Prayers for the Dying

by Tracy L. Ward

  His steps were slow as he made his way back to Belgravia. Not surprisingly, the people approaching him on the pavement parted rather anxiously as he came toward him. With his coat draped over his arm, he approached Marshall House and saw that Margaret stood at the top of the steps with Miss Winifred Talbot standing opposite her.

  “Goodness gracious, Peter!” Margaret’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of him, ashen and filthy from his romp in the Thames. Although mostly dry, his fine clothes were ruined, their once bright, clean colours dulled by the grungy din of the river water. She stepped forward as if to come to him, but then suddenly recoiled and raised her hand to block her nostrils. The look on Miss Talbot’s face wasn’t any more favourable.

  “Forgive me,” Ainsley said as he slipped by them. “I am in no position to receive company.” At the door he stopped and gave a quick bow to Miss Talbot. “Lovely to see you again, Miss Winifred.”

  Judging by the look on her face, he had no doubt a quick departure would be appreciated. He heard the women giggling as he closed the door behind him.

  Once in his room he summoned Maxwell, ordered a bath and began the long process of washing the Thames from his skin and hair.

  An hour later he was presentable again. Dressed in freshly pressed trousers and a crisp linen shirt, Ainsley was putting on a cufflink when Margaret appeared at his door. The look on her face, fatigue mixed with apprehension, saddened him.

  “Any trace of Julia or where she may have gone?” she asked, entering the room.

  “Simms and I are following a lead,” he said.

  “Simms? So he has forgiven you?”

  Ainsley smiled, amused by her enthusiasm. “Not exactly.” With his cufflinks in place he pulled at the edge of his sleeve to adjust his shirt on his shoulders.

  “Why was Winifred here?” he asked.

  “I believe we found where that man was dispatched,” she said. “There’s a large pool of blood in the laneway behind the Talbot’s house.”

  “The Yard didn’t discover it earlier?”

  “It doesn’t seem like it.” Margaret pulled a bit of folded cloth from the inside of her sleeve. “I was able to get this.” She opened the layers slowly and deliberately until the cloth revealed a faint, pink impression. “I pressed my handkerchief into one of the footprints. I thought perhaps it could help in some way.”

  Ainsley accepted the offering and carefully transported it to the small table near the window, where he could enjoy better light.

  “It may well be the impression of the killer?” Margaret looked to him expectantly, but it took a while for Ainsley to gather his thoughts.

  “I’d have to rule out the possibility that it belongs to our corpse,” he said.

  “Naturally.”

  Ainsley smiled slightly. “Thank you, Margaret.” He began to fold the fabric in on itself again.

  “There’s more. Earlier this morning Lord Benedict sent word that he’d like to call upon us later,” she said.

  Ainsley nodded, but he remained confused. “Why is this upsetting to you?” he asked, knowing very well that it was a visit she was not looking forward to. He had seen that look on her face a hundred times.

  “Because Father went into one of his fits again.” She let out a deep breath. “Really, Peter, I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

  She walked the length of the room and paused at his desk, where a number of medical texts were piled. He hadn’t been able to continue his research in recent days but they remained alongside his copious notes as if he had just been working on them yesterday.

  Margaret fingered one of the books, an ancient text by modern medical standards. So far it was the only one that gave a detailed description of apoplexy.

  “I’m trying to find something to explain it all,” Ainsley said.

  Margaret nodded absentmindedly as she turned her attention to another, more recent medical journal. Quietly she read, running her finger down the tiny typeset.

  Ainsley walked toward her and pulled one of the other books from the top of the pile. “Father’s outbursts seemed to be atypical of this type of affliction.”

  “What’s this?” Margaret asked suddenly. She turned the opened pages toward him and pointed to an illustration.

  “That’s an experimental treatment. A surgeon in America believes that accessing the vein at the base of the neck and encouraging blood flow to the brain reduces the long-term effects of the episode.” Ainsley smiled slightly then. “Father has a scar just like it, which leads me to believe his doctor in Barbados was aware of this new procedure.”

  “Doesn’t Lord Benedict know what procedures were performed?”

  “Lord Benedict seems very confused about the extent of his medical care while on the island. He isn’t much help to me in that regard. I’ve been meaning to write to the doctors to find out precisely what was done for him. I’m grateful for Lord Benedict’s assistance, but he leaves too many questions unanswered.”

  Margaret closed the book sharply and tossed it back on the desk with a thud. She nodded as she turned away, a far-off look in her eye. She stopped a few paces away and then turned to face Ainsley. “Do you think he could be hiding something from us?”

  “Such as?”

  Margaret shrugged. “Something about Vivian.”

  Ainsley eyed her suspiciously and didn’t immediately reply.

  “Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind. That Vivian could very well be Father’s child. She has the Marshall cheekbones.”

  He had indeed pondered the possibility when the girl first arrived but said nothing at the time. “I’ll admit, it’s a perplexing situation,” he conceded.

  “I’ve thought it over,” Margaret said, walking to the door to close it. “Why else would she come all this way? Lord Benedict brought her here because she is our responsibility now that her mother has passed.”

  “Have you spoken with the girl? Has she mentioned a father?”

  “Only to say that he lives.” Margaret licked her lips. “Peter, if she is our sister then she shouldn’t be a servant to us. It’s not proper.”

  Ainsley raised his hand, coaxing Margaret to stop, or at the very least lower her voice. “I agree. I agree. We’ll just keep this between us for now, understand?”

  Margaret gave a reluctant nod.

  “Does Father know she is here?”

  “I’m fairly certain that Mrs. Nelson has kept her belowstairs.”

  Ainsley ran a hand through his hair. “Good. I’m not sure he’s ready for further surprises.” Ainsley paused as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think any of us are.”

  Chapter 16

  When Ainsley arrived at work midmorning he was surprised to find the body from the river on his examination table. Accompanying the corpse was a note from Simms. You have until 1 p.m. Without hesitation, Ainsley set to work. He summoned an available porter and together they scrubbed the body. As they worked, Ainsley gave a preliminary exam at the same time.

  “There was something that caught my eye earlier,” Ainsley muttered, more to himself than his assistant. Adjusting the light, Ainsley pulled the woman’s hair back and examined the skin just behind her ear.

  The porter paused his task and watched as Ainsley snatched his magnifying glass from the arrangement of tools behind him. The mark was oval in shape but the main line did not complete the circle. The inside of the shape was pink but not raised.

  “Looks like a scar,” the porter said, as Ainsley ran his hand over the raised, pink skin. “A burn, perhaps?”

  “Just what I thought.” Ainsley let his magnifying glass bump the edge of the table as he bowed his head.

  “What is it?” the porter asked, leaning in for a closer look.

  “She’s been branded.”

  Simms arrived shortly after noon. He made his way down the centre aisle of the morgue, his hands shoved into his pockets and a dispassionate look on his face. Whatever his reasons for allowing Ainsley a look at th
e body, it was clear he wasn’t entirely happy about it.

  “I understood that I have until one,” Ainsley said, when he glanced up from his work. The dissection was nearly complete. The woman’s organs had all been removed and examined. Ainsley was able to take some tissue samples and planned to run a few tests before his deadline.

  “Curiosity got the better of me,” Simms answered unapologetically. He stopped just short of the examination table and looked at the corpse uneasily. “Your findings?”

  Ainsley nearly laughed at Simms’s insistent behaviour. “Am I not permitted to finish?”

  “No.” Simms circled the examination table and went for the heart and lungs that sat in enamel dishes on Ainsley’s work bench.

  Ainsley pulled his attention from the body and went to the trough sink to wash his hands. “There was some liver damage, which I didn’t expect from someone so young,” he said over the splashing of the water. “And an interesting heart condition that clearly went undetected.”

  Ainsley pointed to the aorta and then pulled the two halves of the dissected heart apart to show the detective the difference between the two valves. “She probably only had another year or two before that took her life.”

  “Is this related to her current cause of death?” Simms asked with a clear impatience.

  Ainsley swallowed. “No.” He turned back toward the body. “She didn’t drown,” he said. “I knew that as soon as I saw her throat.” Ainsley pointed to the woman’s neck. The wound, deep and most certainly the cause of death, was pink after the Thames had washed most of the blood away. “Again, done with a dull blade.” He snatched his magnifying glass from his tools and positioned it so Simms could see the tearing of the skin.

  “She wasn’t pregnant and aside from the damage to her eye and a few healed bruises there’s no obvious sign of trauma. She was more or less well fed. Certainly not starving,” Ainsley explained.

  Simms kept his eyes on the woman and didn’t look at Ainsley as he spoke.

  “Do we know if she’s been reported missing?” Ainsley asked.

  “No.”

  “Have you looked at archived reports?”

  Simms let out a quick breath and gestured to the body. “Can we just get this over with?”

  It was then that Ainsley knew their relationship had a long way to go before it could be repaired. Previously they could converse openly, sharing information and offering observances—but no more. Simms seemed determined to keep Ainsley at arm’s length and pushed back anytime Ainsley tried to inch closer.

  “I found a curious mark.” Ainsley went to the head and pulled back the woman’s hair. He handed the magnifying glass to Simms.

  The detective put the brass-rimmed glass in front of him and leaned in.

  “It’s a letter,” Ainsley said before Simms could say anything. “I think it’s the letter C.”

  Immediately Simms replaced the magnifying glass on the counter and turned from the body.

  “It’s a branding. A hot iron implement is warmed in coals—”

  “A horseshoe.”

  Ainsley froze. “Pardon?”

  “It’s a horseshoe, not a C.”

  Ainsley leaned in for a closer look as Simms spoke.

  “If she were standing, the curve would be directed down and the opening of the horseshoe would be up. An upside down horseshoe allows all the luck to fall out.” Simms waited quietly as Ainsley looked.

  “Is it Thaddeus then?”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Simms said, returning his hands to his pockets. “Thank you very much, Dr. Ainsley. I’ll have her removed by one.”

  “That’s all?” Ainsley called out as Simms marched the aisle to the double doors.

  “Yes, that is all,” Simms said, turning to touch the brim of his hat. “Thank you, doctor.”

  The door to the morgue swung back into place before Ainsley could say another word.

  Simms’s behaviour seemed odd and left Ainsley dumbfounded as he stood next to the body. Why allow him to examine it if he didn’t wish to converse with him about the case?

  He looked at the mark again, knowing it must be a mark of ownership, like the gangs in Whitechapel and Spitalfields. They all had their own mark identifying men in their ranks and those indebted to them. He imagined Thaddeus was no different. Ainsley had never seen any such mark on Julia, though that didn’t mean he hadn’t marked her in other ways. He wouldn’t have cause to mark her if she was willing to be with him, if they didn’t believe she would run away.

  Ainsley closed his eyes, abolishing the thought that Julia had willingly become his wife.

  It was then that Ainsley realized he still had the files Crawford had given him of the other women brought to the morgue in previous months. He couldn’t recall if any of the autopsies reported a similar mark, but he had only been looking at the main identifying features and hadn’t delved too deep into the reports themselves. They were safely stowed in his cabinet in the annex room and he would retrieve them later. For now, he needed to finish up, replace the woman’s organs, and stitch her together again.

  At precisely one o’clock Cooper arrived, stone-faced and mission-bound. Another constable followed him as he marched down the centre aisle to the examination table. One gesture from Cooper sent the other constable to the woman’s feet while Cooper took position at her head.

  “I just finished,” Ainsley said, as Cooper pulled the stained sheet up over the woman’s body. “She told me some pretty interesting things.”

  The other constable went pale as he waited for Cooper’s signal to lift his end of the stretcher.

  “Do the dead always give up their secrets, Dr. Ainsley?” Cooper asked, ill-amused.

  “They cannot help themselves.”

  The other constable laughed, but Cooper hardly flinched.

  Ainsley watched as Cooper tucked the ends of the sheet between the body and the base of the stretcher, as one would tuck a sheet under a mattress. In just a few more seconds the body would be gone and so would Ainsley’s last connection with the case. It wasn’t enough to examine the bodies and pass on the information to Simms. Ainsley needed to piece the puzzle together. He needed to see how they all connected.

  “Did Simms ask you to bring me anything?” Ainsley asked cautiously.

  “Like what?”

  “Some case files. I offered to look through the medical examiner notes.”

  Cooper shrugged and walked past Ainsley back to his position at the head. “He never said anything to me.”

  “I could really use them,” Ainsley pressed, even as the pair of officers signalled to each other to lift the stretcher up. “I can compare them to our files and let Simms know if I find connections.”

  “You’ll have to speak directly with Simms,” Cooper said as they walked for the aisle. “I’m making a point to only take my orders from him from now on.” The constable raised a hardened gaze to Ainsley, in challenge, before pressing his body into the door and guiding the stretcher out of the morgue.

  Ainsley followed them hurriedly down the hall to the double doors at the back of the hospital. “Cooper, I’m just trying to help.”

  The police wagon had been waiting, the horses out front stomping on the cobbles and rocking the box compartment at the back. After balancing the stretcher bars on the back of the wagon, the assisting constable hopped up and was able to pull the body into the opening. Cooper slammed the back door shut after the constable jumped down.

  “I just don’t understand—why would Simms let me perform the dissection if he didn’t intend for me to help?”

  Cooper turned suddenly and pressed a finger into Ainsley’s chest. “Because he’s using you, old chap, to get what he needs and nothing more.”

  Ainsley watched as the two men climbed up into the bench at the front of the wagon, snapping the reins slightly and clicking their tongues to urge the horses forward.

  If what Cooper had said was true Ainsley was ashamed that he had fallen for it.
He truly thought he was a contributing member of the pair again, as he and Simms had been before that horrid night. He felt his throat go dry at the memory and tried to banish it from his mind. The face of the man he killed remained burned in his retina, every once in a while flashing into his vision. It taunted him and teased him. He wasn’t sure how he would ever redeem his soul after what he’d done, but finding justice for these missing maids was a good enough start.

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Ainsley turned to head back to the morgue but stopped suddenly when he saw Delilah standing next to the double doors. She smiled out one side of her mouth and held a very small pistol, a derringer, in her gloved hands.

  Ainsley froze, and reactively raised his palms up.

  “Hello, doctor,” she said, twirling a rather long silver necklace in her free hand. “My brother would like a word with you.” She jerked her head to the side, where a closed carriage waited under the shade of a large oak tree. The side door was popped open by a single leather gloved hand that quickly retreated into the darkness inside.

  There was too much distance between them for him to charge her. She’d have more than enough opportunity to pull the trigger, and would probably do it gleefully, judging by the cheerful look on her face.

  “Let me grab my coat,” he said, trying to walk past her and back into the building.

  “Ah, ah, ah.” She stepped into the doorway to block his entry and pressed the end of the gun into his rib. Her slight frame pressed into him provocatively as the metal dug even further into his torso. “You are very handsome,” she said with a smile. “I would hate to make this an ugly encounter.”

  He could feel the short barrel pressing deeper into his gut.

  He nodded his willingness to go with her and allowed her to steer him toward the carriage. With her close behind him, he climbed the steps and noticed a man seated on the one bench. He wore a bowler hat and a dark green overcoat and matching vest over his white shirt. He flexed his gloved hands, pushing the seams into the tight spaces between his fingers as Ainsley climbed in and sat opposite him.