by Lydia Kang
Alexander patted Cora’s hand on his arm. They were walking to Grand Street to meet Frederick Duncan. Cora hadn’t slept well after the previous evening’s disappointment. Leah had gone to the pawnbroker to see what money she could get for some crockery they didn’t need, as well as the fine amethyst-hued paste parure, including necklace, earrings, and bracelet, that Charlotte had given Cora on her fifteenth birthday. She dreaded seeing it go. At breakfast, there were only two leftover sweet buns. Leah’s eyes glistened with hunger at the plate, so Cora had pushed them to her, claiming she wasn’t hungry.
Just then, her stomach rumbled. Alexander looked at her.
“Are you well? Did you eat?”
“Yes,” she lied. “Anyway, let me know if you hear anything at the museum, or elsewhere. Anything at all.”
“I have to go to Philadelphia in a day or so. It will be a quick trip, but I’ll tell you if I observe anything before or after. But, Cora,” Alexander said, with an added sigh, “you promised only a few more of these, and already things are getting complicated.”
“It’s only for a little while longer, Alexander.”
He sighed again. As they strolled downtown, she watched her uncle, whose face was lined with worry. He was looking older than usual, more careworn. It upset her that he didn’t glance at the pretty ladies who walked past them. Nothing would give Cora more delight than to hear that he’d found someone to marry. It was time for him to put the memory of her aunt to rest. Alexander’s energy in caring for her and Leah ought to be spent on building his own future.
As she leaned on his arm, a waft of lilac essence issued from his sleeve. Perhaps it was from a passing woman, but she smelled it again after several more steps.
“Why, Alexander. I smell perfume on you. Have you been in the company of another woman today?” Cora teased.
She was surprised to see her perpetually composed uncle blushing. Blushing!
“Don’t be silly. The woman next to me on the omnibus was bathed in scent. I’m sure it saturated my clothes.” But he was still ruddy in the cheek.
Cora’s hearts expanded at the thought of her lonely uncle finding love. And yet, a yawning emptiness lived there too. Her mind flashed to Theodore Flint, and to the sensation of his hand resting on her chest.
Oh, Cora. Don’t think such things.
They arrived at the tea shop. Inside, patrons were enjoying plates of sugar cakes, tiny pies both savory and sweet, and cheesecakes on elevated platters. The scents of coffee and tea rose into the air. Cora spotted the curator at a table reading the Herald and smoking a cigar. Tea was at the ready, steaming on the table. He stood to welcome them.
“Ah, the beautiful Miss Lee! And Alexander. How kind of you to escort her. And escort her I would—look at that figure! I shouldn’t let her out of my sight if I were her uncle either!” Leah had tightened her corset an extra inch, at Cora’s request. It had the desired effect.
“Mr. Duncan, how good of you to invite me to tea. We have much to discuss.”
“Indeed! Alexander, feel free to leave us. We’ll only be a half hour at most, and I should like my acquaintances to gossip about having a tête-à-tête with a beautiful, unattached lady.”
Alexander nodded, but Cora noticed the muscle on his jawline ripple. Apparently, the curator irked him as much as he disgusted Cora. As Alexander turned, he leaned toward her.
“I can stay, if you need me,” he said.
Cora shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I shall catch the omnibus home after we’re finished here.”
Alexander didn’t appear any more reassured, and yet he acquiesced. Cora wasn’t worried about being alone with the curator. They were in public, and there was little harm that he could inflict upon her. Words were only words, after all. She sat down primly, smoothing her dress.
“I’m delighted to see you again, Mr. Duncan.”
“Please, call me Frederick. I was so happy that you’ve come. My, but you’re a luscious thing. They should serve you, instead of plum cakes.” He was eyeing the swell of her breasts rather than her face. Cora’s stomach churned, but she managed a smile as Duncan poured tea into their gilt china cups. “I’ve heard a rumor about you, you know,” he said.
Cora’s silver spoon clinked awkwardly against the china. She could feel her heart against her corset, like a fist punching the whalebones. On her right side, a tiny echo thumped, as if both her hearts were warning her.
Run.
He knows.
Cora restored the smile to her face. “Most rumors are nothing but smoke and shadows, dear Mr. Duncan. To which rumor are you referring?”
“The rumor that you are unlike any other woman I have ever known.” He leaned in closer, and the steam from the tea rose and curled around the sides of his beard, as if he were the devil hovering above a conflagration. He crooked his finger, coaxing her closer. “You . . . are a resurrectionist. A woman resurrectionist. I know all your secrets now.”
Cora leaned back, a sigh of relief cresting under her rib cage, so enormous that she nearly let it out.
“Ah. And where did you hear this rumor?”
“I have been asking about who might help me find the best specimens for my museum. Yours is a name whispered, not spoken aloud, Miss Lee. I have been assured in the dark corners of this island that your work is some of the best.”
She sipped her tea slowly, deliberately. He had no choice but to wait for her lips to release the cup’s rim. She smiled. “They speak the truth. I am the best.”
“How? You’re nothing like the usual species of digger that swarms over the graveyards. How could someone as beautiful and fine as you become such a . . . creature?”
She considered the word, creature. Creatures could be ordinary or magical or rather horrific. She didn’t like the word at all.
“Why I do what I do is my business.” Cora hesitated. For a moment, she had no wish to bring bodies to Duncan. She felt a possessiveness, nay, an almost protectiveness over the people she’d been watching. But she shushed her conscience. She needed the work, so she continued. “But understand, I am more than willing to help make the Grand Anatomical Museum more money, and by extension, your pockets full.”
“And instead of warming a bed at night, you work, Miss Lee?”
“My brother, Jacob, does the night work.”
“Ah, then you will be free to join me for supper, after the theater, won’t you?”
Cora only smiled, but her hand curled into a fist under the table. “Of course not, my dear Mr. Duncan. Why, just having this repartee with you now is exhausting as it is, what with you and your charm!”
“Oh, I could exhaust you in more ways than you could imagine,” he said, and pursed his lips. Lord, the licentiousness in his eye. She’d rather watch a pile of maggots. “I won’t stop trying, you know. I have a habit of procuring whatever I should like to have.” He leaned in closer. “Pray tell me, what specimens can you foresee bringing to my museum?”
“What are you wishing to receive?”
Cora sat back in her chair, and the curator only smiled. A waiter brought over a plate of small pies—oyster, egg, and ham. She’d cram them in, if she were Jacob right now. But the conversation had taken away her appetite. Duncan had no such qualms. He stabbed the oyster pie, then the ham one, and ate heartily.
“I can tell you what I already have,” he said. “Alexander is working on a wax anatomical Venus. But I would like to complement it with more preserved specimens. I have heard of a fellow named Mütter in Philadelphia, a surgeon I believe, who has amassed a collection like no other. If he were to erect a museum, all of New York would flock to its doors, and I cannot have that. As it is, I must contend with Barnum’s American Museum, and that quack Jordan with his Museum of Anatomy. It seems that every medical establishment must have its own galleries and cabinet and try to compete with me.
“I have skulls from the servants of King Henry the Eighth, and impressions of feet from Pompeii. But the museum is missing breadth.
I have but one club foot, several worm infections from Africa—oh, this is ridiculous. You can fill in the rest. Oh! And we have been fortunate to receive a beautiful new specimen. A fantastic port-wine stain. I don’t know if the specimen will preserve well, but we shall try.”
Cora stopped breathing for a moment. “Port-wine stain, you say? Who procured the body?”
“I can’t tell you all my secrets, now can I? I received it just this morning. It was worth every penny.”
Cora frowned. It must have been Puck. But whom else was he working with?
“Would you prefer I contact you next time?” the curator said. Another order of miniature pies had landed on the table, these being treacle, cheese, and crab apple jelly.
Cora lifted her fork. “Of course. We are the best team, after all.”
“Yes. They say Jacob Lee has a knack for knowing where and when the strangest cases meet their end. Or perhaps that was you, all this time.”
Cora bowed her head in assent.
“Aha! Then you already know that this gentleman was six-fingered?” he said.
“Yes,” Cora said, easing the crab apple pie onto her plate.
“And the other lady in town who had a horn growing out of her cheek?”
“Yes.” She took a bite of the pie, but it was horribly sour. “That lady went to Europe, however. She shall be back in about two months, I believe. I also know about a lady coughing up hair, and one poor gentleman with a jaw disfigurement, a matchmaker. There was a girl with a tail that I’d been following, but I don’t know what happened to her. She disappeared.”
“Oh, she didn’t disappear, Miss Lee.” The curator procured an ivory toothpick from his inner pocket and began cleaning his teeth before her. “Her tail and backbone are safely preserved in the basement of the museum as we speak.”
Cora’s mouth went dry, and the rest of the pie was forgotten.
How? How could a second body escape her notice and be in his possession? That was nearly a twenty-dollar profit, gone. And it cannot have been a natural death. Not after such a disappearance.
“Is that so? And how did she make her way into your midst, may I ask?” She tried not to sound perturbed, though her heart rate began to rise and her quickened pulse swooshed in her eardrums.
He threaded his fingers together and placed his elbows on the table. So uncouth. “For that information, you must dine with me, Miss Lee.”
She smiled back. “We are together now, my dear Mr. Duncan. Why don’t you tell me?”
“A happy accident, is all,” he finally admitted. “An acquaintance found her in an alleyway near Stewart’s and brought her to me. Must have slipped on the refuse and hit her head.”
“Not such a happy accident. That girl ought to have lived a long life. Does her family know?”
“Why on earth would I know that? Tell me, Miss Lee, are you growing a conscience in regard to the dead? They’re still dead. Peace of mind is just that, in the mind. Not on earth, with earthly problems like why the waiter won’t refill our teapot.” He clanked his china down with a sharp note. “I must go. We’ll continue to discuss our business over dinner, Miss Lee. Oh, and keep an open eye. I’ve a list of the specimens I should like to have.” He handed her a folded paper. “I’m handing them out to all the resurrectionists. Did you enjoy the hothouse flowers I sent? For that, you owe me at least a kiss.”
They stood, and the curator leaned in for a kiss, but Cora only held his hands in her gloved ones, with a grip so strong it cracked one of his knuckles and made him gasp. This way, she was able to keep her distance and affect an air kiss, without actually touching skin.
He hastily withdrew his hand from hers. “Good God, what a grip,” he said.
“Years of pianoforte lessons!” she lied. “Thank you for the tea, and the list.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said, still rubbing his sore knuckle. “I shall see you off, as I’ve another meeting here in a minute.” He showed her to the door of the restaurant, his hand on the small of her back. If only she could smack it away. As he returned to the restaurant, relief filled her.
“Well. You took long enough.”
Cora squinted up through the sun’s glare at the speaker. Theodore Flint, of all people! She was momentarily surprised into silence.
“Did you eat my share of the food too?” Flint said, more acid in his tone than she’d heard before. He peered left and right along the sidewalk, but wouldn’t look her in the eye.
“You? You’re the person meeting with the curator in there?” Cora said.
“Am I not allowed? You don’t own him.”
She stepped up to him, narrowing her eyes. “It was you. You stole that body last night!”
“What are you talking about?” Flint said.
“You took that fellow, Timothy. He was gone when Jacob arrived. Coffin empty.”
“I didn’t take him,” he replied, irritated. Patrons entering the tea shop stared curiously at both of them. “Let’s talk over here.”
He led her into a small alleyway next to the restaurant, where two cats were battling over a pile of kitchen scraps.
“It wasn’t me,” Flint said, defensive. “I don’t know who took the body.”
Cora studied him. He had removed his hat, and his hair was mussed and sweaty. He smelled like earth, like the good smell that arose from the grist mills on Gowanus Creek when she was a child. He bore a scent of honesty.
“Very well. I believe you. The curator would have said so, in any case.”
“So, Jacob was digging up a body last night? Why didn’t he tell me?”
“There wasn’t time,” Cora said. There wasn’t money to send a messenger, now that she thought of it.
“I thought we had an agreement,” Flint said. “I thought Jacob told you.”
She turned. “Yes. I know. He did.”
“Then why did your team go to that cemetery without me?”
“It doesn’t matter. The body wasn’t there.”
“That’s not the point! Was Jacob too drunk to remember that we promised to split the next three bodies?”
Cora stayed silent.
“If I’d learned of a new body and didn’t tell you,” Theodore said, “would it anger you?”
Of course it would. Her face softened with remorse. “I’m sorry. I’ll have Jacob fetch you next time I hear news.” She sighed and leaned against the brick. “I apologize for doubting you.”
“And I apologize just the same. I guess we’re both feeling a little desperate for the next sale.”
“Yes. Business hasn’t been . . . good. And now, two bodies have been taken without me. Without us. It’s strange, Theodore. Death is usually such a predictable affair, and these have been anything but.”
“I’ll tell you what’s odd. You called me Theodore.” His mouth turned up in a smile, a very small one.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Mr. Flint, I mean.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. All my friends call me Theo. Only my mother called me Theodore, and only when she was cross.”
“Was?”
“She died in the last yellow fever epidemic a few years ago. My father too.”
Cora touched her gloved hand to her lips. “Why, my aunt died then too.”
“And your parents?”
“I haven’t known my parents since I was born,” she admitted. She was so inured to this fact that there wasn’t a trace of sadness in her words. But Theo seemed shaken.
“So, we’re both orphans. We ought to be a little more civil to each other, don’t you think?”
“Well, we can start with this.” She pulled the strings of her reticule. “Here. The curator gave me a list of specimens he’d like to procure. I expect he’ll give you a similar one.” She hadn’t read it yet, but handed it to Flint.
“Is this normal, for your anatomists and such to ask for specific bodies?”
“No. But the curator is not an anatomist, and he’s looking for a spectacle worthy of attraction.”
/> Theo opened the neat piece of paper and read the fine handwriting. He turned sideways, so their arms touched and they could read it together.
I have examples enough of normal anatomy, but the other museums begin to outnumber me with their grotesques. If you could come across the following, I shall pay up to one hundred dollars apiece. See pricing below.
Siamese twins, any portion thereof showing connections ($400)
Scrofula, large size, minimum 10 cm ($70)
The effects of tight lacing, maximum 33 cm ($60)
A pair of Mandarin feet ($100)
Articulated skeleton of abnormally small or large male ($100)
Articulated skeleton of abnormally small or large female ($100)
Afflictions of the eye, spine, or other parts as a result of self-abuse ($50)
Fish-tailed girl ($300)
Six-toed foot ($10)
Webbed hands or feet ($100)
Tumor of the nose or cheek or eye ($80)
Young woman with two hearts ($500)
Theo handed the slip of paper back to Cora, whose mouth had gone dry. He was speaking, but his voice seemed muffled and far away. She felt unbearably hot, the alley suddenly much too narrow, too confined. Unsteady, she began to walk toward the street. Theo babbled on and on.
“Can you believe . . . fish-tailed girl? Does he think this is some mystical shopping list of sorts? I cannot imagine . . . Grotesques! He goes too far. These are people, after all. I cannot abide by the baseness of these museums sometimes. At least the anatomists aim to learn . . .”
Cora’s ears began to thump with her heartbeat, and for a moment she wanted to laugh. I have a heartbeat in my ears too. She looked down and thought it odd that the sidewalk seemed tilted.
“Goodness. Are you quite all right, Miss Lee?” Theo asked.
Cora shook her head once, before a swirl of nausea and coal-black tar consumed her vision. Her hands darted forward, grabbing at nothing, and everything in her existence winked out.
