Chapter 20

The red cheek paling,
The strong limbs failing;

 

 

Ainsley chewed on his thumbnail with his other arm crossed over his chest. Leaning against the counter of autopsy tools he looked over the body of his mother which was covered in a sheet of pure white. His hands shook slightly and his mind fluttered from one subject to the next never really gaining a grasp on any one thought. He had been dreading this day from the moment he heard she was missing and this time he knew it was not a case of mistaken identity. She was there beneath a thin layer of linen laid out like all the criminals and cadavers he had examined before.

Ainsley let out a long breath, steeling himself against the task before him. With one motion he pulled back the sheet, intending to get right to work but he stopped. He found himself looking at her face, tracing her jaw line, counting each freckle before stroking the hair away from her face. Another breath and he forced himself to look away, to concentrate instead on the body and what it could reveal to him. He used the white cloth to hide her face and decided to look at her as just another cadaver. Nothing more.

Scalpel in hand he hovered over her torso, poised and ready, but his hand shook. The more he tried to steady it the more it jumped. Breathing forcibly, Ainsley pressed his lips together and lowered the blade to her pale skin but stopped short of cutting into it. After a moment, he turned, throwing the knife to the counter behind him. Pounding his fists on the table, Ainsley cried out in frustration. “God damn it!”

He trusted no other with the task and yet he was unable to perform the act himself. Desperation drove him to cover her up and charge out of the morgue and into the main part of the hospital. He found Jonas bent over a patient in one of the charity wards.

Ainsley cleared his throat.

Jonas looked up, his pleased expression turning sour when he registered Ainsley's pained look. “Is it Margaret?”

Ainsley shook his head.

 

Later that evening with the other doctors long gone, Jonas met with Ainsley down in the underbelly of the hospital, chilled like an ice house in the dead of winter. Ainsley stood back while Jonas looked over the body on the examination table.

“Peter, say it isn't so,” Jonas said without taking his eyes from the body.

“Say you'll do it. Do it and I shall never ask another favour as long as I live.” Ainsley bit his lip and shook his head slightly before closing his eyes. Denial eluded him. For as long as he lived he'd never forget that image.

Jonas swallowed and spoke hesitantly. “I'll do it,” he said, “But I beg you not to tell Margaret.”

“Oh what difference does it make?” Ainsley asked, suddenly agitated and impatient. “Our mother is dead and I need to know if someone killed her or if it’s the result of her own... dependency.”

“What am I to look for?”

“Laudanum. Opiates. Alcohol. Just do it now before I lose my nerve.” Ainsley raised his hand to his mouth and began working on his thumbnail again. “I need to know if she was with child.”

Jonas looked to Ainsley. “What difference would it make now?”

“Is that not a possible motive for murder, an illegitimate child? A stain on an otherwise pristine pedigree?”Ainsley found himself sneering at the mere thought. His father was more than capable of murder and he had certainly been given sufficient enough reason by then to want to wash his hands of his infidel wife completely.

“You'll forgive me if I have little patience,” Ainsley said.

Jonas nodded without hesitation and their gazes locked for a long moment. It was then that Ainsley felt his old demons of self-loathing rising up and ripping at his chest. In the six years that Jonas had been his friend Ainsley had been unrelentingly harsh, judgmental and demanding, and here Jonas was, willing to break hospital protocol to help him yet again. It was clear they remained friends because Jonas was able to overlook Ainsley's arrogance.

Their rivalry had started with good intentions. Neither one seemed to mind their competitive streaks; comparing exam marks, wooing women, gambling and boxing. In fact their friendship seemed to spur Ainsley on when his enthusiasm for his studies waned. For that alone Ainsley owed Jonas a tremendous debt. In recent months though their rivalry had taken a turn and their encounters had become strained. Ainsley realized his folly as he watched his friend set to work positioning lights around the body.

“Is something wrong, Peter?” Jonas asked, looking up briefly.

“I was just trying to think of a way to say thank you,” Ainsley said, allowing a small smile. “I don't think I say that enough.”

Jonas was already hunched over, scalpel in hand. “You're right,” Jonas said, “you don't.”

 

Like many other things, Ainsley regretted the flask he had downed by the time the third punch connected with his face. Had he been sober he would never have allowed a boxing opponent so much leeway. Hit after hit struck him with unrelenting force and Ainsley swayed unable to get a grip on his senses, unable to defend the barrage that was always one second ahead of his reflexes. The chorus of the yelling crowd, dock workers and railway men mostly, became shrouded in a high pitched ringing that only grew louder as seconds passed.

The next thing Ainsley knew he was sprawled out on a cot in the hospital. Jonas was leaning over him, a bit too closely, and Ainsley tried to wave him away but Jonas caught his wrist.

“Do not touch it!” he commanded, holding fast as he stitched the long cut above Ainsley's eye.

And then the pain hit him. The ringing was gone, the crowd as well and all Ainsley could feel was the poke of the curved needle penetrating his tender skin and then the thread being tugged through.

“Just one more,” Jonas said in deep concentration.

Eyes closed, Ainsley scrunched up his fists and clenched his jaw until Jonas finally tied it off.

“How many?” Ainsley asked, resisting the urge to put his fingers up to feel it.

“Four.” Jonas handed him a small hand mirror before turning to clean up his table. “You're going to be quite the sight at your mother's funeral.”

Ainsley looked at his reflection and cringed. The skin around one eye had turned black and the other was now marred by an unsightly cut just under his eyebrow. Despite Jonas' steady suturing Ainsley knew it would never heal flat. He slapped the mirror on to the cot beside him in disgust.

“It took myself and three men to bring you here. I had hoped you would stay out for the entirety. But the third stitch was troublesome.” Jonas turned to Ainsley on his stool and let out a sorrowful sigh as he clasped his hands in front of him. “Why would you agree to such a match?” he asked, “One would think you have a death wish. You know the Queensbury's allow you to use gloves now?”

“They confine the hands,” Ainsley explained. “Besides, it's not like you haven't participated in a fight or two of your own.”

Jonas placed a small square cloth on Ainsley's stitches. “People mature, they find new pasttimes,” he said, taking on a fatherly tone. “You should consider it.”

Ainsley disagreed and shook his head slightly. “There is no pain greater than growing up.”

The pair grew quiet before Ainsley spoke up, “Speaking of which, what did you find about Mother?” His tone was resigned. He already knew much more about her character than he had ever thought possible and it pained him to know there was still more to learn.

“She was not with child,” Jonas offered. He reached for his bag pulling out pages of notes and diagrams he had scribbled earlier.

“Thank god.”

“There was evidence of alcohol in her system,” Jonas said as he flipped the pages, searching for verification. He finally stopped and began to read. “I couldn't detect anything else,” he said slowly, as if hesitating to go further.

“Tell me,” Ainsley told his friend.

Jonas nodded and continued. “She drowned, but there was a struggle, like you said. I found bruising on her shoulders and a small fracture of the collar bone. And a nail on her right hand was broken, as if it had been under considerable pressure.”

“She fought back,” Ainsley breathed.

“Which part of the room was she facing?”

“Away from the door...” Ainsley's voice trailed off as the foggy realization hit him. “She wouldn’t have seen who it was but it wouldn’t be unusual if she thought Violetta had come back.”

Jonas nodded with a sorrowful look on his face.

The world became silent and even the distant wails of suffering patients were enveloped by the altered reality. With his rapidly increasing heartbeat, Ainsley found himself struggling for breath. The pain in his face and head that had been so pronounced seconds earlier ended abruptly before returning with a pulsing to match his heart.

Father.

Ainsley raised a hand to his face, shielding the forthcoming tears from his friend and then turned his gaze. He wanted to ask more questions, hungered for the answers but only a choking noise escaped his throat forcing him to take a moment. He felt Jonas' reassuring hand on his shoulder and closed his eyes against the pain.