Chapter 23
The morgue was crowded—with the dead and undead.
All three slabs were now occupied with bodies covered with stained linen sheets.
Dr. Munroe and his assistant, Mr. Barts, stood on either side of the middle slab.
The form beneath the sheet was clearly female, at least five inches shorter than the two other shrouded cadavers.
“Good heavens,” Rebecca muttered, pulling out a perfumed handkerchief from her reticule and holding it against her nose. Kendra couldn’t blame her. The stench of decomposition was even more pungent than the last time she’d visited.
Munroe gave Rebecca a concerned look. “Are you certain that you wouldn’t prefer waiting in my office, my lady?”
Rebecca’s chin jerked up a notch. “No.” Smiling weakly, she murmured, “Forgive me, Dr. Munroe, I was simply taken aback by the smell. I’m fine. Please carry on.”
“This is quite extraordinary, doctor,” said the Duke, his gaze on the middle figure. “How did she end up here? Again?”
Munroe hesitated, his expression cautious as he surveyed them.
“I feel obligated to remind you that anatomy schools like mine face a dearth of cadavers in this country. That shortage forces those in the medical field to form alliances with unsavory characters. Those individuals supply us with much needed . . . materials.”
Sam waved his hand, clearly impatient with the anatomist’s careful preface.
“We’ve known each other for too long for you ter be in a pucker, doctor.
Even the Crown looks the other way when it comes ter the practice.
I don’t care how this woman got on yer autopsy table as much as I care about who put her there the first time around. ”
“You make an excellent point, Mr. Kelly. I shall be frank. The resurrectionist men that I often deal with went to a graveyard last night to dig up the recently deceased Mr. Wells.” Munroe gestured to the concealed figure to the left.
“When they opened his coffin, they discovered our body lying on top of Mr. Wells.”
Muldoon chuckled. “I’d wager their peepers popped out of their heads when they pried open the lid.”
“It certainly was a surprising development,” agreed the anatomist. “Naturally, they brought both bodies to sell to me. As much as I object to purchasing the same cadaver twice, I decided it was the most expedient way of dealing with the situation.”
He straightened, adjusting the spectacles on his nose before looking at Kendra. “I hope you don’t mind, my lady, but I took the liberty of conducting the autopsy before I sent my message. I’d hoped to have a few answers for you.”
“Did you find any?”
“A few. Unfortunately, I was also left with new questions.” He reached for the sheet, then hesitated, his gaze cutting to Rebecca. “My lady, are you quite certain you wish to remain for this? It’s not a pretty sight.”
Rebecca lowered her handkerchief, her jaw tightening. “I understand, doctor. However, I like to think that I am not one of those faint-hearted, spoiled ladies of the Beau Monde.” She shot a quick, almost challenging glance in Muldoon’s direction. “Please continue, sir.”
“Very well.”
Carefully, Munroe peeled down the sheet to expose the head, neck, and shoulders. Kendra could see the Y-shaped incision peeking out like black spider legs along the collarbone. She shifted her gaze to the cadaver’s face. Munroe was right; it was not a pretty sight.
More than a week had passed since the body had been pulled from the Thames, and natural gases had built up like helium in a balloon, splitting the mottled flesh and breaking down organs.
Except for her hair, which was dark and surprisingly lush, she barely looked human.
Certainly, she no longer looked like the theater poster’s illustration.
Her eyes were partially shut, but something was wrong. It took Kendra a moment to figure it out.
“Her eyes . . .” She swung her startled gaze to Munroe.
He nodded grimly. “Gone. Not done by animals—someone removed them.” He leaned forward, lifting an eyelid to reveal the gouged-out pit.
Behind her, Kendra heard a choking sound, then a flurry of skirts heading for the door. Male footsteps followed. Briefly, Kendra glanced up to see Rebecca and Muldoon disappearing out into the hallway. She brought her gaze back to Munroe as he lowered the eyelid.
“Her eyes were intact when she was in my morgue before,” he said.
“God’s teeth,” Sam muttered, appalled. “This was done after the lass was stolen?”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“Maybe the same reason her uterus was removed.”
The Duke drew in deep, shaky breath. “My God. What is this?”
Kendra fixed her eyes on Munroe. “Can you tell me if the removal was done crudely or if it was more . . . . professional?”
She could see by the way his eyes darkened that he knew what she was really asking.
“The organs were excised neatly,” he said slowly.
Kendra had to fight the chill caused by his answer. The suspicion that she’d had earlier was becoming stronger.
Stepping back from the corpse, Kendra pulled the poster out of her reticule and showed it to Munroe. “Not much of a likeness anymore, is there? But it’s her.”
As everyone studied the illustration, Rebecca and Muldoon returned, both flushed and tense. Kendra briefly met Rebecca’s eyes before her friend averted her gaze. Curious . . .
And none of my business, she decided.
“What else can you tell me about her?” she asked Munroe.
“She didn’t drown. There was no water in her lungs.
And no blood in her veins. She died of exsanguination.
” Tight-lipped, the anatomist carefully rearranged the sheet to expose Clarice’s arms. “It’s difficult to see because of the advanced stage of decomposition, but there are puncture wounds here”—he pointed to a barely discernable mark first on the inside of her right arm, and then on her left—“and here.”
“Can you tell if she was sick recently?” Kendra asked. “Or suffering from any disease?”
Munroe gave her a sharp look. “How did you know?”
Kendra’s pulse quickened. “What did you find?”
“She was in the early stages of the French disease.”
“The French Pox,” Alec noted. “Also known as syphilis. It’s not an uncommon illness for those who make their living on stage.”
“Or for soldiers and sailors,” Muldoon added.
“Is it possible someone tried to cure her through bloodletting?” Kendra asked Munroe.
He gazed at her, uneasy. “Bloodletting was done in the past for those afflicted with the disease, but it’s considered archaic now. Mercury is the prescribed treatment, even though the side effects are quite devastating.”
Yeah, like kidney failure, nerve damage and insanity, Kendra remembered.
“Maybe someone tried to avoid those side effects by returning to bloodletting,” the Duke said.
“But why would they, when it never cured a patient?” Munroe shook his head. “Besides, no reputable surgeon would have gone so far as to take all her blood.”
“What about an apprentice, someone still learning?” Kendra couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Barts, who pursed his lips, but remained silent.
“No.” Munroe was adamant. “Anyone with even the most rudimentary medical knowledge would never do such a thing.”
That leaves everyone without any medical knowledge, Kendra thought.
Charlatans had always existed. In another 127 years, penicillin would provide a cure for syphilis, but for now, the disease was fatal.
That meant anyone diagnosed with an STD would be vulnerable to swindlers hoping to make a quick buck off their desperation.
Had a con artist promised Clarice that they could cure her via bloodletting, then bleeding her until it was too late?
Kendra looked at the dead woman’s wrists. The bruising from the restraints was no longer visible in the mottled flesh. “Are restraints used in the bloodletting procedure?” She recalled the leather straps that held the wherryman down while Dandridge sliced off his toes.
“No. It’s relatively painless. Although, I suppose there may be a few anxious individuals that need to be kept still so as not to pull out the needles.
” Munroe paused. “After the body was stolen from me, it must have been stored indoors. The tearing you see is natural decomposition, not from animals. And it must have been somewhere cold, as decomposition was kept to a minimum.”
“The entire kingdom is cold these days,” Muldoon muttered.
The anatomist acknowledged the comment with a brief smile, then said, “She also had sediment in her hair, on her posterior side.”
Sam frowned. “Aye, well, she was dug up, doctor. I’d expect she’d have dirt on her.”
“She was in a coffin, not thrown into an open grave. And, as I said, the dirt was primarily on her posterior side. The body must have been placed on a surface that was covered in the sediment.”
Kendra was impressed. Trace evidence involving geoscience wouldn’t be recognized as a forensic tool until the early twentieth century. “Is there any way to determine the type of sediment and where it may have come from?”
Munroe looked intrigued. “I’m acquainted with a man who might be able to help. Mr. Randolph Engel is a mining surveyor. He assisted William Smith when he worked on England’s canal system. He became interested in catastrophism and has made a remarkable study of geology.”
“Catastrophism?” Kendra frowned at the unfamiliar word.
The Duke said, “It’s an attempt to resolve the discrepancies between the biblical account of the Great Flood—basically, a sudden, cataclysmic event that created the earth’s geology—and the theory that the earth was formed by a more gradual process.
I have read articles penned by Mr. William Buckland, who argued in favor of sedimentary deposits left by the Great Flood. ”
“Mr. Engel takes an opposing viewpoint.” Munroe turned to Kendra. “He lives in Cambridge. Do you want me to contact him and ask if he’d examine the sediment?”
“How long will that take?” Kendra dreaded the answer.
Munroe smiled. “If he’s at home, maybe as early as tomorrow evening.”
“Can you find out if Clarice was being treated by someone at St. George’s?” she asked, and saw the flicker in the anatomist’s eyes.
“Yes, I can do that,” he said. “But if anyone at St. George’s would have treated her by bloodletting, there would have been talk. And I would have heard about it.”
“Would you have heard about any of your colleagues expressing an interest in curing syphilis?”
That brought a fleeting smile. “Everyone’s interested in curing syphilis—or any disease that plagues humanity.
We discuss these things all the time in the Metamorphosis Club—” His breath caught in his throat, his eyes flashing to hers as he realized what he’d just said.
He quickly shook his head. “No member would siphon off all the woman’s blood in an attempt to treat her, my lady. ”
“What about to experiment on her?”
Munroe’s jaw tightened. Kendra thought it was telling that he didn’t immediately refute what she was suggesting.
“Someone first took her blood. Now her eyes and uterus,” Kendra said.
Rebecca, who hadn’t been in the room when that was revealed, gasped, but Kendra remained focused on the doctor.
“You said the removals were done in a professional manner. Someone with medical knowledge. Even more, someone with a surgeon’s skill.
Could you get me a list of Metamorphosis Club members? ”
“Are you planning on quizzing them all? We have nearly forty members.”
“If I have to, yes. I’d like the full list, but it would be helpful if you indicated the members who’ve been vocal about finding new treatments for syphilis.”
“Very well,” he agreed, but his reluctance was palpable.
“We can narrow the list down even further if you include everyone’s age. Whoever killed Lady Westford was strong enough to throw her over the railing, and young enough to chase Edwina down the street.”
Munroe’s eyes were shadowed as he met hers for a brief moment before he turned away. “I’ll get you your list, my lady.”