It isn’t until I hear the courtyard door shutting and a key scraping against the lock, that I finally get to my feet. Thankfully, they did not lock the kitchen door behind them. It opens easily and I pad softly back inside.
I step into the room and take another look around. Then I hear something faint. I hold very still, and the noise comes again. It sounds like it’s coming from beneath me. I move slowly toward the fireplace, closer to where the sound seems to originate, and I see a small door there. A door I’ve never noticed before.
A key hangs on a nail in the wall beside the mantel. I lift it free. The metal is cold and smooth, and I wrap my fingers around it, steeling myself for what I’m about to do. Carefully inserting the key into the lock, I turn it as quietly as I can. Every muscle in my body has tightened and my hand shakes when I place it upon the doorknob. I take a deep breath and try to steady my nerves, and just as I’m about to turn the knob—
Someone grabs hold of me.
I whirl around, drawing in a breath to scream. But it’s only Cook. She’s clutching a white shawl around her shoulders, and her hair is loose.
“That’s no place fer you, miss. The whole house knows we do not go down below. The men that visit the Master at night are not the kind you’d be wise to keep company with.” She tries to pull me away from the door.
“What’s down there? I heard noises …” I do not tell her what I’ve witnessed in the courtyard.
She shudders. “Master’s lab’tory.”
“A laboratory?” I turn back to the door, but Cook pulls me away from it. “He’s a scientist?”
“A doctor. Or at least he used to be.”
She ushers me toward the stairs, and my thoughts are churning. “I don’t understand.”
“Rumor has it he lost his license because of strange experiments he did.” She makes the sign of the holy cross. “Unnatural things,” she whispers.
“A doctor? I can hardly believe it. Father seemed so uninterested when I looked at Johanna’s finger.”
“Ha!” Cook scoffs. “Don’t let that act fool you. He’s as int’rested as they come. Always reading those strange books, he is.”
We reach my bedroom and she gently pushes me inside. As if regretting what she’s already told me, she says, “Never you mind about it now. I shouldn’t’ve said even as much as I did. Good night, miss.”
“But, Cook, surely you can tell me more—”
She shakes her head. “It’s not my place.”
But before she goes, she glances back for a moment. “Don’t go downstairs at night, Miss Annabel,” she says softly. “An’ please … Don’t open that door.”
Eleven
The next morning when Maddy is occupied with cleaning the stained-glass windows, I slip away from the house and make my way to the market. I know I should not be going alone, especially after news of another murder, but the need to get away from everything overwhelms me. The raven portent was right. There are many secrets being kept in this house.
As the marketplace finally comes into view, I retrace the steps Maddy and I took the day before, proceeding from the yellow apothecary shop toward the butcher’s tent. I know I will pass the handkerchief stand along the way. Thankfully, I’m able to find it quickly, and Maddy’s gift is ready and waiting for me. I turn to make my way back to the apothecary, then realize that none of the shops I’ve passed look familiar.
I turn back around, choosing a street to my left, and come face-to-face with the hanging carcass of a pig, split straight down the belly. A thick trail of flies buzzes about the creature’s lifeless eyes. A second pig, this one missing its feet, hangs just beyond. Despite the gruesome sight, relief washes over me. Somehow, I’ve found my way to the butcher’s shop.
As I move past the dead animals and come around to the front of the tent, I see that Mr. Higgins is speaking with someone. There’s something familiar about the customer’s silhouette, and when he swings a cane, I see it’s Edgar. He passes several banknotes over, and then the butcher hands him a bag with a crimson stain in the lower corner.
With their transaction complete, Edgar turns away and I hurry after him. I know Cook told me to stay away, but surely it will be all right if I merely ask him how to find my way back to the apothecary. I follow him to the edge of the marketplace. He’s taking the same path I had—the path that leads back to Father’s house. He walks so quickly that I wonder why he carries a cane. He seems to have no need of it.
We are nearly to the house, when I suddenly lose sight of him. One moment he’s there, and the next he seems to have vanished. Then I notice the wrought iron gate connecting Father’s house to the alleyway is open. Stepping through the gate, I find myself in the courtyard.
“Fancy an afternoon walk, did we?” Edgar leans against a vine-covered wall, twisting the top of his cane. “If you wanted to walk with me, all you had to do was say so.”
My cheeks grow warm. “I was turned around in the marketplace and followed you to find my way back.”
“Out without a chaperone? Scandalous.”
He draws out the word, and my cheeks burn even more fiercely. “I was picking up a gift for a friend.”
“You were doing some shopping? So was I.”
My eyes shift to the bag he’s holding. The red stain has grown larger. When he notices me looking, one corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. “Curious?” He holds the bag up. “If you come with me, then you shall find out what’s in here. It’s very scientific, I assure you.”
Without waiting for my reply, he crosses the courtyard. Everything inside me knows this is not proper. The rules of society say I should not be alone with him. Yet I long to see what’s inside the bag.
Why must I be cursed with such curiosity?
Pushing my misgivings aside, I follow Edgar into the kitchen. He’s standing beside the small door next to the fireplace, and I find myself coming to a sudden stop. He sees my hesitation.
“Does your curiosity only take you this far?”
“My father would not approve of my being in his laboratory.”
“Your father’s not here.”
I am still so unsure.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
It sounds more like a taunt than a reassurance, but if I follow Edgar, I’ll finally be able to satisfy my maddening curiosity. And that’s something I cannot ignore. Though I try to talk myself out of it, I know I must see what’s behind that door.
Edgar opens the door slowly, revealing stone stairs that disappear into darkness below. A lantern attached to the wall holds a candle, and he takes it with him, leading the way. As we descend, the air grows cooler. A second door at the bottom of the stairs awaits us. Edgar pulls a set of keys from his pocket and deftly finds the right one. When he pushes the door open, the sight before me is something out of a nightmare.
My father has his own operating theater.
A giant, crudely made table stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by rough, hand-hewn wooden benches. Fresh bloodstains mar the table’s surface, and an assortment of surgical instruments sit on a nearby tray. A large chandelier has been rigged overhead on a pulley system so it can be lowered to provide light.
The walls of the room are lined with shelves holding jars full of bloated white specimens, decanter bottles with peeling labels, and dirty wooden crates. The crates have burlap draped over them. A memory of last night flashes before my eyes, and I know that whatever was being delivered is inside those crates.
I take a step into the room. A sharp smell stings my nose. Something tangy, with just a hint of putrefaction below the surface. The floor is spotted with dark stains. “This is my father’s laboratory?” Edgar nods, and I take another step. “I’ve been told he is a doctor.”
“A brilliant doctor.” Edgar watches my reaction. The look on his face is one of careful scrutiny. “You’re not afraid of what you see here?”
“No. My mother assisted a doctor in the village where we used to live, and she let me h
elp her with her work. I’ve had an interest in medicine ever since I was a young girl.”
“I knew there was something different about you.” He strides over to the table and places the bag on top of it. Flashing me a sly grin, he readies an empty tray. A moment later, he dumps the contents of the bag onto the tray and then holds up his prize with a flourish.
It’s a heart.
It can’t be human.…
He answers my unspoken question. “Bovine.”
I draw closer to study it. The specimen is crimson and quite fresh. With the exception of its size, it looks very much like the human heart that I’ve seen in my anatomy book. Although the illustrations in my book pale in comparison to a real-life example. I long to touch it.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Edgar speaks of the heart like Maddy spoke of the stained-glass windows, and I understand his wonder. I see the same beauty in this as I saw in the windows. “It truly is. And it has the same chambers as a human heart? A left ventricle? Right ventricle? Left and right atrium?”
Edgar picks it up, and I can almost see it beating again. “The same. I would dissect it for you, but your father needs it whole.” He sounds disappointed.
When he puts the heart down again, there are bloodstains on his hands. He points to a large jar on the shelf beside me. “There’s one that’s already been dissected. Two calves grew as one, and their hearts fused.”
I turn to look. The heart has indeed been split in half, and there are tiny white chambers tunneling through the tissue. But instead of a normal left and right ventricle, there are only two right ventricles. “It was impossible for the calf to have lived a normal life,” I murmur.
“Two halves of the same whole,” he says. “They cannot live together, yet cannot die apart. What do you think?”
“I think it’s fascinating.”
“Of course you do.” He comes out from behind the table and gestures to another row of jars. “We also have two-headed pigs, another fused sheep, a three-faced dog, the bladder of a stunted horse, legs from a malformed kitten, eyeballs of a blind goat, and my favorite—the body of a rooster that was born without a head. He lived for three weeks until one of the other roosters started to peck away his—”
“My father collected these?” I interrupt. Reaching for the jar labeled SPECIMEN: MALFORMED PIG, I take it down from the shelf and peer at it closely. There are two clearly defined heads, each with their own eye sockets, yet only one snout that joins them. It truly is fascinating. I wonder what Father has learned by studying such a creature.
I go to open it, but Edgar puts up a hand.
“I wouldn’t do that. The smell can be quite overwhelming.”
Reluctantly, I place it back upon the shelf. I scan the rest of the jars, noting that the other specimens all seem to have some type of abnormality or malfunction. “Why doesn’t Father have any healthy tissue?” I question.
Edgar tilts his head, as if measuring me. “It’s not his area of … interest.”
“What is his area of interest? I thought he was a doctor.”
“Oh, he is. Or rather, was. It’s all very”—he pauses and gives me a sly smile again—“scandalous.”
A fly buzzes around my head, and I brush it away impatiently. “Cook told me he lost his license. Is that true?”
Edgar suddenly reaches out and swipes his thumb across my face. I pull back, but he gives me a mocking grin. “The fly returned,” he offers.
“Is it true that Father lost his license?” I say again.
“Does a bird stop flying just because someone tells it not to? It cannot stop, if that’s what it was meant to do.”
Cannot stop … It’s then I realize that Father must be practicing medicine illegally. That’s why there are strange noises and clandestine deliveries late at night. Why I have been warned not to come down here. Practicing medicine without a license is against the law, and if word should get out, he will be sent to prison.
Edgar stares at me intently. “Ahhh, you’ve figured it out.”
His tone makes me suddenly wary of where I am. If Edgar is my father’s assistant, then surely, he has been helping him with his illegal endeavors. That means I now know not just Father’s secret, but Edgar’s as well. Is Allan involved, too? Will Father be upset if Edgar’s revealed what he’s told me? How dangerous is it for me to know such a thing?
I try to think of something to say that will not arouse his suspicion. I must not allow him to know my thoughts. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Edgar.”
He scowls. “Why are you thanking me?”
“It was very kind of you to bring me down here. Thank you for showing me Father’s laboratory.”
“I did not do it to be kind. I did it because I thought you would be scared.” He watches me carefully. “But I suppose it is in your blood. You were never going to be scared by any of this, were you? You are your father’s daughter after all, Annabel Lee.”
Twelve
I take my leave from Father’s laboratory with the excuse that I must help Maddy with something, and quickly return upstairs. But I cannot stop thinking about Edgar’s words.
What does he mean “It’s in your blood?” Perhaps my fascination with the cow’s heart and the specimen jars is abnormal. Are other women of medicine interested in such things?
I pace the floors of the hallway outside the dining room, strangely conflicted by my feelings. I don’t wish to give up on my hopes of becoming a surgeon, yet the thought of living the rest of my life being looked at as someone who is abnormal is not something I’m sure I can bear.
I pass a small mirror hanging above a marble table, and I stop and glance into it to fix a loose tendril of hair that has come free.
But what I see horrifies me.
High on my left cheekbone is a smudge of red. The very spot where Edgar touched my face with his blood-stained fingers.
Furious, I rub at the blemish. He must have seen it. He must have known it was there. How dare he mark me like this? What if someone else saw?
My footsteps echo angrily on the floor as I decide to find something to keep my mind occupied, and head in the direction of the library. As soon as I enter, I’m drawn to the back corner again. To the case with those odd books. Are they the strange ones that Cook said Father was always reading?
Just as I’m about to select one, the sound of breaking glass comes from outside the room. I hurry to the door, and find Father there. A shattered vase lies on the floor. He’s standing amongst the jagged pieces. The alcove behind him, where the vase once stood, is now empty. He must have lost his balance and knocked it off the ledge.
“Wretched thing,” he mutters at the ground. Then he looks up and sees me standing there.
“I was just looking for a book to pass the time,” I say. I feel as if I have to offer him an explanation as to why I’m here.
“I have need of a book as well.” He glances over at the library door and then glances back to me. “Would you retrieve it for me? In the very back of the room is a small section of books in a glass case. I need the one titled De viribus electricitatis in motu musculari commentarius.”
I know which bookcase he’s speaking of. I was just there.
“Of course.” Hurrying to the glass case, I find the book he’s requested. I return, and hold it out to him.
But he doesn’t take the book from me. Instead, he leads me into the kitchen. I’m surprised to find the room is empty. Father gestures toward the worktable, then withdraws a pocket watch. Annoyance crosses his face as he clicks the watch shut. “My assistant was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. How am I to work when he’s tardy?”
I don’t know where Edgar has gone, but I can’t tell Father that I saw him just a little while ago in his laboratory.
Father looks at his watch one more time. “Worthless boy! I’m in the middle of a project, and time is of the essence. I can wait no longer.” Taking a large ring of keys from his pocket, he moves toward the door be
side the fireplace. He waves at the book and then at me. “You may carry that downstairs for me.”
I follow quietly behind as he slowly limps down the stairs. When we reach the bottom, he takes out another set of keys and pauses. “You must not speak of anything you see down here. Do you understand? I demand my privacy.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He inserts the key into the second door and pushes it open. “Place the book on the operating table. I have need of it there.”
I slowly move toward the table and lay the book down. Some kind of experiment is taking place. There are three large bowls on the table, connected to one another by wires. Another wire travels from the third bowl to the cow’s heart, which is on a silver platter.
Father takes down a black canvas apron from a hook on the wall and ties it around his waist. “You can go now, Annabel.”
I give him a brief curtsy and turn back to the stairwell. Just as I’m about to pull the door closed behind me, I hear a crash. Rushing back into the room, I find him on the floor surrounded by broken shards of glass. Knowing this is the second time I have seen him like this, I anticipate his anger.
But it never comes.
“Damn leg wants to be a bother,” he says gruffly. There is embarrassment behind his words. Using the table to steady himself, he gets to his feet.
“Shall I fetch someone else to assist you, Father?” I ask.
“There is no one else, and I have squandered too much time already. You may stay until my tardy assistant arrives.”
A wave of excitement sweeps over me, and I have to sternly remind myself to act like a lady. That’s the only way to gain his respect. “Of course, Father,” I say demurely. Waiting for his instructions, I clasp my hands together. I fear that if I do not, the excitement will overcome me.
“Take one of the aprons there from the hook. You shall retrieve what I ask of you.”
I nod and tie the apron tightly. My fingers are shaking, and I try to calm myself like I do during my morning meditations, by taking several deep breaths. This is my opportunity to show him I’m capable and proficient. Father opens the book I’ve placed on the table, and turns to a page near the back.