The Corpse Queen

by Heather M. Herrman

  But when she stepped outside, Tom whistled. “Molly Green, you look almost like a real lady in that.”

  She blushed, unsure if she should feel angry or pleased. “I wouldn’t trust you to know,” she said. But she allowed him to take her hand as he helped her into the wagon.

  His red shoelace flashed as he jumped up beside her, and for the first time, she decided to ask.

  “Why is one of your shoelaces—?”

  “We should have a short night tonight,” he said, cutting her off. Not cruelly, but she saw in his unbroken stare a warning.

  She let it go.

  He had his life, and she had hers.

  And yet, other than Ava, he was the only person she had in her life whom she could count on to be there. Night after night, he found his place beside her again, his familiar presence as comforting as the library.

  The horses began at an easy gallop as the city whisked past.

  At the orphanage, she and Kitty would already be holed up in bed, bones weary from a hard day’s work, shutting their eyes tight against the inevitable appearance of the next day’s tasks.

  But tonight . . . tonight, Molly did not know where she was going or what new kind of person the job might ask her to be, and she felt her blood rise in exhilaration.

  Soon enough, the houses began to grow farther apart. Tom gave a crack of the whip, and the horses sped faster, unencumbered by the city’s narrow, crowded streets.

  The cobblestones disappeared, and now they flew over dirt country roads, fields lining their path with tall grasses, the night’s dew shining like jewels on their tips.

  The air pressed against Molly’s face, pinking her cheeks and bringing a spark of moisture to her eyes.

  “You cold?” Tom yelled over the rush of wind.

  She was, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. For the first time in a very long time, she felt alive.

  “I’m fine.”

  Tom grinned back. “Molly Green, always fine. Do you never feel anything else?”

  He was teasing her, but she found she didn’t mind. When he leaned over to bat away a stray branch that had caught on one of the horses’ backs, Molly felt the heat radiating from Tom beneath his worn suit. He smelled of salty sweat and leather. Her breath caught in her throat at the unexpected intimacy until he pulled away.

  They rode another few miles in silence, and the rapidly cooling air soon lost its charm.

  The horses slowed, and Molly saw a large building appear on the horizon. Tom eased the wagon onto an ill-kept circular gravel drive. “Here we are, then. The Wakefield Women’s Home for the Criminally Insane.”

  * * *

  A thin moon peeked like a lidded eye over the building’s shoulder. Molly shuddered.

  Lights flickered on and off in the windows of the first and second floors, but the top three stories remained black. It was far too easy to imagine women locked up there, minds as dark and broken as their surroundings.

  “Am I to go in by myself?”

  Tom gave her a sympathetic look. “The women are mostly harmless. And nobody will give you any problems about getting the body. Saves them the trouble of a burial. Besides, they like to think someone cares. Makes it easier.”

  “Who am I to be tonight?”

  Tom pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and consulted what looked like a list. “It’s an old woman—fifty or sixty.” He peered from beneath the sweep of his hair at Molly with his one good eye. “Let’s say she was your aunt, shall we? There’s plenty of madwomen who’ve been stuck here by families unwilling to pay for them. You can be a caring niece, come to do her duty. The corpse’s name is Josephine Bettleheim.”

  “If I’m her niece, why wouldn’t I have visited before?”

  “Most of the girls with family in here are factory girls. They ain’t gonna spend their one day off a month to hire a cab all the way out here by themselves.”

  “I would.”

  “It’s nice to think so, isn’t it?”

  He faced her directly now. She found that she did not mind the scars as much as she first had. They were like the knots on a strong oak tree.

  He caught her staring, and she held his gaze.

  “Best get going,” he said. “Remember, think of it like you’re doing them a favor. Make them see what they want.”

  Molly let herself down from the wagon and mounted the daunting steps to the building. Her palms were sweaty, and her throat dry. In just a few seconds’ time, she would be asked, once again, to touch the dead. She lifted the knocker.

  A maid answered. She looked like she might be a patient herself, her dress tattered, her hair a wiry mess.

  “I’m here to see my aunt,” Molly said. “Josephine Bettleheim. I heard she was ill. I came as quickly as I could.”

  “Ach.” The girl’s face wrinkled. “Should have come sooner. She’s gone. Passed away this morning.”

  “That’s terrible.” Molly’s heart sped, and she let the agitation show on her face, the nerves reading as dismay at the news. “Might I take her home? I’d never forgive myself if we didn’t give her a proper burial.”

  “I thought Josephine didn’t have any family.” The maid frowned. “Ain’t nobody ever come to see her. Who told you she was sick?”

  Make them see what they want.

  “One of the nurses here. I work in the button factory up in Scranton with her niece.” Molly fell into the lie easily. Looking at the girl’s harried appearance, she knew immediately that the maid was overworked. She would want someone to appreciate her. To understand. “It’s hard, getting any time off.”

  The girl’s face lit up. “Don’t I know it. Don’t get but an evening off a fortnight myself, and then it’s usually too far to go anywhere but out on the grounds.” She smiled, and Molly smiled back. “Come in,” the maid said, opening the door wider. “I’ll take you to your aunt.”

  Molly was hit immediately with an overpowering odor. The ammonia scent of urine mixed with the musk of unwashed bodies and an aroma of boiled onions.

  Women roamed the hall like shadows.

  A small girl no older than seven darted in front of her, and Molly had to catch herself from tripping. Popping a thumb in her mouth, the girl watched as a lady with wild black eyes pounded her head over and over against a wall.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  “It’s all right,” the maid said, seeing Molly’s horror. “Clara’s got a hard head. Won’t hurt none.”

  The child peeled away from the head banging and followed them to the end of the hall.

  “Mama.” She clutched at Molly’s dress. “Mama? Mama?”

  Molly reached down to comfort her, recognizing the ache of losing a parent. “Poor child! She misses her mother.”

  “Shouldn’t have slipped arsenic into the soup pot, then.”

  Molly stumbled backward, and the girl ran away laughing, into the shadows.

  “Have they all done something like that?”

  “No.”

  Turning a corner, they emerged into a large foyer with mismatched chairs and loosely circled settees. Women wandered listlessly, like ghosts, between them. A few spoke to partners whom no one else could see, but none seemed to take any notice as Molly’s living body passed by.

  “Some of these women ain’t no more mad than you or me.” The maid nodded to the corner where a middle-aged lady with a blank expression sat, hands primly folded in her lap. “That one over there used to be a mayor’s wife. Her husband put her in here when he caught her with the butler.”

  “Can he do that?”

  “Course he can. He’s her husband. He owns her, don’t he?”

  Molly’s face must have betrayed her horror.

  “At least they’re fed,” the maid said, sounding sudd
enly defensive. “There’s worse, you know.”

  But Molly had stopped listening.

  Seated in a corner was Ava, a man with a doctor’s bag at her side.

  * * *

  Her aunt turned slowly, catching Molly’s eye. She laid a single finger to her lips. Molly nodded, then hurried on after the maid.

  What was Ava doing here? she wondered. Had she come to keep an eye on Molly?

  They were in a hallway now, the narrow passage lined with padlocked doors.

  The maid unhooked a large ring of keys from her belt and unlocked the last one. “Here we are.”

  The room was a prison. An overfull chamber pot sat in the corner, and the walls near the door were scarred with desperate nail marks. A smear of blood ringed what must have been a recent attempt at escape.

  All thoughts of Ava disappeared.

  In the center of the room lay the body, stiffening limbs stretched out across a cot.

  “You can have your driver bring his wagon round to the back to collect her.” The maid wrenched the dead woman’s arms up and began pulling the dress over her head. “We’ll need her gown. Too many living to waste clothes on the dead.”

  Leave the shoes. There’ll be another one, just like you, needing them soon enough.

  “Thank you. If you let me out, I’ll let him know.”

  She found Tom, and he followed her back inside, his purposeful footsteps echoing down the hall. Hands reached out to them from between the bars as they passed. By the time they reached the body, the maid was already gone.

  “Here, then,” Tom said. “Help me lift her.”

  She reached for the legs. The woman’s mouth fell open.

  AAAAAAAaaa . . .

  Molly flew backward. “She’s alive!”

  Tom didn’t move. “It’s just gas, Molly.” He waited patiently. “It happens sometimes when they’re fresh.”

  She stared at the openmouthed face, trying to calm herself.

  But the woman was Kitty now. Kitty’s dead limbs stuck to the hard earth.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, ashamed.

  He nodded.

  And with thin but strong arms, Tom bent to lift the body alone.

  * * *

  When it was loaded, Tom covered the body with a tarred canvas, stacking bags of flour around it. If stopped, they would look like they were doing nothing more sinister than making nighttime deliveries for grocers to sell in their stores come morning.

  It was a clever ruse, but all Molly could think about was the pale-pink skull beneath the bags, the thin-veined lines spidering across its forehead.

  He climbed up beside her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. It won’t happen again.”

  His voice was surprisingly gentle. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Didn’t give you no trouble inside, did they?”

  “No.” She picked at a stray thread that hung loose from her new gown, furious at herself but grateful that he was willing to let her failure go.

  “Tom . . .” She hesitated. “Inside. I . . . I saw my aunt. She was with a man.”

  He gave her a funny look. “You didn’t say nothing, did you?”

  “No.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “That’s good, then. Sometimes we run across them, but it’s best to keep silent.”

  He saw the confusion on her face. “Look, it’s no mystery. Your aunt visits these places with her charity ladies. Then she brings back the doctor or his students to take care of the sick ones for free. The students learn, and the sick get better. And if they don’t . . .” He shrugged. “Well, your aunt puts them on our list. That’s how we know where the freshest bodies will be.”

  The admission shocked her. “We’re vultures!”

  “You can’t think like that, Molly. Your aunt, she tries to help when she can. The other women in her fancy charities, they’re content to wear a pretty dress and visit once a month, but Ava . . .” Tom shook his head. “She cares about them. I’ve seen it.”

  Molly thought back to the almshouse, Ava remembering people’s names, asking after children.

  She shuddered. “Still. It seems so calculating, waiting for them to die like that.”

  “If your aunt didn’t bring the doctor for them, nobody would.”

  She’d seen enough sick children ignored at the orphanage to know it was true. Ava was bringing help to those others had forgotten. And though Molly hardly dared admit it to herself, she felt the faintest twinge of respect.

  Clicking his tongue, Tom urged the horses to life.

  Outlines of houses in early stages of construction appeared as the wagon passed neighborhoods being built. Molly stared numbly at their empty shells.

  “Want to hear a joke?” Tom stared straight ahead.

  “No.”

  “Why is a dog like a tree?”

  “I said no. I’m not in the mood for—”

  “Because they both lose their bark when they’re dead.”

  Silence. But Molly felt something ease in her chest, and she smiled, despite herself. “That’s horrible.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Looking pleased, he shot her a wink. “Wait till you hear the one about the goat.”

  “Absolutely not.” But she was already grinning, leaning closer to hear.

  The wagon crested a hill, picking up speed.

  Tom turned to her, the joke ready on his lips.

  And when the person appeared, lying in the middle of the road, it was too late to stop.

  14

  Tom tried to swing the horses to the side, but the lead horse went up on two legs, bucking the carriage.

  Molly screamed, clutching the seat, and barely managed to keep herself from being thrown.

  The wagon continued on and over the lump in the road with a sickening thump, and then canted dangerously to the side with a splitting crack.

  Finally, the horses stopped, Tom hushing them into submission.

  Trembling, Molly turned around to see who they’d hit.

  A woman lay in the dirt.

  Molly could not tell the sex by the face—that had been smashed into near oblivion by the carriage’s wheels—only by the tattered skirts. Horrified, Molly jumped down.

  “Hello?”

  There was no answer.

  The skull was fractured. The carriage had probably done that, but it certainly hadn’t done the rest.

  Something was wrong with the woman’s chest. The dress’s bodice had been torn away. Her skin, pink and shiny, gleamed as if wet.

  Reaching out, Molly touched a single fingertip to the mess. It came away tacky with blood.

  The woman’s torso had been stripped completely of skin. Whoever had done this was no amateur. The body was flayed so carefully that the muscles were still intact, though it appeared the woman’s left ear had been intentionally removed.

  “Molly.”

  She pulled back in alarm. But it was just Tom. Tom standing in the shadows, watching.

  “Come away from there.”

  Her voice was a whisper. “She’s been killed.”

  He took hold of her gently, helping her to stand. “Yes, but not by us. That woman was dead long before we ever hit her.”

  He stepped forward to study the body. Then, bending, he lifted it beneath the arms.

  “Are you taking her?” Molly was incredulous.

  “It’s a body, ain’t it? Not going to just leave it in the road.”

  He began to drag the corpse away. A dark, slimy trail followed behind, like a freshly shot deer being dragged to slaughter.

  As it passed, the corpse’s eye winked up at Molly, still wet.

  Her stomach flipped, and she had to turn hurriedly away to avoid losing her dinner.
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br />   The wagon’s gate opened with a creak, followed by Tom’s grunting and a loud thump.

  She wondered if he’d thrown the woman on top of the old lady they’d just collected or if there’d been room for both of them to lie side by side beneath the flour sacks.

  Calm down, Molly. Ma’s tender voice sounded, comforting her. Just calm down.

  Seconds later, Tom was beside her again.

  Shivering, Molly looked out into the dark. The corpse had been fresh.

  Very.

  She imagined whoever it was making his way here and luring this woman into his sphere. Killing her. A few minutes earlier, and Molly would have been close enough to touch him.

  “Why would anyone do something like that?” she whispered, seeing the flayed corpse again in her mind.

  Tom hesitated before answering. “There’s darkness out there, Molly. And it ain’t in the sky. It’s in us.”

  And the Knifeman, she thought, hands clenched into fists. Edgar could have used his doctor’s knife on this woman and pocketed an ear instead of a tail as his trophy.

  But there had been something strangely familiar about what remained of the dead woman’s face.

  Bracing herself, she went to the back of the wagon. A shape moved by the edge of the road. She spun around, but no one was there.

  “Molly, what are you doing?”

  Nerves tensing, she lifted the tarpaulin.

  “Jesus,” Tom said as he jumped down behind her. “There’s no need for you to go looking at that.” He yanked the tarpaulin out of her hands.

  But she had to know.

  With trembling hands, she pried open the crushed mouth and peered inside.

  The woman’s teeth were gone.

  15

  Her aunt had left several lanterns burning.

  Molly’s step quickened. She wanted answers. About who had killed that woman in the road. The missing teeth, the ear. Who had killed Kitty. Maybe even more than that, she wanted the company of another living, breathing person.

  But Ava was not in the dining room, and the fire in the library was cold.