“We have had reporters coming to the door asking questions for days,” Elliot said to Ainsley as if looking for an ally to agree with him.
“Who asks questions?” Ainsley asked.
Elliot shrugged. “I don’t know his name.”
Ainsley and Simms exchanged glances.
“But Elliot, the children,” Mrs. Holliwell sobbed.
“Let the Society hire someone else,” Elliot said, as he began to pace the room. “Look what this work has done to you. Remember what it has done to us!”
Mrs. Holliwell’s cries continued, and Margaret tried in vain to give some support.
Simms nodded toward Ainsley and they turned to Elliot. “We shall return at a later time with further questions,” Simms explained at the door. He glanced to Mrs. Holliwell before placing his hat back on his head and leaving.
Margaret’s eyes drifted from Elliot, who displayed grief through anger, to the floor, all the while rocking Mrs. Holliwell ever so slightly. After a time, Mrs. Holliwell quieted and pulled herself from Margaret’s arms.
“My apologies, Lady Margaret,” Mrs. Holliwell said, sniffling into the handkerchief Ainsley had given her. “The tragedies have been great as of late.”
Margaret watched as Mrs. Holliwell gathered herself and stood, pressing out the creases in her apron and skirt. Margaret stood as well, and watched to ensure Mrs. Holliwell would not collapse again. Mrs. Holliwell turned to her son, who leaned back into the desk with his arms folded over his chest. “Elliot, I understand why you ask but you know and I know it is something I cannot do.”
Elliot shook his head, a look of disgust on his features.
“Please excuse me, Lady Margaret,” Mrs. Holliwell said, grasping at a few last ounces of dignity she still possessed. “I must freshen up before I come before the children. You and Lady Brant must carry on. I will inform the children later.”
Margaret nodded but said nothing. She watched as Mrs. Holliwell left the room with Elliot close at her heels.
Chapter 17
For years and years,
Ainsley stepped out into the dining hall, the solemn faces of the pauper children looking up at him as he followed closely at Simms’s heels. A line of girls waited nervously near Lady Brant, who seemed altogether out of her element amongst the hoard of orphans. “Stand back,” she pronounced authoritatively, though Ainsley could see how awkward the situation was. Lady Brant held out an outstretched palm as if keeping a curious predator at bay. “I will not have you all dismantling my workstation.”
Ainsley glanced over the tools, recognizing their purpose and remembering the vaccination training he had participated in during his schooling, held in an orphanage in Germany much the same as this. He remembered his mother assisting Lady Brant during other such charitable visits and thought it fitting that Margaret should take up the duty in her memory. Ainsley could not help but smile.
“What is it, Peter? The boy?”
Ainsley was pulled from his thoughts and found Lady Brant staring up at him expectantly.
“No, ’tis another,” he answered quietly. “A girl.” Ainsley glanced to the throng of eavesdropping faces around them. “Margaret will tell you more.” Ainsley gestured to Simms, who turned at the door, waiting for Ainsley to follow him. “I must keep with the detective now.”
Lady Brant pressed her lips together. “Yes, well, need I remind you to be careful of the company you keep?” Her eyes shifted to look beyond Ainsley, to where he imagined Simms stood, and then back to Ainsley.
“I fear you may be needlessly suspicious,” Ainsley answered, trying hard to temper his annoyance. “Simms has given me no reason to question his character.”
“His profession is enough to cause me to question his character. What sort of man wishes to consort with thieves and murderers on such a regular basis?”
Ainsley shook his head in disagreement. “A similar question could be asked of me.” A smile began to spread over Ainsley’s lips. “You, as well, for that matter.”
He left her, speechless thanks to his rebuttal, and walked toward Simms, who waited for him out in the hall. Before he quitted the room, Benjamin caught his eye. Seated near the window, the young man looked utterly despondent against the chattering of the other kids. One of the little girls ran up to him and placed a paper heart in his hand. She said something Ainsley could not hear and Benjamin smiled before thanking her.
When the little girl skipped off, Ainsley approached with his hands in his pocket. The boy could have easily barked at the girl, driven her away, and demanded to be alone, but he did not. He accepted her small gift and brightened her day, perhaps even viewing the tiny offering as the bright spot of his day.
“You have an admirer,” Ainsley teased as he drew near.
Benjamin shifted in place, glancing to the group of girls nearest him and then back to Ainsley. “Nah,” he said, “They’ze always doing stuff like that.” Benjamin placed the paper heart on the wood of the windowsill and watched as it soaked up the moisture from the chipping paint.
“Has Mrs. Holliwell spoken to you about the hospital’s offer of apprenticeship?” Ainsley asked.
Ben gave Ainsley a quizzical look.
“Dr. Crawford has offered you a place as porter,” Ainsley said, taking a seat beside Ben. “You can remain living here until your apprenticeship is done and then find a place of your own when the time is right.”
“Will I have to work with the bodies?” Ben asked cautiously.
“You aren’t bothered by them, are you?”
Benjamin shook his head but Ainsley could tell he lacked conviction.
“You get used to it,” Ainsley answered.
Ben looked across the room to the line of kids getting their vaccines. “Mrs. Holliwell doesn’t know you work there, does she?”
“No,” Ainsley said. “My father does not want me to be a surgeon, so I hide it. I’m Dr. Ainsley at the hospital and Mr. Marshall when I’m with my family.”
“Mrs. Holliwell isn’t your family,” Ben offered.
“No, she knew my mother rather well and…” Ainsley hesitated, “I just haven’t worked up the courage to tell her.”
“Being a doctor is better than anything else I’ve seen,” Ben said. “I don’t think you should be ashamed of it.”
“I’m not,” Ainsley answered.
“You are if you do not tell people,” Benjamin said stoically.
Ainsley gave a half-smile. “Can I count on you to keep the secret a little while longer?” Ainsley asked.
“I’ll do anything if it means I can have a proper job,” Ben said.
Ainsley nodded. While he hated the fact that he asked the boy to lie for him, he knew, for the time being, it was the best thing to do.
“Tomorrow morning, six sharp,” Ainsley said as he stood up. Ben nodded and Ainsley left to meet Simms in the hallway.
“What do you think then?” Simms asked as Ainsley approached.
“Elliot clearly disapproves of his mother’s profession,” Ainsley answered, glancing back into the room. The murmur of the children began to rise as they grew restless. “Perhaps he takes his anger out on the children.”
“You thought that as well?” Simms asked.
“Benjamin told me Elliot is a formidable presence here at the orphanage. I suspect he’s been inappropriate with the girls.”
Simms turned away, clearly angry. Ainsley saw his free hand curl into a fist at his side.
“Trust me when I tell you it has been hard to keep myself from bashing his skull since I found out,” Ainsley said quietly.
Simms looked over Ainsley’s shoulders and then cocked his head toward the door. “Let us take this out to the street,” he said. “Our continued presence is making Mr. Holliwell uneasy.”
Ainsley turned slightly and saw Elliot in the dining hall, leaning on an opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes staring right at him and the detective. Ainsley thought to retrieve Margaret, preferring that s
he follow him home, but then thought better of it. She was in Lady Brant’s company and was a pillar of strength in her own right.
“Come, Ainsley,” Simms called, while he held the door open. Ainsley nodded and followed the detective out into the hazy light.
The street was shrouded by fog, giving everything soft edges and a dreamy appearance. Immediately, Ainsley felt his face become damp as he and Simms descended the front steps and approached the police carriage.
The stout driver, hidden beneath weather-beaten black cloak and tall hat, appeared to have fallen asleep, reins in hand. Simms used a spoke of the carriage wheel to provide a step and tapped the driver’s leg. “St. Thomas,” he commanded with a shove.
Ainsley saw the driver nod, as he gathered the reins more tightly, and Simms stepped down. They slipped into the carriage one after the other.
“I have an idea but you are not going to like it,” Simms said as they settled into their seats. The carriage jerked into motion and soon what little of the street they could see through the fog became a meaningless blur as they rolled along.
“What’s that?” Ainsley asked, admittedly intrigued.
“We create a trap,” Simms said, “We catch our killer in the act, as it were.”
“How do you suppose we lure him?” Ainsley asked, doubtful.
“Benjamin.”
“No,” Ainsley answered sharply. “Absolutely not.”
“He’s more than capable. Strong. Observant. We could use him in many capacities.”
Ainsley shifted in his seat, made uncomfortable at the idea of the boy becoming bait in the sadistic game of “cat and mouse” the Yard was playing with the child killer.
“You are not his father, you cannot stop him should he agree,” Simms pointed out.
“No, but I’d strongly advise him against it.”
“Which do you think is stronger—his newfound respect for you or a decade-long love for his friend?”
Ainsley adjusted his coat and looked out the window.
Simms exhaled and softened his tone. “I understand the affection you have for this boy, the care you have taken for this case demonstrates that but unless you are—”
“I do it for all the children, not just Ben.”
“Then you agree with me, we cannot just sit back and wait for this child killer to slip up. If I were working this case alone I wouldn’t need to ask your permission,” Simms reminded him.
“So why are you?” Ainsley asked.
Until then their relationship had been fairly easy. Both required something of the other and their goals were so similarly aligned. But the stress of discovering another body was evident on Simms’s features, especially with the list of likely suspects so short. Ainsley knew the detective was not blaming him for their inability to track down the culprit but Ainsley felt the pressure nonetheless.
“Just give me more time,” Ainsley pleaded. “Let me have a look at wounds, compare them to the others. There must be something I’m not seeing.” Ainsley relaxed somewhat when Simms began to nod, if somewhat begrudgingly.
“I won’t do it yet,” the detective said, “but it doesn’t mean I am not considering it as an option.”
Ainsley nodded, aware that their agreement would be temporary but relieved all the same. It was clear the murderer held a total disregard for the lives of London’s poorer children. Capable or not, Ainsley was not willing to put Benjamin up as some sort of decoy.
Simms let Ainsley get off at the front doors to the hospital and shouted instructions at him even as the carriage rolled away. “Send a messenger as soon as you find anything. I’ll be back later to go over your report.”
Ainsley nodded and waved him off teasingly. “Anything else?” the young doctor shouted against the clip-clopping of the horses’ shoes on the pavement.
“Lay off the drink for a while, eh?”
A snort escaped Ainsley’s lips as he stood there, the carriage too far along the road for any further words between them. Lay off the drink? The detective’s words resonated as if an echo trapped inside Ainsley’s head. How much drink had he assumed Ainsley would have? Certainly not enough to interfere with his duties. Ainsley groped his coat pockets, searching for his flask, which felt surprisingly light. Funnily, he had not remembered taking many sips from it that day but now that his mind was on the topic, that is exactly what he wished to do next.
In the morgue, Ainsley found Sidney hunched over the body of the girl, Maryanne, already laid out on Ainsley’s examination table, and he was suddenly reminded of the promise he had made to Dr. Crawford to assist the budding surgeon.
Sidney stiffened as Ainsley drew near and his eyes followed him as he rounded the examination table.
“Do you drink, Sidney?” Ainsley asked sharply and he opened a high cupboard door near his work area.
“No, sir.”
Ainsley snorted as he pulled a bottle of Scotch from the shadows, and then two tumblers. “You will before long.” With a heavy clunk, Ainsley planted the two tumblers on the wooden surface next to his tools. He pulled the cork from the Scotch with a determined yank and poured them each a glass. Sidney made no move to retrieve the one intended for him and yet Ainsley raised his glass slightly, a toast to Maryanne, before downing the entire contents without stopping for air.
“Is this part of my tutoring?” Sidney asked, somewhat mockingly.
Ainsley shrugged. “Why not?” He thrust the glass into Sidney’s unsure hands and then poured himself another. Again, he emptied the tumbler’s contents without stopping for breath and then placed the empty glass near his neat array of tools. Moving toward Maryanne, he surveyed the rest of the room, where even more corpses awaited his attention. They had been there the day before.
“You might want to consider taking up smoking, as well,” Ainsley teased as he looked over the examination table. The platform was a bit higher than he was used to and he started to fiddle with the table legs. “It’s either that,” he said with a grunt, “or you grow accustomed to the smell, which is worse on certain days more than others.”
Finally, the table gave way and the one side, the head side, dropped half a foot, which caused Maryanne’s arm to slide from the table, a sudden movement that caused Sidney to jump back a few feet from fright.
“Do you expect her to come back and whop you on the nose?” Ainsley asked with a laugh.
“No, sir.”
“Oh, sir, is it now?” Ainsley raised his eyebrows as he positioned himself to drop the other side of the table. “Far from the boxing ring now, aren’t we?” Ainsley teased.
With the table lowered, Ainsley grabbed his leather apron from the hook and threw a similar one, though one used with little frequency, to Sidney. “Make yourself useful and check to make sure I have everything,” Ainsley said with a nod to his cache of instruments on the workbench that lined the wall.
His apprentice now occupied, Ainsley found his clipboard and snagged a pencil. He pulled back the thin sheet used to cover the body before slipping into his high podium desk, which overlooked the table. He began a rudimentary sketch, indicating the wound to her abdomen, and then quickly wrote a list of the organs he could identify.
“How did she die?”
The sound of Sidney’s voice interrupted Ainsley’s concentration. He furrowed his eyebrows and stared at his apprentice, hoping to draw attention to the absurdity of his question.
“I mean, what did he do? Just tear her stomach open?”
Ainsley did not answer straight away. He hadn’t thought of how the victims were approached, only that the murderer must have been a man to be able to overtake them so easily. For the first time he thought of the girl, seated most likely, and waiting for her father. She probably would have been looking around her, eager to recognize her only kin amongst the rush of dockworkers. She would have looked at the culprit, seen him as he approached.
Ainsley closed his eyes, a feeble effort to banish the thought. Who could approach a child with an intention t
o kill them so heinously? The young surgeon shifted around the table to move toward Maryanne’s face, lifting the lids of her eyes.
“If only there were a way to know what she saw last,” Ainsley said. “Her lips are dry,” he said suddenly. He saw that they were cracked on the surface, though not deep enough to bleed. “And her skin all around too.” Ainsley pointed while Sidney came over to have a look.
The young apprentice shrugged. “It must be the winter winds.”
Ainsley shook his head, doubtful at such an explanation. “The temperature has warmed considerably. Besides, it doesn’t look the same.” Ainsley studied the marks close, pondering possible causes. Gingerly, he touched them with his finger.
“Do you smell something?” Ainsley asked suddenly.
He stood up straight and found the smell suddenly gone. When he lowered his nose to the girl’s lips he could smell it again, something sweet though not very strong. He opened her mouth, her jaw rather tight against his pressure. There was nothing inside her mouth, nothing sweet the murderer could have used to gain the girl’s trust. Ainsley swept her discoloured molars with his finger and found no sugary residue.
His body straightened, Ainsley leaned in on the table and surveyed her body once more. The last time he smelled a dead body so closely was during a case of arsenic, but arsenic leaves the smell of garlic, not a sweet smell. This smell reminded Ainsley of something, though it was so faint he could not put his finger on it.
“I know this smell,” he said. “Take a sniff. Tell me what you think.”
Ainsley watched as Sidney came in closer to Maryanne’s face.
“Do you know it?” Ainsley asked.
With a look of apology Sidney shook his head. “Perhaps we should just continue?” he suggested.
“Just give me a second,” Ainsley answered as he leaned in one more time. “Chloroform.”
“What?”
“It’s chloroform.” Ainsley slapped his hand down on the examination table and let out a whoop of excitement. “I knew I’d recognize it. It’s used in surgeries all the time. In school we were trained in its uses, not to give too much. A small amount can incapacitate a person for fifteen minutes. A good surgeon can do his duty before the dose wears off. Any more than that and the patient may die.” Ainsley was giddy, running his hands through his hair as he explained the surgical aid. “He subdued her with chloroform.” Suddenly, Ainsley’s elation at his discovery gave way to the realization she had been unconscious and hopefully had not felt a thing.
The Dead Among Us Page 15
