The Minutes of the Lazarus Club

by Tony Pollard

  Again, I made to leave the room, but as I opened the door Brodie spoke up behind me. ‘I am sorry to hear about the passing of your father, Phillips. He was a fine doctor.’

  My first day back had proven an eventful one, so much so that I had not given a moment’s thought to the grim events of the past few days. Not until I put on my coat and felt the weight of the pistol did I recall that my life was at risk. But while walking to my club, where I intended to take supper on my way home, I once again reassured myself that with Brunel well out of the picture and my identity, God willing, entirely unknown to Wilkie’s assailants there was little likelihood of trouble finding me here in London. Calmed by this reasoning and reinvigorated by a good meal, I turned my thoughts to affairs more befitting a surgeon.

  There could be no denying that the idea of a nursing school was a good one. The present system, which provided little or no training for nurses, especially in basic medical skills, was in much need of an overhaul. And who better to oversee this revolution than Miss Nightingale? It also had to be admitted that she was a handsome woman and when all was said and done there had to be some merit to anyone capable of irritating Sir Benjamin Brodie so effectively.

  ‘They need discipline, Dr Phillips,’ insisted Miss Nightingale as she glanced disdainfully around at the undisciplined clutter of my office. Word had been sent via William that I would be pleased to have her take tea in my office. It occurred to me that the choice of venue may have been misjudged. ‘My nurses in the Crimea were drunk more often than they were sober. And if that were not bad enough, I regularly had to drag them from the beds of their patients. The nurse should be the backbone of a hospital, Dr Phillips, not a prostitute with a bandage in one hand and a bottle in the other.’

  ‘I agree entirely, Miss Nightingale,’ I said, trying to conceal a smile behind my teacup. ‘There are a few here I can rely on, but the others are essentially chambermaids.’

  ‘Nursing should be a vocation and not just an alternative to the workhouse. I want to make it a profession with training and a fair wage; only then will we be able to recruit suitable women.

  ‘What I propose will be better for both nurses and patients. Self-respect is the key to an efficient nursing service. Though I am sure that Sir Benjamin disagrees with me on that point.’

  At this juncture I found myself, of all unlikely things, making excuses for my superior. ‘He’s a cantankerous old devil, of that there can be no doubt, but like all men of his years, he comes from another age. Nonetheless, I am certain he recognizes the benefits of the school.’

  ‘That may be so, but it is very clear that he resents me and, I do not doubt, women in general. Is that not why you and I are talking now? Because he cannot bring himself to deal with me on a professional level? He would rather I leave the room while he takes his port and cigars than face up to the failings of his own hospital.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t feel a little aggrieved at someone coming in from the outside and criticizing their work? – because that’s the way he will see it. And as for me, perhaps he just wanted to make my life difficult. I do not wish to cause offence, Miss Nightingale, but you are hardly a typical example of your sex.’

  Now she smiled. ‘None taken, Dr Phillips, on the contrary, I appreciate your candour. And you must forgive me if I appear a little sensitive, but as a woman in a world of men I long ago learned that I have to struggle to make my voice heard. Whatever motives may lie behind Sir Benjamin’s choice of appointment I am confident he has made the right one.’

  ‘It is good of you to say so.’

  ‘I have seen enough to know that you are a much better surgeon than you are a carpenter.’ She gave a chuckle at the recollection of our first meeting. ‘You handled yesterday’s crisis very well, Dr Phillips. We would have done well with more of your type in the Crimea.’

  So it was she who had been singing my praises to Brodie. Draining the last of her tea, she rose to her feet. ‘Well, Dr Phillips, I will keep you no longer. There is a meeting next week with the hospital commissioners to discuss new accommodations for the school. I trust I will see you there.’

  ‘I am sure Sir Benjamin will insist on my presence,’ I replied, recalling my instructions to provide regular reports, though it was probably best for all of us, especially me, if this first conference with Miss Nightingale went without minutes.

  Opening the door, she took another look at my surroundings. ‘We should perhaps take the opportunity to request that the new wing includes a more suitable office for you. This poky closet just will not do.’

  18

  William was hard at work scrubbing down the table after my first demonstration in seven weeks.

  ‘It’s good to have you back,’ he said, rinsing the brush in reddened water and glancing up at the empty gallery. ‘There were more students in today than I seen any time while you were away. You really pack ’em in, sir, like a Friday night down the Alhambra.’

  ‘Is that so, William?’

  ‘Those other doctors, they’re fine if you’re in need of fixing, but for instruction they don’t hold a candle to you. The gentlemen love watchin’ you work, I’ve heard ’em say so.’

  ‘Thank you, William. I only wish that Sir Benjamin felt the same way.’

  ‘Oh, he does, sir, he does.’

  ‘And how would you know that, you sly fox?’

  William grinned. ‘He was often in while you were away. Pace about he would, like a cat on hot tiles, that man.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘It gave the other surgeons the jitters, that’s for sure – him here, looking on. Then after a while he’d come and seek me out. Thought at first he was checking up on me, you know.’

  ‘Yes, William, I know only too well.’

  ‘But it was only to ask me if I knew when you would be back.

  Why he should think you would tell me before ’im I don’t know. But he was very keen to ’ave you back, that much was clear.’

  ‘Strange old bird, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that, sir. He just knows which side ’is bread’s buttered on, that’s all. The more students there are to pay fees the bigger ’is bonus.’

  ‘You have been away for quite some time,’ said Inspector Tarlow, who seemed almost disappointed to find me at my desk.

  ‘I have,’ I replied. ‘My father was ill.’

  ‘I hope he is better now.’

  ‘I’m afraid not; he passed away.’

  Only then did the policeman remove his hat. ‘I am sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you, inspector. Now, how can I be of help? Not another murder surely?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I thought the killer might have given up but he’s back on the job. We found another body last night.’

  ‘In the river?’

  Tarlow nodded. ‘Exactly the same as the others, with the contents of the chest removed. The corpse was pretty fresh; couldn’t have been dead more than a couple of days.’

  ‘And you want me to take a look?’

  ‘No, doctor. I just have a couple of questions.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘When exactly did you get back?’

  ‘A week ago yesterday.’

  ‘In plenty of time for the latest murder to be committed.’

  ‘So now I am a suspect?’

  ‘I have resisted as long as I can, doctor, but I’m afraid there are now just too many coincidences for me not to consider you as such.’

  ‘Might I ask what they are?’ As if I didn’t already have a good idea.

  The inspector pulled out his notebook and flicked it open. ‘First and foremost, the killer has an interest in surgery.’

  ‘But I have already told you the work is unprofessional. If merely cutting flesh is to count as surgery then every butcher’s apprentice and knifeman in London should perhaps come in and do a shift in the theatre.’

  ‘But we are not talking about your average Saturday-night sticking here, are we, doctor? Th
e removal of organs in such a consistent fashion smacks of something much more… much more clinical. Now, if you would let me continue.’

  I should have known better than to try to argue the point. ‘Of course, inspector. Please, do go on.’

  ‘The killer removes the heart and lungs and it just so happens that you are something of an expert on the heart.’

  ‘At the risk of repeating myself…’

  Tarlow glowered at me. ‘The handkerchief in which a disposed-of heart was wrapped bore a monograph which could be construed as matching your own initials.’

  ‘It had been chewed off by a dog!’

  He was calmer this time. ‘I grant you, it wouldn’t stand up in court, but when weighed alongside the rest of the list the handkerchief has its place. Next on that list is your interest in prostitutes themselves, something which you went to rather extreme lengths to hide from me.’

  ‘Leaving the hat behind wasn’t clever,’ I admitted, not for the first time feeling mortified at the recollection of the incident.

  ‘No, it wasn’t, doctor. You should have taken the hat under the bed with you.’

  I knew it had been a mistake to hide! ‘You mean… you mean to say you saw me there?’

  Tarlow the terrier looked pleased with himself. ‘The sole of one of your feet, to be precise. But let’s move on, shall we?’

  I was too mortified to reply.

  ‘There was the corpse you discovered at the mouth of the new sewer. An unfortunate coincidence, no doubt, but I can’t resist using it to make up numbers. In any case, the incident demonstrated that you were no stranger to the river from which all the bodies were recovered. Then, last but certainly not least, you disappear from the city just as another body is found. I was on the verge of putting out a warrant for your arrest, but then it came to light that your father genuinely was dying. But the real killer, if you will excuse my use of the term, is that while you were out of town there wasn’t a single murder. Then, no sooner do you arrive back than we find another body.’ Putting away his notebook, Tarlow took a step closer to my desk. ‘You have to admit, doctor, it doesn’t look at all good.’

  I would be the first to agree with his last point: it did not look at all good. ‘Would it help to tell you that I am not your man?’

  Tarlow drew his lips in towards his teeth. ‘Not for much longer, no.’

  ‘So you’re not going to arrest me now then?’

  ‘Damning as the list may be, it is still not enough, at least to my mind. There are however others on the force who would happily hang a man on the basis of less. This case has dragged on for over a year and there are now questions being asked by superiors about my lack of progress. I could throw you to the pack just to please them and, who knows, you may be the killer. But in the absence of anything more than circumstantial evidence – and it wouldn’t take much – I am not going to do that.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this, inspector?’

  ‘Unless I come up with something soon they’re likely to take me off the case, and my replacement is unlikely to be as fair-minded. Be grateful that the newspapers haven’t got wind of the fact that there has been more than one body. They will, though – someone will talk, and when they do you can bet that I will be reassigned. I am just being straight with you, doctor. I am drawing a blank and if there isn’t a breakthrough soon then we’re both in trouble.’

  ‘You think I’m innocent then?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I think you are connected in some way. The list tells me as much. But I can’t work out how. If you do know anything, anything at all that might help, I strongly recommend you tell me.’

  What was I to say? That Brunel had approached me and expressed an interest in the human heart not long before Tarlow made his first visit? That since our first meeting I had also become involved in a murder in Bristol?

  ‘No, inspector, I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything that might help you.’

  ‘Very well, doctor, then let us both hope that something turns up.’ Watching the inspector depart empty-handed once again, it was clear that it would now be up to me to ensure that something did indeed turn up.

  19

  Plans for the new teaching school continued apace, and Miss Nightingale threw herself body and soul into the enterprise. She consulted with architects on ideas for the new facility; harangued potential benefactors; but on top of all that assisted in the hospital, largely so she could monitor current nursing practice and assess future requirements. Then there were meetings with the hospital commissioners, which in accordance with Brodie’s instructions, I also attended. Needless to say, she was the only woman at the table otherwise occupied by a dozen bearded worthies. But I was not at all surprised to see that by the end of the meeting she had most of them wrapped around her little finger, with even those who, like Brodie, were less than comfortable dealing with a woman eventually going along with the majority.

  Before long a plan for not just a new wing but an entirely new hospital was agreed, an idea which surprised me but nonetheless had my full support, despite the fact that I was there as an observer without voting powers. Medicine was advancing at an accelerated rate and it seemed doubtful that a hospital built fifty years ago would meet the needs of the next half-century. Then there was London’s rapidly growing population, which was putting all of its hospitals under pressure. Even in our own it was not unusual to see patients lying on mattresses on the floor and even sleeping in the corridors.

  The outcome of the meeting pleased me greatly, not just because it promised a revolutionary new hospital, but because the issue of the school was now so important that Sir Benjamin would surely feel obliged to put his anti-Nightingale feelings behind him and get involved, an outcome which would in turn see a reduction in my own commitment.

  It had been a long day and tonight there would be no stopping off at the club. Doctor’s orders were a good night’s sleep, with at best a mug of warm milk to help me on my way. Walking was also out of the question and so I hailed a cab, but even then I could not get home fast enough.

  Pushing the key into the lock caused the door to swing back on its hinges, the lock itself falling halfway out of its mounting. In that instant all the apprehensions born of my flight from Bristol came flooding back. I reached into my coat pocket to pull out the gun, but found it empty. So diminished had the threat seemed to be that some days previously I had stopped carrying my father’s pistol.

  I stood listening, and on hearing nothing dared to bend forward and pick up the umbrella which lay on the carpet in the hallway. With the metal tip pointing out before me I crept along and then, after a brief pause, entered the parlour, pushing the door flat to the wall.

  Drawers lay on the floor, papers scattered across the table and books pulled from their shelves. Prodding the curtains with the umbrella and sidling across to the cabinet, I reached into a half-open drawer and was surprised to find the pistol still inside. Putting down the umbrella and cocking the weapon steadied my nerves a little; at least now I had a fighting chance. It was only then that the full implication of the umbrella lying on the floor in the hallway sank in. It had been sitting in the elephant’s foot, at the bottom of which I had hidden the package.

  I cursed myself for not finding a more secure hiding-place. The hospital would have been ideal – so many nooks and crannies that no one would ever find it there – but I had lulled myself into a false sense of security, been too confident that I had remained anonymous. The break-in and the theft were clear demonstration that my identity was indeed known to the men who had killed Wilkie.

  Satisfied that my visitors had left I secured the door and went to bed, the pistol on my bedside table.

  In the days after the break-in, which was quickly followed by a visit from the locksmith, I took to carrying the pistol again. There was more than the break-in behind this decision: someone was following me.

  It began as a mere sensation, an almost animal instinct that I was under observation; the feel
ing that eyes were watching me, as I walked down the street, climbed into a cab, left my club or turned the key in the new lock on my door.

  I even caught glimpses of him, or so I thought – lurking on a corner before he disappeared into the crowd, or following in my footsteps, keeping a good distance between us. Once or twice I tried to outsmart him, running around an entire block to come up from behind or nipping into an alleyway to watch as he passed by. But he was a slippery fish this shadow of mine and always managed to shake me off. Indeed, my efforts only made him more reclusive, for after a week or so of this cat-and-mouse game he disappeared entirely, or at least became more cautious in his labours.

  Coming so hot on the heels of the break-in, I at first assumed that my tail was the person responsible for the theft of the package. But then I remembered Tarlow, who by now must be desperate for an arrest and so at last had concluded that dogging my footsteps was the only way to get anything further on me. It even crossed my mind that Tarlow and his police cronies were not above a little housebreaking themselves, especially if they thought they would find a nice monographed handkerchief in my underwear drawer. It was as well that Lily’s boredom threshhold had not extended to more than one example of her needlework skills. But if it had been the police, then why had they bothered to take the package, an act which was surely one of straightforward theft?

  My father’s pistol may have had sentimental value, but it was far too cumbersome to carry all the time, and if more than one shot was expected of the old thing then powder flask and more bullets were also required. So, to save walking around with more metal on my person than a medieval knight, I invested in a revolver. Half the size of the dueller and carrying five shots to its one, it was not cheap, but priceless as far as peace of mind was concerned.

  These peculiar circumstances notwithstanding, the spring of 1859 saw me fully occupied at the hospital, as with Brunel still overseas there was little in the way of outside influence to cause distraction. In contrast, the now almost constant presence of Miss Nightingale served to guarantee my enthusiasm for the work. Her famous endeavours in the Crimea had earned her the nom de guerre ‘the lady with the lamp’, and she certainly cast a fresh light across the previously drab edifice of our establishment. Even Brodie had been touched by her zeal for reform, though as she and I both knew, this change of heart was as motivated by the opportunity for self-aggrandizement as it was by a desire for improvement. Although I still served as his liaison with Miss Nightingale he had, as predicted, taken a more active role at the committee level, expressing his full support of the initiative to the board of commissioners and anyone else who would listen.