The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Devil's Hound (16 page)

Stupid of me!
Lizzie realized.
Why'd I think this was going to be easy?

She'd reached the corner of the house. Maybe the curtains on the side window would be open? She craned her head around to see and breathed in sharply as she saw a room she recognized.

Dr. Gladwell's laboratory was the same room from her vision. There were cloudy flasks full of liquid, a sink, and a pair of bloodstained gloves. Lizzie couldn't see all the way in, but she thought she could make out the end of the metal table.

She peered in through the dirt on the window, leaning closer for a better view. There were two bare white feet on the metal table. And the body they belonged to was definitely dead. Was it Becky's father or not? Lizzie couldn't quite see. She tried to squeeze up even closer.

She never heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel coming up behind her. Someone suddenly grabbed her roughly by the arm. Lizzie yelped in fear and looked up into the pop-eyed, furious face of Mrs. Crowe.

“You're hurting me! Get off!” Lizzie cried as the old woman's fingers gripped her arm.

“What are you doing here?” the housekeeper demanded with a spray of spittle. “What did you see?”

“I saw enough!” Lizzie tried to tug herself free, but the old woman's fingers were like an eagle's claws.

“You shouldn't go sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong,” Mrs. Crowe snarled. “There's plenty that goes on in the world that the likes of you can't hope to understand.”

You can't scare me
, Lizzie thought. “You're wrong,” she said. “I do know what you're up to. You're a witch!”

Mrs. Crowe laughed. It was an ugly, wet sound, like a cat coughing up a hairball. “I've been called worse.”

“What's in them jars?” Lizzie demanded. “Potions? And I know about your needles too. You might have fooled the doctor, but you can't fool me.”

The old woman's hand swept back, ready to slap Lizzie. Lizzie flinched in anticipation, but the blow never came. Mrs. Crowe pulled her close and growled, “You run along back home, now, if you know what's good for you.”

Lizzie screwed up her face in disgust. Revulsion gave her strength, and in one swift move she wrenched her arm out of Mrs. Crowe's grip and shoved her, sending her staggering back into the bushes. The housekeeper's angry yells rang in Lizzie's ears as she ran for the door. “Stay back! Get out of there!”

Lizzie sprinted through the open door and skidded to a halt in the hallway.
I have to warn Dr. Gladwell
, she thought.
His housekeeper's a witch, and he doesn't even have any idea what she's up to.

“Doctor?” Lizzie shouted. “Doctor, where are you?”

There was a sound of a door closing, then unhurried footsteps descending the stairs. Dr. Gladwell emerged into the hallway, his kindly smile lighting up his face. “Hello, there. It's young Lizzie, isn't it? Whatever can be the matter?”

“It's Mrs. Crowe,” Lizzie blurted out. “She's a witch!”

“Oh, dear,” the doctor said, laughing. “Have the village children been telling stories again?”

“I was outside the house, and she grabbed me—” Lizzie started.

The doctor shook his head. “I'll have to have words with her. She can be fearsome, but that's no reason to call an old lady cruel names.”

“I looked in the window!” Lizzie insisted. “There was a dead body on the table!”

The doctor's smile never faltered. “Ah. Now I see. I'm afraid that's common practice, Lizzie. I'm sorry if you got a nasty shock, but I did tell you to stay away from the laboratory.”

“Common practice?” Lizzie repeated, dumbfounded.

“Doctors have to dissect cadavers, my dear. It's part of our medical training. You can't learn about the human body from books alone, you know.” Dr. Gladwell put his hands behind his back and strode across the hall until he was standing in front of the door to the laboratory. “It's not nice, especially not for a young girl, but it's a crucial part of scientific progress.”

“You mean you cut up the bodies?” Lizzie asked.

“Naturally,” the doctor said. “So do doctors across London. Across the country. Hundreds of them.” He stopped, as if he realized he'd said too much.

Lizzie looked into his gray eyes. The atmosphere in the room changed. The doctor knew what she was going to ask next. A sinister feeling crept over her. “So . . . if doctors are cutting up bodies all over the country . . . then where do all the bodies come from?”

“They're the bodies of executed prisoners,” Dr. Gladwell said, a little too smoothly. “Now, I'd like to return to my work, if you don't mind.”

“All of them?” Lizzie asked.

The doctor snapped, “Yes, all of them!” The mask of kindly good humor was gone. He glared at Lizzie as if he wanted to crush her to a pulp.

“Show me the body you've got in your lab right now,” Lizzie demanded.

“Absolutely not,” the doctor replied.

Lizzie took a step forward. “Show me!”

Dr. Gladwell shook his head. “It's not a suitable sight for young eyes.”

As he blustered, Lizzie charged at the closed door. She shouldered the doctor aside, grabbed the handle, twisted it, and shoved.

The door opened onto the laboratory. The stench hit Lizzie's nose immediately, the same smell she'd noticed before. It definitely wasn't carbolic.

It's embalming fluid
, Lizzie realized.
The smell of dead bodies in an undertaker's parlor.

The door opened wider, revealing Dr. Gladwell's secret. Finally, Lizzie saw the true horror in the room, and in that moment everything that had happened up to that point made shocking sense. Her stomach heaved. What she saw on the table would haunt her imagination for months to come . . .

Becky's father, Jacob Hayward, lay on the examining table with only a white cloth covering him below the waist. He had been laid out like a butchered hog. There was a fresh, open incision in his stomach.

After the shock of the sight came the horror of understanding. Lizzie should have seen it before, back when the grave robbers were dumping Jacob Hayward's clothes into the canal. They were getting rid of the evidence.

They dug him up
, Lizzie realized.
No wonder he's not at peace.

Dr. Gladwell had clearly been cutting up dead bodies for years. The jars on the shelves didn't contain witches' potions. What was inside was even worse. Lizzie saw kidneys, a wrinkled lung, and what looked like a brain. The contents were cloudy and decomposed, and the smell made her gag.

“I told you not to look,” said Dr. Gladwell from behind her. “Now, aren't you sorry you did?”

“Those grave robbers weren't after jewels and gold at all,” Lizzie said in a hollow voice. “It was the bodies they wanted. Bodies for you to cut up in your lab!” She turned on the doctor. “That was your scheme, wasn't it? You knew when a fresh body was going into the ground, because you're the doctor. People trusted you. So you sent those two thugs out to dig the bodies up and bring them here.”

“You're right,” Dr. Gladwell said. “Not that it matters, because nobody will believe you.”

“It's disgusting!” Lizzie yelled. “That man there isn't one of your experiments. He's my friend's father. She loved him!”

“What would you rather happen?” Dr. Gladwell asked, trying — and failing — to sound friendly again. “That the dead should merely rot away, giving no help to anyone? The bodies I dissect are all making priceless contributions to science. Some part of them lives on in the form of knowledge! Isn't that better than just feeding the worms in some cemetery somewhere?”

“You have no right,” Lizzie said fiercely. “The dead deserve to be left in peace.”

The doctor smiled a tight, smug little smile that made Lizzie furious. He slapped Jacob Hayward's cold arm. “Don't be so sentimental. This is only flesh. There's nothing of the person left.”

“You're wrong,” Lizzie said with total certainty.

Dr. Gladwell waved a hand dismissively. “Superstitious nonsense.” He rummaged through his instruments, as if he had work to be getting on with and Lizzie was nothing but an annoying distraction.

She couldn't believe how stubborn and arrogant the doctor was. “What about the law?” she demanded. “Body snatching ain't legal. A clever man like you ought to know that. It's a crime. A disgusting crime at that.”

“Men of science are above the laws of common men,” Dr. Gladwell said without looking up. The metal tools rattled as he continued searching for something.

Lizzie wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face. “Your two thugs ain't above the law, I'll tell you that much,” she raged. “They got carted off by the police last night.”

“Is that so?” the doctor said with maddening calm.

“That's right,” Lizzie snapped. “We caught them. So you won't be getting any more bodies, will you?”

The doctor had found what he was looking for — a razor-sharp scalpel. He raised it up in front of his face. He was no longer smiling. His eyes swiveled around to fix their cold glare on Lizzie. “No more bodies?” he said. “Oh, I wouldn't say that.”

The doctor's meaning was suddenly all too clear. Lizzie backed away from him. “N-n-no,” she stammered. “No. Don't hurt me.”

“Stupid child. You rob me of my cadavers; why shouldn't I turn you into one? It's what you deserve.” With his free hand, Dr. Gladwell reached for the door handle. He pushed it shut, then twisted the key in the lock and pulled it out. “There. Now we won't be disturbed.”

“Get away from me!” Lizzie hollered.

The doctor advanced on her. “Don't be scared. It's just like getting an injection. It only hurts for a second — then it's all over.” The scalpel slashed through the air, not close enough to cut her . . . yet. He was trying to scare her, Lizzie knew. And it was working.

She had to fight. Desperately, she snatched a jar from the shelf and flung it at him. The doctor dodged out of the way, and the jar exploded on the floor behind him, spilling its disgusting contents across the tile floor.

“Keep still!” Dr. Gladwell jabbed at Lizzie, sending her scurrying backward. She pressed her back against the wall as he bared his teeth and changed his grip, holding the scalpel like a dagger in his fist and stabbing downward with it.

The blade caught the fabric of her dress and ripped it. Lizzie felt a wet, stinging sensation. He'd cut her, but not deeply, thank goodness.

As the doctor brought the scalpel down again, Lizzie caught his wrist and struggled. He grunted as he pushed the blade down toward her neck. It was her strength against his, and he was winning. The shining blade gradually descended.

“I will not let . . . a circus brat . . . get in the way of scientific progress!” the doctor growled furiously.

The blade was only an inch away from her throat now. Lizzie fought for her life, drawing on every scrap of strength she had left.

Suddenly the door to the lab crashed open, and Mrs. Crowe burst in, a ring of keys in her hand. The doctor glanced up, taken by surprise. In that moment, his grip relaxed.

Lizzie seized her chance. She flung him backward, sending him crashing into the shelves. Jars fell off and smashed on the floor.

“I could turn a blind eye to the grave robbing,” Mrs. Crowe shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the doctor, “but I won't let you hurt that girl! You stay away from her, Dr. Gladwell!”

“Shut up, you ignorant old fool,” the doctor spat. “I should have disposed of you long ago.”

“Run, girl,” Mrs. Crowe said, holding the door open. “You run and tell the police everything this man's done.”

“He'll kill you!” Lizzie yelled.

“I'm old. I've had my time. Go!”

Lizzie made a move for the door, but the doctor stepped into her path. “Looks like I'm going to need a new housekeeper. That's a shame. Seeing as there's going to be a lot of mess to clean up.”

Just then a black shape, growling like a demon unleashed from the underworld, came bounding through the open door on four paws. It launched itself at the doctor and knocked him to the ground. Dr. Gladwell screamed and thrashed about, while the monstrous beast tore and tugged at his clothes.

“Shadow!” Lizzie shouted in delight.

The dog closed his jaws on the doctor's throat, waiting for the command to finish him off. His big brown eyes, full of loyal devotion, looked up at Lizzie.

“Hold him,” Lizzie ordered. “Good boy.”

Malachy and Hari came charging into the room. “Here he is!” yelled Malachy. “Lizzie? You're hurt!”

“It ain't deep,” Lizzie said. “I'm fine. Shadow saved me. That doctor wanted to slice me up.”

“The doctor was behind all this?” Hari looked at the body on the table and the scalpel in the doctor's hand and nodded. “Of course. I should have worked it out long ago.”

“I don't think you'll be needing this anymore.” Lizzie snatched the scalpel out of the doctor's hand.

“Call your dog off!” the doctor shrieked. “I'm bleeding. I'll take you to court. I'll have this dog destroyed!”

“You'll be going to court all right,” Lizzie said. “But Shadow won't be the one who gets his lights put out.”

“I'm sorry, girl,” Mrs. Crowe said, hanging her head. “I should never have let any of this happen. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't dare speak up.”

“You saved my life,” Lizzie said. “I owe you for that.”

“We need to tie this bloke up before Shadow chews his head off,” Malachy said.

Lizzie rummaged around in the cabinets and found a roll of bandage. While she and Malachy tied the doctor hand and foot, Hari sprinted off to fetch the police. Mrs. Crowe silently left the room.