Galvanism and Ghouls

by Tilly Wallace

  “Perhaps that is a question best addressed to Reverend Jones? It seems a philosophical debate as to the distinction between the matter of the brain and the content of a man’s mind.” Hannah thought the viscount raised an interesting question, but she refused to acknowledge its validity after his pointed remark concerning her father.

  Sir Hugh tapped his blunt fingernails on the table. “I have made a decision, Hannah. I shall see if I can extract an invitation to visit Doctor Husom’s laboratory. Leave it to me.”

  “Thank you, Papa.” Hannah beamed. What a marvellous opportunity. How would she concentrate on her studies today?

  Breakfast passed in animated conversation. Hannah would have lingered to listen to her father and Lord Wycliff discuss theories, except her mother summoned her to the library to begin their day. The morning passed in their usual task of notating the Unwin and Alder ledgers.

  Hannah studied her list of aftermage donors they found among the names. “We could start our research now. I believe we have sufficient aftermage brains for a small control group. I will confirm with Papa.”

  Their next task would be placing the Afflicted into three groups to monitor their progress. Hannah sighed as she glanced at her mother’s linen-covered form. If only they could find a cure or a way to reverse the curse. The ledgers were put aside as she turned her attention to Egypt and the mummification process.

  It was midday when her father burst into the library waving a letter. “Excellent news, Hannah. Doctor Husom has agreed to see us this very afternoon.”

  “Oh! Marvellous.” What an incredible opportunity to see the doctor’s equipment up close.

  Somehow, Hannah managed to complete her daily chores, listen to Timmy practise his reading, and take Mr Barnes’ hand for a walk in the garden. All the while she checked every clock she passed, waiting for the hours to be whittled away.

  At last Hannah waited at the bottom of the stairs for her father. She clutched the larger of her two reticules—a deep green one that swallowed her notebook and pencil. She would have much to reflect upon later, when she had quiet time to herself.

  Lord Wycliff trod the hallway on silent feet and glared at her. “Might I enquire where you are going, Miss Miles?”

  Even his dark expression could not ruin the tingle of anticipation building in Hannah’s stomach. “Papa is taking me to see Doctor Husom’s personal laboratory.”

  One black eyebrow shot upward. “Indeed? I thought you might have been about to embark on a shopping expedition, from the smile on your face. But then, I forgot for a moment that you are no ordinary young woman, to indulge in an activity as shallow as shopping.”

  She refused to let his grim presence douse her excitement. “I am looking forward to the pursuit of scientific knowledge, my lord, not the acquisition of a new shawl.”

  He grunted and with a brief nod, continued along the hall.

  Dour man. Did he find no enjoyment in life? It was no business of his if she were waiting to peruse the shops. Venturing out with Lizzie was a type of anthropological expedition, as she watched how women behaved in the presence of small, expensive items. But sometimes regarding something beautiful was good for the soul. Not everything had to be deep and worthy in order to be enjoyable.

  At last the stairs rattled with her father’s weight as he descended to join her. “Ready, my girl?”

  “Indeed.” She practically bounced on her toes.

  He held out his arm and escorted her to the carriage as though they made a society call. Their journey took a now familiar direction toward Chelsea and an area not far from Sloane Square. The carriage came to a halt outside a house that stood at the end of a long row of respectable pale stone terraces.

  Hannah stood on the walk and looked up. “Oh.” A tinge of disappointment crept into the single word.

  Her father joined her. “Did you expect something else? A brooding gothic mansion like the one we live in, perhaps?”

  How to sum up the disappointment that washed through her? “It just doesn’t seem the sort of place for a laboratory and it’s rather…plain. Do you think the doctor’s neighbours know he experiments with cadavers and electricity within?”

  “I suspect not. Most people keep their curtains closed at night and don’t peer into their neighbours’ windows.” Her father rapped on the shiny black door and they waited on the patterned tiles that led from door to walk.

  The house looked much like its neighbours, with the polished black railing out front. There were a few slight differences, however. Being on the end, it had large trees sheltering one side, their limbs reaching out to brush the masonry. Part of the roof line had glass, unlike the slate tiles on the rest of the roof, and a tall metal spire reached up to the cloudy sky.

  Her father knocked again and they continued to wait. Time passed with her father rapping on the door ever more loudly and Hannah staring at windows.

  “It appears some of Doctor Husom’s neighbours do peer out the windows, Papa,” she whispered as the people in the next house twitched their curtains aside to spy on their neighbour’s visitors.

  At length, the door was swung open by a dishevelled Doctor Husom. His brown hair stuck out at angles and something was smeared over one lens of his spectacles. A stained apron covered his clothes, and underneath he wore a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He stared at them for a long moment as if he couldn’t think who they were. Then a smile broke over his face.

  “Sir Hugh. I quite forgot you were coming. And Miss Miles, how excellent.” He gestured for them to come in, peering around them to look into the street before closing and locking the door.

  They stood in the small foyer in awkward silence. The doctor took off his spectacles and cleaned them on his apron.

  “How does your research progress, Doctor Husom? You have the look of being interrupted while deep in thought,” Sir Hugh said.

  “Quite. I apologise, I was in the middle of something and at first thought you were a tree knocking on the stone.” He curled the arms of the spectacles around his ears and cocked his head at Hannah. “I trust, Miss Miles, that you are of a sensible disposition? Many would be disturbed by the nature of my research.”

  “I am no stranger to death, Doctor Husom, but I thank you for your consideration. I assist my father during autopsies and can assure you I am no delicate flower who will faint at the sight of blood.” She straightened her back and met his gaze squarely.

  He grinned and exposed even white teeth. “How blessed you are, Sir Hugh, to have a daughter with such a mind and temperament to assist you.”

  Her father laughed. “Our Hannah is extraordinary, just like her mother.”

  “Please follow me.” Doctor Husom led the way up the stairs.

  Hannah took in her surroundings as they climbed through the house. It seemed in many ways to be untouched by his occupancy. There were no personal effects such as pictures on the wall, no ornaments on end tables, no scattered belongings. Even the floors were bereft of carpets to offer colour or comfort.

  The next staircase was narrower as they made their way to the very top of the three-storey house. The laboratory took up the entirety of what would once have been the attics and servants’ quarters. Walls had been removed to make one expansive space. Given the house seemed empty apart from the doctor, he presumably had no need for beds for his phantom staff.

  Small windows at either end had been thinly whitewashed so they allowed light but not prying eyes. The skylight above their heads flooded the room with watery light and drew a grid on the floor from the metal dividing the panes. Three large tables were lined up underneath the skylight. One contained an odd assortment of shapes covered by a sheet. The other two were empty.

  A large brass and copper tube the size of a horse’s torso dominated the centre of the room. Cables sprang out from either end of the metal and ran upward, where they twisted together like snakes climbing vines in the jungle. They merged at a metal rod that hung down from the ceiling. More wire
s escaped from its hook and scattered over the ceiling to attach to other hooks holding aloft frames of varying sizes. Some frames were bizarre paintings, displaying body parts.

  In one, a hand and arm eerily like that of Mr Barnes dangled by a hook through the top of the arm. Another held a cat, its four paws stretched to each corner.

  Hannah clapped a hand over her mouth and she steadied her breathing.

  “Are you all right, Miss Miles?” Doctor Husom asked as he approached what were not paintings at all, but framed specimens.

  “Yes. Silly that the sight of dismembered people does not bother me, but a cat makes my heart stutter.” She stopped herself before she reached out and stroked the feline. The grey fur was tinged with silver and the long white whiskers drooped downward. Had some child lovingly patted the creature and now cried at night over its loss?

  Doctor Husom gestured to the spread-eagled animal. “If it alleviates your distress, these creatures were all deceased when they came to my laboratory. The cat was trod on by a horse and killed instantly. Now that their time on this earth is over, these specimens are vital in advancing our knowledge of mortality.”

  “I did not mean to offend. I am merely surprised at the range of subjects you have. Sir Hugh mainly utilises mice. We have on occasion used rats, ferrets, and other small mammals, but mice have proven to be the most responsive specimens.” When the opportunity arose, they also delved into the secrets kept by the Afflicted or other Unnatural creatures who ended up on her father’s autopsy table. Still, a human cadaver didn’t rouse her emotions as much as a once loved pet stretched out for examination.

  Her father was walking around the room, stopping at each instrument or specimen and staring as though he stood in an art gallery enjoying the works on display.

  What struck Hannah about the laboratory was its order, at odds with the doctor’s appearance. Everything was clean, the floors were swept, notes made neat stacks, and even the equipment seemed aligned with invisible marks on the floor.

  “Have you had any success in animating anything larger than a limb, Doctor Husom?” she asked as she peered at the array of copper wires and tubing used to conduct electricity.

  He ran a hand through his tousled hair and made another piece stand on end. “Not yet, although I believe the key lies in generating sufficient electricity for the task.”

  Sir Hugh stared upward at the cables clinging to the lightning rod. “Like a lightning strike?”

  “Yes. But the problem is being at home when nature strikes. I missed the last storm, as I was working at the hospital.” He cast his eyes downward, as though embarrassed at the lost opportunity.

  Her father laughed. “That is easily remedied—I’m sure Sera would be happy to oblige. Tell me a day and time you will be at home and I’ll have her send a storm to your lightning rod.”

  “Truly?” The doctor’s eyes widened and he gestured toward the idle equipment. “That would be marvellous. Shall we say Sunday night at seven o’clock?”

  “Make sure you’re here to throw the switch on that machine and my dear wife will deliver as much electricity as you need.” Sir Hugh winked at Hannah.

  Hannah glanced from her father to the doctor. “Perhaps Doctor Husom would grant me the great honour of assisting? I can also relay to Mother whether the lightning was enough, or if more were needed.” It was presumptuous of her to insert herself into his research, but the opportunity was too amazing to let slip past.

  The doctor rocked back on his heels and frowned. “I usually work alone.”

  “Of course. I understand.” That would teach her to be so forward. A lady should wait to be invited to an experiment. Hannah buried her disappointment and turned to examine the shape under the sheet.

  “But I would be most grateful for Lady Miles’ assistance, and yours, Miss Miles, if you could spare the time.” He recovered his composure and his eyes shone behind his spectacles.

  “It would be wonderful. Thank you for the opportunity.” She was as giddy as though a handsome noble had asked her to dance. But if she were to be of use, she would need a better understanding of his work. “Would you mind explaining why you use such a variety of subjects?”

  He beamed and gestured to the frame holding aloft the arm. “Of course. I am investigating the flow of electricity through different creatures with varying muscle and tendon compositions…”

  Time passed in a marvellous afternoon of scientific discovery. Hannah left the doctor’s home feeling as though she had consumed a bottle of champagne and danced all night.

  “Doctor Husom is on the brink of an incredible discovery, don’t you think, Papa?” Hannah asked as she took her seat in the carriage.

  Sir Hugh chuckled at her as he signalled for Old Jim to take them home. “There is certainly an interesting application in galvanism. If he succeeds in restarting a dead heart, we will see whether any Afflicted wish to attempt the procedure.”

  Hannah leaned back against the blue silk lining of the carriage. If it took a lightning strike to restart a heart, would any of the Afflicted want to be the one standing in place when her mother called down Nature upon their heads?

  16

  Hannah went to bed that night and dreamt of lightning strikes and watching body parts reanimate. Then a puppy wandered through the dream and she had to grab it before the doctor strung it to a metal frame.

  She awoke the next morning and scrubbed her hands over her scalp. “I need to spend more time with Lizzie and less with dismembered bodies.”

  What Hannah needed was a lighter activity. Today, she and Seraphina moved outside to enjoy the sunshine. Hannah sat on the rear steps and laughed so continuously that her sides ached and tears rolled down her cheeks. Even her mother, the terrifying undead mage, laughed hard enough to blow the veil away from her face.

  The source of their mirth were the family chickens, and one determined lad.

  Timmy rubbed his hands together, crouched low, and then leapt upon his target. As he landed in the dirt with an oomph, the chicken squawked and flapped her wings as she ran to evade him. “This is useless!” He rolled onto his back in the dirt and stared at the sky. “Why am I trying to catch chickens anyway?”

  “Because chickens, like people, can get sick. This is a way for you to exercise your gift,” Seraphina said.

  “The only thing I am exercising is my legs, my lady.” The lad crossed his arms in what appeared to be an act of passive resistance to the idea of diagnosing chickens.

  Hannah bit back her humour. Timmy needed a hand; he couldn’t practice his gift if he couldn’t catch anything. “He has a point, Mother. Chickens are rather difficult to catch when they are in a capricious mood.”

  Her mother’s head turned as she tracked the chickens running around the yard. “I shall even the odds in your favour, my lad. I shall slow them down.”

  Percy the peacock sat to one side, partially obscured by the foliage of the forest. His all-seeing eyes were draped in the grass under the trees.

  “Come, my friend, and lend the chickens some of your dignity.” Hannah’s mother reached out a hand and the peacock strutted over and rubbed his head against her palm. There was a special relationship between a mage and a peacock. Their feathers were a necessary ingredient in many spells, and their touch could augment a mage’s power.

  “Thank you.” Seraphina curled her fingers as though she had caught some essence from the peacock. She brought the closed fist to her face and whispered before flinging the unseen contents at the chickens.

  All at once the chickens squawked and flapped into the air. Then they returned to the ground, but their actions were now more tortoise-like. Time had been slowed down for them and each chicken took slow, measured steps as though she waded through pudding.

  The lad glared at the fowl from his spot on the ground. Hannah jumped to her feet and walked behind a chicken that laboured to take one step. She picked up the bird and tucked her wings against her sides as she carried her. Timmy sat up. Now that H
annah had caught a feathered patient, he appeared more interested than sullen.

  She lowered herself to the ground next to him, holding the chicken under one arm as she put the other out for balance. “Do you want to hold her now?”

  “She won’t peck?” The youth glared at the chicken as though he expected it to grow teeth and take a piece out of him.

  “No. Stay calm and she won’t panic and struggle to get free. Although my mother’s spell has slowed them down quite considerably.” Hannah placed the chicken in the boy’s lap and placed his hands over her wings to hold her still.

  “However you use your gift on a person, do the same with the chicken,” Hannah instructed quietly from beside him.

  He nodded, his shoulders heaved in a deep sigh, and then he closed his eyes. His head nodded forward and brown hair brushed his face and covered the silver scar at his hairline. After some time he opened his eyes. “I don’t feel anything.”

  “That’s fine. Let her go and we’ll catch another one.” Hannah gestured to the others taking exaggerated movements, as though their feathers were covered in honey.

  Timmy placed the chicken on the ground and she moved at a glacial rate toward a shrub to peck at insects.

  Hannah caught another chicken and they did the same thing. Timmy laid his hands on the bird for a few minutes and then shook his head. Hannah tried not to be discouraged as she caught number three.

  After stroking this one’s feathers for a quiet moment, he opened his eyes and grinned at Hannah. “This one has a sore tummy and it feels like something is stuck.”

  Hannah nudged him with her shoulder. “Well done. It sounds like she might be egg bound. We are lucky you caught it early—a chicken can die if she doesn’t pass the egg.”

  “Oh. What do we do now?” The lad held the chicken closer to his chest as she slowly closed her eyes.

  “Run inside and ask Cook to boil a pot of water,” Seraphina said.

  “You can’t eat her just because she’s sick!” Timmy’s eyes widened and he curled his slender body around the chicken.