by A. Wendeberg
He folded the morning papers. ‘We sound like a married couple.’
‘I’m working hard at keeping up the pretence,’ she quipped.
He stopped chewing.
‘That’s…not how I meant it, Sévère.’
‘Of course you didn’t. But to keep up the pretence it would rather help if you addressed me by my given name.’
She signalled neither agreement nor disagreement. The word Gavriel clung to her tongue, reluctant to slip out. She’d called him that when they’d consummated their marriage — it had been part of the contract that bound her to him for two and a half more years. He had whisked her away from an occupation she’d kept since the age of nine.
Occupation. Such belittlement of all that had happened to her as a child.
She gazed at the shimmering film that floated on her tea, and wondered why she couldn’t say that one word to him. Perhaps referring to him by his family name created the distance she needed in order to feel safe? Was she afraid of him? No, she certainly was not. But feeling close to a man was something she couldn’t imagine. Not in a hundred years.
Through her lashes, she stole a glance at him. How often did he think of her as a whore? How often did he wonder what it would take to get her into his bed? Would he try the stick or the carrot?
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘We do indeed sound like an old couple.’
He shrugged. ‘There are worse things, I’m sure. Now, I would appreciate it if you would tell Rose to cease her stink bomb assaults on Higgins and the horses, else I shall find myself unable to hold off an assault on the…erm… What might that thing up in the attic be called? Her dinosaur cave? A witch’s hovel?’
‘It’s a castle. I thought that was obvious. She and I conquered it. We drove out the evil king and his soldiers with cannon fire from our pirate ship.’
Sévère blinked. ‘You did what?’
Her mouth twitched.
‘Excuse me,’ he continued, ‘…but aren’t you a grown woman?’
‘You know, Sévère, sometimes I think a laugh would do you good. Shake off etiquette and do something silly from time to time.’
He opened his mouth, shut it, and smirked. ‘How, then, would you describe our nightly activities?’
‘Useful.’ She decapitated an egg with a swing of her butter knife. ‘Adventurous, reckless, and wonderful. Definitely not silly.’
He sighed. ‘Well, then. Let me be responsible for adventurous, reckless, and wonderful while you are responsible for silly and…whatever it is a woman feels the urge to do.’
Her shoulders stiffened. She placed the spoon aside, and cleared her throat. ‘Funny. I have an entirely different view of what distinguishes man from woman.’
‘Predator and prey, I know.’ He feigned a yawn.
Her jaw clenched.
‘You do know this is your weakest spot, do you not?’ he said. ‘Whenever I wish to discombobulate you, I let out an idiotic men are so and women are so statement. And every time you jump at it right away. You fluff up your plumage and look at me as if I were the epitome of prejudice. But it’s you who can’t overcome prejudice, not I. Otherwise, I would hardly have found myself able to marry you.’
She gifted him a sweet smile. ‘Oh, well. Fret not, husband, for you will be rid of me in but two and a half years. Then you can marry a decent woman who warms your bed whenever you tell her to do so.’
‘Whatever you wish, wife. Now, let us finish our breakfast in a civilised manner. We still have to get through said two and a half years without murdering each other. Besides, we are to visit Johnston at Guy’s in half an hour, and it would look suspicious if my eyes were gouged out.’
❧
‘She collapsed yesterday at noon,’ Johnston said, and leant against the doorframe to his ward. ‘She and her sister visited the zoo. You’ve read the witness statements?’
Sévère grunted confirmation. The police had taken Miss Edwine Mollywater’s body to the morgue before anyone had thought to notify the coroner. Naturally, a herd of onlookers had trampled the crime scene before evidence could be secured.
‘She being young and healthy, the police wished to consult a physician. Dr Edison examined her. You’ve probably read his report.’
‘We did.’
Johnston flicked his gaze to Olivia. He still felt a slight discomfort whenever Sévère mentioned discussing postmortems in detail with his young wife.
‘The results of my examination differ insignificantly from Dr Edison’s. The cause of death appears to be natural.’
‘“Appears” is not a word one often finds in your conclusions.’
‘I couldn’t find anything, Sévère. That’s the truth. You know me to be thorough.’
Sévère nodded, a frown carving his brow. ‘My intuition tells me someone sped up her demise.’
‘Well, my dear lad, in that case, it may be she was killed by witchcraft.’ With a wink, the surgeon bade his farewell.
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Coroner Case Notes Archive
— Acknowledgements—
Magnus, my lovely husband, for reading all the awful first versions.
My brave test readers Robyn Montgomery and Irina Kraft, and my awesome editors Sabrina Flynn, Nancy DeMarco, Rita Singer, and Tom Welch.
Carlina de la Cova for joyful discussions of neonate skeletonisation and 19th century postmortems, and for checking all my dissection scenes for correctness.
Eliška Frank for neonatal C2s and C3s.
Luke Kuhns for scanning 1880s Coroner case files from the London Metropolitan Archives for me. Sadly and unexpectedly, we did not find Jack the Ripper’s toe nail clippings among the files.
Pete Andrews for entrusting me with his granddad’s beautiful, old beekeeping books.
Any errors in court procedures, medical procedures, history of Victorian London, etc., are mine and can be attributed to artistic freedom or failure to detect them.
James Vincent McMorrow and Kerry Muzzey for inspiring music.
