A Case of Doubtful Death (37 page)

‘Not a bit of it!’ said Cedric. ‘You are the bravest lady I know and how I wish I had hailed the young man I saw, or taken more notice of his train. But I promise you that if I see him again, I will not make that mistake. Now then, I see a little colour return to your cheeks, so let us talk about what you require me to do. Does that parcel contain the suit you wore previously?’

‘No, that belonged to my late brother, Frederick, and was, I realise now, an indifferent fit. I have purchased a new suit of clothing that I believe will be better and Sarah can undertake to make any necessary adjustments.’

‘I see, and – er – now this is a delicate question so you must forgive me – do you wish to have the garment altered so as to conceal your sex, or would you prefer it to be of a masculine nature but of a feminine cut?’

‘Why would a woman want to dress as a man, but appear to be female?’ said Frances in surprise.

‘Indeed,’ said Cedric solemnly. ‘I am sorry to have mentioned it, how foolish of me.’

‘I wish to masquerade as a man for professional reasons and must, therefore, appear to be a man. I would like you to instruct me on my gait and carriage.’

‘Of course. Well, if you could retire to my dressing room and transform yourself we will set about it.’

Cedric’s dressing room was a small marvel, with rows of tastefully cut suits, snowy shirts, brightly polished shoes, jars of scented pomade to sleek their owner’s unruly blond locks, crystal spray bottles of cologne and trays of discreet masculine jewellery. ‘I do not think,’ said Frances, as Sarah helped her dress, ‘that however hard I was to try I could ever be such an elegant gentleman as Mr Garton.’

‘You look good enough to me,’ said Sarah.

‘He is quite the old-fashioned dandy!’

‘Oh?’ said Sarah. ‘I didn’t know they had a name for it.’

‘Still, since I am to represent a medical student, a certain economy of attire would seem to be appropriate.’

Eventually, after forcing her long hair into a hat, Frances emerged, and stood before Cedric. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Now you must advise me on what else I need to do.’

He gazed at her for a while, an unreadable expression in his eyes. ‘Very little,’ he said at last.

‘But does she look like a man?’ demanded Sarah.

‘A youth,’ said Cedric. ‘A handsome youth with all the promise of young manhood before him. Well, let us proceed.’

Although Frances’ limbs were decently enough covered she felt uncomfortable. The fact that the shape of her legs could be seen, and the absence of the accustomed weight and bulk of skirts and petticoats suggested to her that she was proposing to step out in a public street clad in little more than her underlinen. Her previous masquerade had been made out of a sense of desperation, but this was more cold-blooded, more planned, and her buried concerns were re-emerging. Cedric asked her to walk about the room and at first she tried to strut in what she hoped was a manly fashion, but he quickly instructed her to stop and asked her instead to take her natural walk so that he could correct it. Frances found it hard not to think of how she was moving, but as she walked, began to feel once again that delightful sense of freedom she had experienced when she had worn her brother’s suit. How easy it would be, thus clad, to run down the street! How she might be able to jump and climb and ride a bicycle, and a thousand things she might never even have thought of! She could do things that even Miss Dauntless would not contemplate.

It was an hour before Cedric had instilled in her the ability to walk, sit down, stand up, and put things into her pockets and take them out again, as if she had been a boy from birth.

‘It is fortunate that you do not have a high voice, or, as so many girls do, have been accustomed to speaking like small children in order to attract the protection of men. Your voice will do well enough if you are careful.’

‘I am very grateful for your assistance,’ said Frances, ‘and I know I can count on you to keep this secret.’

‘Tempting as it would be to tell all my friends about this afternoon, which would greatly add to my notoriety – if that were possible – I can assure you that you may count on my silence.’

Although the resumed inquest on the death of Henry Palmer was not due for a few days, Frances felt sure that Mr Fairbrother would tell her what she wanted to know about the post-mortem examination if she demanded it with enough confidence, revealing the conclusions before he had the opportunity of wondering whether or not he should.

When she questioned him, however, she found that there was no need for either forcefulness or subtle persuasion; he recognised with a wry smile that it would be simpler for him to comply. Frances learned that there was no doubt at all in Dr Collin’s mind that Henry Palmer had died after being struck on the head three times with a heavy object, perhaps some sort of carpentry tool. Only one weapon had been used. The first blow had probably been struck while Palmer was in a standing position and would have been enough to make him dizzy, but would not have been fatal. In all probability he would have fallen. He had been on all fours or lying down when a second blow had been struck and certainly prone, his face pressed to the ground when the third and fatal blow fell. The skull was not so much crushed as punctured, as if the weapon had a heavy end like a hammer. Fairbrother confirmed that there was no object in the Life House that might answer that description.

Frances was also able to elicit from Mr Fairbrother that he was attending a course of lectures and would not be at the Life House in the next few days, but that Hemsley and Renfrew had matters in hand, and Dr Warrinder would also call. This was a great relief, since the idea that she might encounter Mr Fairbrother during her excursion to the Life House in male attire appalled her. As long as her visit occurred during Mr Renfrew’s period of duty she would be safe as she did not think Dr Warrinder, even if he did arrive, would recognise her if she kept her distance and took care not to face him directly. She asked Fairbrother if he knew the identity of the new owner, but he did not. The sale was very nearly complete and it was anticipated that the keys would be handed over shortly.

The next morning, Frances, as Mr Frank Williamson, medical student, awaited Dr Carmichael. That gentleman, who had been told what to expect, must have convinced himself that Frances had not been serious when she had described her intentions or thought that, on sober reflection, she would abandon the idea. It was with some sense of shock that he saw her in male attire. ‘Have you thought of going on the stage?’ he said at last.

‘Is that the only destination for a woman who dresses as a man?’

‘That and prison, I would have thought. I am really not sure that this should be attempted.’

‘If it is a question of your reputation, I believe I am the least of your dangers,’ said Frances.

‘What have you been told?’ he demanded.

‘It involves chloroform,’ said Frances. ‘Do I need to say more?’

He looked angry, but made no denials. ‘No, you do not. Well, let us get this done quickly. If you are found out I can always say that I was deceived. Your masquerade is sufficiently convincing, no doubt from considerable practice. I am only thankful that your companion will not be accompanying us dressed as a soldier!’

They travelled up by cab, and on the way Frances explained that she was looking for the location of the death of Henry Palmer. ‘I cannot anticipate the verdict of the coroner’s jury,’ she said, ‘but it is possible that he may have been the victim of foul play. I have heard rumours that he was struck several times on the head by something resembling a hammer. I suspect that he was killed very close to the Life House.’

‘Surely there will be nothing to see after all this time?’ said Carmichael.

‘I fear you may be right, but at least I should look.’

Before they approached the door of the Life House chapel, Frances searched carefully for any sign of a struggle, but there was nothing in the lane that led south to the canal, or any of the little ways around the building or the path that led to the front door. Even if Palmer had been killed there, the passage of time had erased any traces. Carmichael knocked at the chapel door and they were met by Renfrew, a small man who resembled a nocturnal rodent, down to the dark glittering eyes, pale whiskers and pink nose. He said little, but studied the appointment book in his hands and, noting that Dr Carmichael and Mr Williamson were expected, examined the doctor’s card, and nodded approval. They were told to go to the front door and wait, and a few moments later he ushered them in. The office area was mainly occupied by a small desk and a coat stand, and there were shelves of leather-bound books; medical volumes, ledgers and record books. A glass-fronted cabinet held a few restorative items: brandy, a carafe of water, and some smelling salts. So meagre were the contents, so inadequate to deal with the kind of emergencies the Life House might have faced, that Frances felt sure that this was intended not for the use of the patients but visitors.

‘That is only a very small part of what we have here,’ said Renfrew quickly, seeing her expression. ‘On the ward we have an extensive supply of apparatus and materials for the treatment of cases of doubtful death. I am sure you would like to examine them.’

Carmichael said that he would be very interested to do so and Frances nodded her enthusiastic assent, then Renfrew unlocked the door that led to the wards.

Carmichael glanced at Frances with some concern, afraid that at any moment the brandy, water and smelling salts would have to be pressed into action, but she had seen and smelled death before, and death, moreover, without the benefit of carbolic. The odour of putrefaction, whatever one did, could never be disguised. It was oddly sweet, but in a way that caught at the back of the throat and however much one resisted, it was like a sickly caress that impelled nausea. Overlying it was the sour stench of disinfectant that stung the nostrils and, thought Frances, helped matters more by providing an unpleasant distraction than anything else.

There was a curtain acting as a partition across the main ward and four beds on either side, but there were only two patients, one male and one female, segregated in the anticipation that a revival might occur. Frances saw that the ‘beds’ were little more than mortuary slabs, although dressed with sheets and blankets. The corpses, for she could not think of them as anything else, were clothed and arranged like living patients, and though the heads were supported on pillows there was a tendency for them to drop back and mouths to sag open in a manner that could only suggest that life was extinct. Around each body was a mass of foliage and flowers, tubs and pots of growing shrubs, plants that climbed and straggled, their tendrils tumbling over the side of the beds and dipping to the floor. Each corpse revealed one naked foot, and tied to the big toe was a long cord leading to a bell that hung from the wall behind, another cord also being connected to a finger.

Renfrew proudly threw back the double doors of a tall cupboard, revealing blankets and towels, sponges, lint, galvanic apparatus, massage devices, hypodermic syringes, ammonia, naphthalene, ether and camphor, linseed meal and linen cloths for making poultices, cantharides blisters, cupping and scarification devices, stethoscopes, equipment for tapping fluid from body cavities, bottles of fragrant oils, suppositories, pessaries, and everything that a surgeon might need for performing a tracheotomy.

Frances looked over the contents of the cupboard, restraining herself from making any observations as she was a little nervous of speaking, but trying to look deeply interested, even impressed. Renfrew hovered beside them, then after a while, seeing that they did not need his assistance, sidled away and commenced his inspection of the male corpse, though Frances thought that testing for pulse and breath on an object with sunken eyes and already showing the darkening stains of putrefaction about the lips, was optimistic.

‘I see no signs that anything occurred here,’ she said softly to Carmichael, ‘but it is not as light as I would wish because of the small windows. There is a lamp in the cupboard. We need to use it.’

Carmichael asked Renfrew to get the lamp. He looked surprised but left his duties, delved into the cupboard and extracted and lit the lamp. ‘Is there anything I can assist you with?’ he asked.