The Secrets of the Lazarus Club

by Tony Pollard

  ‘Lord Ockham, I served in a military hospital for two years. I am no stranger to a little colourful language. Now, shall we move on?’

  I smiled as I handed one of the lamps to Ockham, its flame now sputtering into life. ‘Ladies, please. We have a job to do – shall we get on with it?’

  ‘Lead the bloody way,’ said Florence, straightening her cap and taking up the bag again.

  Ockham let out a stifled laugh and followed, his lamp providing illumination for Florence’s footfalls.

  My navigation was spot on and within a very few minutes we were standing beside Brunel’s grave. The earth had still not fully settled, the turf bowing upwards to form a slight mound, while here and there irregularities in the divots provided lingering evidence of my last visit to the site.

  Ockham sat his lamp on a nearby table-top tomb. ‘Nice to see they haven’t yet got round to building one of these monstrous great tombstones over it. That wouldn’t make for easy digging.’

  ‘I think Brunel had something a little more modest in mind, but yes, we couldn’t have left this much longer.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ vouchsafed Ockham, ‘I feel dead on my feet. It’s going to be a long night.’

  ‘Can we be certain of proceeding undisturbed?’ asked Florence, taking in the nature of her new surroundings.

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ I said confidently, as much to reassure myself as her. ‘The gatehouse, even if the watchman isn’t in the tavern, is about half a mile away, and nobody expects grave robbers in this day and age.’ No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I realized they were almost exactly those spoken to me by William during our first nocturnal visit to the grave. The memory of him made me pause for a moment: how I wished he were with us now.

  In contrast, Ockham found our situation rather amusing. ‘We’re the only grave robbers in history to try and put something in a grave rather than take something out.’

  A good point, I thought, imagining those very words being spoken as our defence in a court of law. Eager to proceed, I took up a shovel. ‘I’ll cut the turf. You two can stack it over there. Try and keep the sods together, we need to leave this place as tidy as possible.’

  I separated the turfs and eased them out on the point of the shovel, from where Ockham and Florence removed them by turn, carrying them the short distance to stack them. With the turf removed Ockham and I started digging, throwing the soil down on to a canvas sheet. We worked at opposite ends of the trench, pushing our shovels through soil that was thankfully still very loose in comparison with the surrounding earth. But despite these favourable conditions our task was handicapped by our fatigue. It wasn’t long before our progress slowed considerably, even to the point where Florence, who until then had been holding a lamp to illuminate our labours, offered to take a turn. Ockham knew better than to argue, and so handed her the shovel while he took a short break. Florence took to the work as though she had been digging graves her entire life, her secret being not to overload the shovel, which I realized was exactly what I had been doing. After five minutes’ break Ockham took my shovel and let me step from the hole which, alas, was still possible without too much effort.

  Working up a sweat now, despite a slight chill in the air, Ockham asked if I’d brought any water. I had remembered to pack a small flask, and each of us took a gentle swig, knowing full well that we would have more need for it before we were done. Having already divested myself of my coat, I stripped off both my jacket and waistcoat, Ockham following suit. Florence, perhaps at last finding a limit to her pretence at being male, chose to go no further than her waistcoat, which like the rest of her clothes hung loosely from her slender frame. It took us little short of an hour to make the hole knee-deep, but digging in brief shifts was definitely the best way to proceed, and I was now sure that the additional effort provided by Florence was going to make all the difference between success and failure.

  I knew we were really beginning to make progress when the pit became too deep for Florence to shovel spoil on to the surface. Eager to remain useful, she returned to holding a lamp over the trench, from where it cast our workspace into stark relief. One of us worked while the other took a break at their end of the trench, the stale air in the hole being far from conducive to heavy labour. I was beginning to have doubts about our ability to get all this soil back in the hole once the deed was done. Then the tip of my shovel struck the lid of the casket.

  ‘My God, that’s it. We’ve done it!’ cried Ockham.

  I proceeded to scrape the excess earth from the lid and throw it back up towards his feet. ‘I’ve been here before,’ I reminded him. ‘Let’s save the celebrations until we’re patting down the turf.’

  ‘Wise words indeed,’ said a dreadfully familiar voice as the light suddenly dimmed.

  I looked up to see someone standing behind Florence, her warning cries reduced to a whimper behind a hand held over her mouth.

  ‘Perry!’

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen. Surprised to see me?’

  ‘I have to admit yes,’ said Ockham coolly. ‘We thought the Great Eastern’s propeller had done for you.’

  Perry pressed his arm into the small of Florence’s back, forcing her to take a step forward. The fact that we were entirely unarmed seemed to have escaped his notice, as he continued to shield himself as best he could behind her slight frame. ‘I jumped into the river just before Brunel’s hulk turned the boat to matchwood. It could be said that you can’t keep a good man down – but then I thought the same about you after the yard fire.’

  ‘More like the devil looking after his own,’ I added bitterly. ‘You’re a damned coward, Perry, hiding behind others as usual.’

  He pointed his pistol down towards me. ‘Well, as I appear to have you at such disadvantage I suppose I can let the lady go.’ Then into Florence’s ear he hissed: ‘Make so much as a whisper and your friends are dead men. Understand?’

  She nodded her head as much as she was able.

  ‘Very well. Stand over there and don’t move.’

  Still clutching the lamp, Florence backed away to the end of the trench, coming to a halt just above Ockham.

  ‘Now, where is the device, Phillips? I know you haven’t put it in there yet.’ He directed the pistol towards the coffin beneath me.

  ‘You mean you’ve been here all along?’

  ‘Long enough.’

  ‘And you let us dig this bloody great hole before making your move.’

  ‘It seemed the sensible thing to do – after all, this hole may yet prove a very worthwhile investment of labour. At least from my point of view.’

  ‘You’re going to kill us regardless of whether you get the device or not, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am considering it. Now, where is it, in the bag?’

  I nodded.

  Crouching down, he opened the bag without taking his eyes or the pistol off me and pulled out the cloth-wrapped heart.

  ‘Now all we need to do is retrieve the plans for the torpedo from Russell and we’re back in business. Or should I say all I need to do; thanks to your actions it looks like Lord Catchpole will be dancing on the end of the rope before long. The Crown seems to take a dim view of what they are calling high treason.’

  Perry unwrapped the device. ‘Stunning, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s cost enough, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Cheap at twice the price.’

  ‘You heartless bastard.’

  ‘Not any more,’ scoffed Perry, as he waved the device before me. ‘You call me heartless, but what are you doing, endangering a woman like this?’

  ‘Don’t hurt her, that’s Florence Nightingale, for God’s sake.’

  He looked at her anew and grinned. ‘I didn’t recognize you in your fancy dress. So you’re William Nightingale’s little girl? Your father is a very stubborn man. He would have saved himself a lot of trouble if he’d sold that mill for the fair price offered. He must have been delighted when you ran off to the wars.’

&nb
sp; ‘Yes, I am William Nightingale’s daughter,’ said Florence, matter-of-factly. ‘But some people know me better as the Lady with the Lamp.’

  With that she twisted from the waist and let go of the lamp from the end of an outstretched arm. Like a shooting star the projectile flashed across the sky above my head. Perry tried to dodge out of the way but it struck him in the left shoulder, where it shattered and fell to the ground. Kerosene flooded from the shattered reservoir and ignited against the wick, sending up a sheet of flame. The momentary conflagration drove him closer to the grave and so I grabbed him by the ankle and tried to pull him in, but he fell backwards, out of my reach. Opportunity lost, Ockham and I scrambled against the earth walls, desperately trying to get out of the hole, but given our fatigue, it wasn’t easy. Florence got to Perry first, before he could regain his feet. Straining on my elbows and with one leg drawn up on to the trench edge, I watched helplessly as she tried to pull the gun from his grasp. He struck her with his free hand and she too fell to the ground.

  His shoulder still smoking, Perry got to his feet just as I struggled to my own. He levelled the pistol at me and pulled back the hammer. ‘I’m going to enjoy this,’ he said.

  I closed my eyes and waited for the impact. A shot rang out and when I looked again Perry was lurching towards me, his pistol falling to the ground and a hand clutched to his chest. He fell to his knees as if in prayer and then toppled backwards, his legs folded beneath him.

  I rushed over to Florence, who was shaken but otherwise unhurt and crouched down to cradle her head as she came round. ‘That was quite a thing you just did.’

  ‘How dare he underestimate me just because I’m a woman!’

  I looked across to Perry, his body bent back like a folded knife. ‘I don’t think he’s going to be underestimating anything from now on.’

  The light from the second lamp, which was still perched where Ockham had left it, was momentarily dulled by someone walking in front of it.

  ‘Who the hell is that?’ asked Ockham, now standing beside me.

  I could barely believe my eyes as the figure revealed itself in the lamp’s light. ‘That, my friend, is Nathaniel Wilkie.’

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘I thought you were in America, Nate?’

  He walked towards me and then stopped beside Perry. ‘Was this the man who killed my father?’

  ‘As good as,’ I said.

  He looked down at me, his boyish features now settled into the handsome face of a young man. ‘I never got on the boat. I couldn’t just run away like that and let them get away with it.’

  Ockham handed me a jacket, which I rolled up and placed under Florence’s head. ‘You mean you’ve been in London all this time?’

  He nodded. ‘On and off. Been keeping an eye on you. I knew you’d lead me to them eventually.’

  Standing up, I realized he was much taller than when I’d last seen him. The foal had grown into his skin. ‘So you’re the one who has been following me round London!’

  He nodded. ‘And a merry dance it’s been, sir. I’m only sorry I wasn’t better at it. Perhaps if I’d been here during your first visit things might have come to a quicker end.’

  I put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘Nonsense, Nate, we owe you our lives, and for that I will be eternally grateful.’

  Not quite able to muster a smile, he looked over to Perry once again. ‘He got his just desserts, that’s all.’ Then he held out his hand. ‘You can have this back now.’

  I took the pistol from my guardian angel and traced a hand over the inscription on its barrel. My father would have been proud to see it put to such good use. ‘We still have work to do. I hope to God nobody heard the shot.’

  Florence tried to regain her feet. ‘No, stay there and rest. You’ve done more than enough, and we have another to help us now.’

  I dropped back down into the trench, taking care not to land too heavily on the coffin. Ockham offered to hold the lamp on the end of a rope, but I assured him he wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the edge of the grave, so following my instructions he suspended it from the shaft of a shovel lying across the trench. Taking the crowbar, I then set about prising the lid of the casket open. It was a two-part lid and so I directed my attentions to the half that would give access to the incumbent’s torso. The timber cracked and splintered, the nails eventually giving away and releasing their bond. Before pulling open the lid I took a handkerchief from my pocket and tied it tightly around my nose and mouth. Giving the embedded lever a final jerk, I took hold of the edge and pulled, the hinges on the other side squealing in protest as the lid gave way.

  I might as well have been opening the gates of hell, so terrible was the stench released. Despite my rudimentary precautions the noxiousness of the miasma almost knocked me backwards, and it took a few moments to bring my retching under control. Only just managing not to vomit, I stood up, banging my head on the lamp in the process, and signalled for Ockham to give me the bag, taking the opportunity to hold up my mask to take a precious few gulps of fresh air. But even outside the hole the smell was bad, and Ockham pinched his nose as he reached down to me.

  It took some time to find a viable position that would not send me tumbling face first into the open coffin. I settled on my knees, upper body stretched over the opening and supported by a gloved hand resting against the splintered edge. To my relief, the shroud, which was blackened with decay, covered Brunel’s face, and I had no intention of looking beneath it, though the depressions created by his eye sockets left little to the imagination. I concentrated on the torso, and taking up a scalpel from the bag set about making an incision, cutting down through the sternum and ripping up through the weakened ribs.

  Exposure of the partially liquefied organs assailed my senses with a far from fresh assault, again forcing me back to the surface, where I sucked in more air. I was no stranger to the corruption which takes hold of the human body after death, but this was entirely different. I was operating at the very limits of my constitution.

  ‘Give me the heart,’ I gasped at Ockham, whose hand was firmly fixed over his nose and mouth.

  Returning to work, the cause of all of this trouble resting between my knees, and unable to think of a more appropriate instrument, I picked up the crowbar and wedged it into the chest cavity. Using a similar action to that which had opened the coffin, I pushed the lever first to one side and then the other, creating a considerable gap between the severed ribs and the sternum. Relieved to discover that removal of the organs would be impossible as well as unnecessary, I shook the heart loose from its wrapping and without pausing pushed it through the gap. Withdrawal of the crowbar reduced the size of the gap, but I had to press against the ribs with my hand to close it entirely. A little uncertain about how to finish off, I covered the wound by resting the cloth, napkin-like, over the chest.

  A few words may have been in order before I closed the coffin, but things being as they were I simply touched Brunel’s forehead, closing my eyes for a moment before gently lowering the lid. After removing my soiled gloves and dropping them on to the casket, I passed the bag up to Ockham. Then he and Nate, taking an arm each, pulled me from the hole.

  ‘Get the soil back in there’ was all I was able to croak as I staggered away from the grave. It was good to see that Florence was back on her feet, and now it was she who expressed concern for my well-being while I sat on the edge of a grave slab and slowly regained my composure.

  Ockham and Nate went to work with the shovels, throwing the spoil back into the hole. Our new recruit entered into the task with all the vigour of youth, immediately finding a natural rhythm and shovelling in at least three loads for every one of Ockham’s, and any doubts I may have had about our ability to backfill quickly evaporated. Then I remembered Perry.

  ‘Stop,’ I cried, a little taken aback at how quickly the pile of earth was disappearing. Rushing over to his body, I put my fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse. ‘Nate, tak
e his legs.’

  Nate wrapped his arms beneath Perry’s bent knees and I took hold under the arms, his head lolling back into my lap. Walking backwards, I led the way to the grave. As soon as Nate was in position we tossed the body in, where it landed with a thud on the layer of earth now covering the coffin. Snatching the shovel from Ockham, I threw in a hefty load of soil.

  ‘Ashes to ashes,’ said Ockham with a grin.

  Nate joined me and very soon another foot of earth lay in the trench.

  Ockham sidled up to the grave and looked in. ‘I trust the man was dead.’

  ‘Well if he wasn’t, he is now.’

  Ockham looked aghast. ‘Good God, doctor, remind me never to come to you if I’m feeling poorly!’ Then he laughed and snatched the shovel back.

  Just half an hour later and the hole had all but disappeared, the only problem being that a considerable volume of spoil still remained on the sheet, the addition of Perry’s body having reduced the amount of space available by quite a degree.

  I leant against the shovel and stated what was fast becoming the obvious: ‘We’re not going to get all of that in, but we’ve got to get rid of it somehow.’

  Nate dropped his shovel. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said before striding off. Very soon after we heard a squeaking noise, which quickly grew nearer. The lad reappeared with a wheelbarrow, albeit one in need of a drop or two of oil. ‘There’s a dug grave awaiting a coffin back there; nearly fell in it on my way here. No one’s going to notice if the great mound of soil next to it is a bit higher come morning.’

  ‘This boy’s a godsend,’ said Ockham, with whom I had to agree.

  While we replaced the turf, Nate, still as energetic as when we began the task, filled the barrow and then trotted off into the dark behind it. Florence folded the sheet and, just as I was about to order our retreat, insisted that we congregate at the graveside and bow our heads. Finding the words that had evaded me while in the grave, she spoke a brief prayer, which included a heartfelt reference to William, who had been denied both funeral and grave.