying something to her that made the head of nursing clasp her hands together.

  “...insufficient planning and preparation,” Moulsdale was concluding. “The receiving room should be emptied of unseen patients by seven, or we will never
be able to get done and have the gates closed by eight. We have a great deal to accomplish before the kaiser arrives.”

  “I promise you, we are on top of things,” Shiercliffe responded, sounding surprisingly meek. “I am overseeing preparations myself.”

  The Bio-Mechanicals. Sometimes it seemed as though they were all that mattered. Aggie was beginning to resent the program more and more, seeing how real care for real people went by the wayside as the focus on Bio-Mechanicals intensified.

  Shifting from one foot to the other, Aggie fought the urge to interrupt to get Shiercliffe’s attention. Shiercliffe gave her the briefest of looks and an almost imperceptible shake of the head, which Aggie understood. Whatever her problem, she was not to break into this conversation.

  Moulsdale puffed his chest out and hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. “Forgive me if I continue to have my concerns. What if there is some unfortunate accident in one of the factories, or if a steamship sinks? Are you going to throw all our planning up in the air to bandage wounds?”

  “If there is some catastrophe, surely we should do our part—”

  “Balderdash. There are other hospitals. What we are doing is more important than the lives of a few rookery rats.” With that, Moulsdale walked off with a firm air of authority, no doubt to criticize someone else’s performance of their duties.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Matron,” said Aggie. “But I have to ask a question.”

  “Go ahead.” There were shadows underneath Shiercliffe’s eyes, which were red from fatigue.

  “I need to ask if I can leave before the night nurses arrive.”

  Shiercliffe gave her a level look. “I know you aren’t asking to leave because you have some minor ache or pain, which would be my first question to most of the other probationers.”