I went back to my own room only a few hours later. The moment I closed the door behind me, the realisation hit that I had jeopardised my own future.
For three days I had been sick in bed — Garret’s bed, to be precise. Colleagues may have wanted to contact me, perhaps to wish me a quick recovery, or to enquire about my return to Guy’s. To make matters worse, I was a celebrity now, or close to. I had made a grave mistake by giving 24 Bow Street as my official address. If anyone had tried to visit, they would have been puzzled to find my tiny dressing chamber above the cobbler’s.
I lay down on my bed to rest a few minutes and, after a moment’s consideration, priorities for today were set: finding an apartment and going to the barber. A new apartment for my life as Dr Anton Kronberg, criminal bacteriologist, might be necessary soon anyway.
I walked to Bow Street and rested for a while before changing into Anton. A barber wasn’t far from there and it felt odd watching him work. With my hair cropped so short, I looked like a man no matter how I dressed. In a way, it was advantageous. Yet it felt like giving up too much of my female identity, and that hurt.
After spending a good part of the day reading advertisements in papers and riding cabs through half of London, I finally found a small place in Tottenham Court Road. It was walking distance from my dressing chamber, which might be useful in case I hastily needed a hiding place.
In the evening, I sent a wire to Guy’s, announcing my return to work the following day. It was probably too early, if I asked my head, but it could also be rather urgent if I wanted to avoid exposure.
The prospect of a vaccine against tetanus had spread like a fire, thanks to several papers that had reported on my work, using various mixtures of truth and codswallop. Yet, the news had spread and I should expect a visitor any time soon — someone who wanted me to provide deadly bacteria for experiments on humans.
***
Only two days later, that visitor arrived at Guy’s.
‘Dr Kronberg?’ he said, approaching me with an outstretched hand; but after seeing my black eye, he took a step back. ‘Why! What happened to you?’
‘A group of boys mugged me. Not worth mentioning.’ I waved my hand.
‘Outrageous! These thugs get bolder every day. But, oh, my apologies. I am Dr Gregory Stark, Cambridge Medical School.’ He snatched my hand with both of his and shook it heartily. ‘We heard about the isolation of tetanus germs and I wanted to congratulate you personally.’
‘Thank you, Dr Stark. You honour me greatly with your visit.’ A strange feeling spread in my stomach — I had heard his name before. He was an anatomist, if I remembered correctly.
‘I was in the area and visited an old friend of mine — Professor Rowlands. He told me where to find you. I fancy myself as a hobby bacteriologist, because the study of anatomy alone does not provide much excitement and surprises these days.’ He chuckled lightly.
The man had nerves saying things like that, considering Cambridge’s history in body trafficking. Only a second later, my brain gave an almost audible click and I took a very close look at Stark. He and I were almost standing at eye level, but his circumference was roughly three times mine. He was a little obese, but seemed agile, and was approximately forty-five years of age. His hair had a dark blond or brown colour; it was difficult to define. As was his character. He made an effort to appear warm-hearted. His handshake using both his hands somewhat collided with his calculating look. He smiled a lot, but it seemed to be the grin of an angler fish — always on display with a lot of teeth and a bait-like something hanging just in front of the death-trap.
My brain switched into battle mode. ‘Ah, my dear Dr Stark, I know exactly what you mean. I chose my field of research mostly because I found that there are so many discoveries awaiting us.’
He made big watery eyes and I continued. ‘Imagine how far bacteriological research advanced with the invention of good light microscopes. It is our tools that limit us today, and if we could only develop better tests and better methods for investigating germs — imagine what we could accomplish!’
I poured all my passion for medicine into these words and saw Stark catching fire. ‘Indeed, Dr Kronberg, I feel exactly the same. And there are so few of us that still want to improve our modern methods; so few that see our limitations, the potential, and the solutions to so many problems of mankind just outside our arms’ reach!’ He stretched his arm to snatch at something imaginary and looked very happy to have met me.
I nodded excitedly and he grabbed my shoulder rather too hard. I wondered whether he planned to dislodge the joint.
‘I can see we are made of the same material, my friend, if I may call you that?’ he said with his warm angler-fish smile.
I nodded and smiled back at him, trying not to think of my aching shoulder. The force of his grip made my broken ribs rattle a little. Or so it felt.
‘I hope we can discuss our research and our visions one day?’ he asked, and I smiled and nodded more, now hoping desperately that he would take that paw off me.
And he did, just before he bade me farewell. He was about to leave my lab when he came to a sudden stop. It looked as though he had practised this move.
‘Dr Kronberg, as I come to think of it now, I can just as well ask you. I am developing a tetanus vaccine together with a few colleagues in Cambridge and London, and I was wondering whether you would like to collaborate with us? Your pure cultures could bring a swift success to our research project, I believe.’
My stomach made a lurch. I faked surprise and said, ‘I am flattered, Dr Stark. Thank you for your kind invitation. Of course I would like to work with you. I never heard of a project like that, though. Since when have you been working on the vaccine?’
‘Ah, well, only a few months now.’ He sounded evasive. ‘You couldn’t have heard about it as we are financing ourselves mostly through private sources. We didn’t receive any governmental funding, but you know these problems.’
I nodded in agreement.
‘Good, then!’ he said, while approaching me again and giving me a clap on my sore shoulder. ‘I will have to leave now; I have other business to attend to here in London. May I send you an invitation to Cambridge some time soon?’
‘I would be delighted, Dr Stark.’
Now the sick feeling spread freely through my chest. I had to talk to Holmes today, I thought while rubbing my shoulder.
***
Two hours before leaving Guy’s, I prepared a cryptic wire for Holmes: Dare to dance with a Saxon? Eight o’clock, Wilson & Bow. Bring your disguise. A.K. P.S: Got a name for you.’
Once at home, I quickly ate a sandwich, grabbed the three loaves of bread and two bottles of brandy I had got for tonight, and went to one of the neighbouring houses. We were to have a party. Although I wouldn’t be able to dance yet, I could still enjoy the music and the company for a little while.
A small crowd had already gathered on the ground floor of an old warehouse and everyone had brought a little food and drink. The Irish were sitting on wooden boxes behind a makeshift table. There I placed the bread and the brandy, mentioning that I may come back for a sip.
‘Sure,’ they said in unison, all wearing a wide grin, before each chucked down a glass of their newly won refreshments. Then they began tooting and scratching a little on their two fiddles, the one accordion, and the tin whistle. Amused, I recalled an Irish proverb — What butter and whiskey won’t cure, there is no cure for — and wondered whether I should try that as a new treatment for my patients. Then I remembered that I may not have any patients at all if I got to work for Stark and his colleagues. I would have test subjects instead.
About fifty people were assembled. It was still very cold, but the fire in the centre of the large hall and the dancing would soon warm up the place. The music started with a blast and everyone was on his or her feet, dancing, clapping, laughing, and singing. I got the feeling of standing on an active volcano. Despite my sore head and ribcage, I enjoyed myself. Then I spotted Garret — he stood in a corner and observed me before giving himself a push forward.
‘Anna,’ was all he said. He looked rather serious today and I wondered what the matter was with him.
‘Garret,’ I answered, smiling warmly.
‘What about a dance?’
‘I can’t.’ I rolled my eyes and regretted it instantly when my head started spinning.
‘No bother, just wanted to talk to you. And we could dance slowly.’ He led me outside, took my hand into his, and placed the other on my waist. Then we danced oddly slow to the fast Irish folk music that seeped through the warehouse walls.
‘So I was thinking that…that…’ He stopped there, stared down at his boots, then squared his shoulders and spoke. ‘You told me to never ask you, but…I thought, screw it. So… Would you be my wife, Anna?’
That punched all air from my lungs.
My hands fell to my side. ‘No.’
‘’Cause I’m a feckin’ hobbler?’
‘I have always known you as a thief, Garret. And yes, this would probably hold me back if I’d ever thought of marriage. But there are things in my past and present life that make it impossible for me to be someone’s wife.’
‘Right, sure. You just want to fuck,’ he said coldly.
For a moment I felt like slapping his face, but then took his hands into mine and said softly, ‘You have saved my life and you are my best friend. I am so very sorry, Garret. I do love you, but not how a wife should love her husband.’
‘So that’s it? You’re never going to tell me who you are? Why you have that thing in your doctor’s bag?’
I grew very hot. ‘Thing?’
‘You have a cock on straps in your bag, Anna. I wonder why you have a doctor’s bag at all. You’re a nurse, or that’s what you told everyone. What are you doing all day long?’ He had taken two steps back, extracting his hands from mine. Instantly, the distance between us grew so much, it felt as though we’d never be able to overcome it.
‘Garret, why did you propose to me at all?’
He exhaled loudly; it sounded like a growl. He lifted his hands, opened his mouth, closed it again, and I decided to answer for him. ‘You thought that after our wedding I would tell you all about myself? All my secrets?’
Unspeaking, he nodded.
‘Let us assume I’m a pervert,’ I whispered.
His eyes were full of rage now, knowing that I would never reveal myself to him. Then he growled in earnest, turned, and left without a word.
I don’t know how long I stood there, watching the passing clouds reflected in the puddle before me. Eventually, the cold crept under my coat and my head began to spin again, so I made to leave, too.
After only a few steps, I almost stumbled over a pile of clothes with a wreck of a beggar inside. ‘What are you doing in the middle of the street?’ I enquired. He coughed and mumbled something like ‘M’lady.’
‘Come, stand up, and I’ll help you to the sidewalk.’ I bent down and offered my hand. The pile started moving reluctantly and a pair of piercing grey eyes gazed up at me.
‘For Christ’s sake!’ I shouted, pulling hard on his tattered coat, almost ripping it in two.
‘My apologies,’ said Holmes, rising to his feet and looking as though nothing had happened.
‘You spied on me!’
‘Excuse me, but you sent me a telegram!’ he said, squinting at my face.
Hastily, I wiped my eyes. ‘Dust,’ I explained. ‘I did not invite you to…to… What’s the damn word again?! …eavesdrop!’ I punched his shoulder. ‘Damn it, Holmes!’ The hard shove hadn’t shown much effect.
‘I tried to be discreet and give you some privacy. You two almost ran me over. I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation, so I quickly took cover and hoped you wouldn’t see me. And you wouldn’t have if not for your exorbitant philanthropy!’
‘What?’
‘Forget what I said. Why did you want me to come?’
His swift change of topic didn’t go unnoticed and I made a mental note to get the rest out of him later.
‘Dr Gregory Stark from Cambridge Medical School is an anatomist who got bored. He invited me to take part in his so-called privately funded vaccine development project.’
I had to bend down now, my head was spinning badly.
‘I need to go home,’ I muttered and turned to leave. Holmes was at my side instantly, offering me his arm. I took it with reluctance. Strangely, he walked me to my apartment without me ever having given him the address. I unlocked the door and he helped me on to my bed.
‘Thank you.’ I lay down and closed my eyes for a while. ‘Could you identify the two men already?’
‘I am very close. I think in two or three days’ time I will have found out all there is to know.’
Holmes looked around my room. ‘May I ask why you choose to live here? You could easily reside in a better area and still come here every day to treat the poor.’
‘Some things are so obvious, and still you can’t see them.’ I looked up into his face. His eyes darkened. ‘Where else could I live with hair as short as mine and not draw attention? Besides, I live here because I like it. There is life here and real people. People who speak their minds, who quarrel openly and not behind closed doors. People who kiss on the streets and not at home after nightfall. It’s dirty, dangerous, and tough to live here, but I prefer this to the controlled boredom of the higher classes.’
I observed his expression but couldn’t tell whether he could relate to anything of what I’d said.
‘A wise decision,’ he noted.
‘Excuse me?’
‘It was wise of you not to reveal yourself to the Irishman, although he was close enough to—’
‘Get out!’ I hissed. His head jerked back a little as though I had slapped him. Then he rose to his feet, produced a nod, and left with a quiet ‘Good night.’
***
Stark called again a week after his first visit. He had meant to stay in my lab for only a few minutes to enquire about the bacterial pure cultures. I told him I would not give out any cultures as long as the research paper in The Lancet wasn’t published. I explained that I was still in the process of characterising several different bacterial strains of the same species, as they seemed to show varying aggressiveness. That was when his eyes lit up and his hands vibrated slightly.
He wanted to know how the course of the disease differed and was delighted to hear that I had germs that could kill my test rabbits within only three days instead of two weeks. It was a lie, but it served the purpose. I also mentioned that additional security measures had been taken to prevent the pure cultures from falling into the wrong hands, which could result in them getting contaminated, or, even worse, cause harm. But I kept all details secret. Only I knew where and how the cultures were stored and how they were labelled. He tried to hide his disappointment and renewed his invitation. My hooks were in deeply; I was satisfied.
I went home and noticed that my door was unlocked. Slowly, I pushed it open and peeked in. Holmes sat in my only armchair.
‘Do you want me to die prematurely of a heart attack?’ I cried.
‘I think you are working on that quite effectively yourself,’ he answered calmly.
‘Why did you come?’
‘I identified the two victims.’
I closed the door with a bang and approached him. ‘Pray proceed.’
‘The first one was a Scottish farmer, Dougall Jessop, who moved to London roughly four months before his death. His wife died, he lost his farm, and ended up in Fulham Road Workhouse. He was on a come-and-go basis, for he had occasional employment outside. In London, he had no friends and no one missed him. The last they saw of him in Fulham Road was the beginning of summer last year.
‘The second man was also a Scotsman, Torrian Noble. He lived in London for the past five years and spent most of his time in Gray’s Inn Road Workhouse, but disappeared, too, at the beginning of last summer, and has since not returned. Jessop had never set foot into Gray’s Inn and Noble was unknown to the Fulham Road Workhouse.’
‘So they met in Broadmoor?’
‘I consider it as very likely,’ said Holmes.
‘How did they get there?’ I wondered aloud.
‘Well, I have a theory. Both workhouses belong to Holborn Union, which means they all are being watched by one Board of Guardians, headed by a chairman. I heard from other inmates that a physician had visited to offer treatments, supposedly paid by the Board of Guardians. That was at the beginning of last summer.’
I interrupted him. ‘That is extraordinary, Holmes! No such thing as free medical treatments for paupers has ever been provided in any workhouse. At least not that I know of.’
‘Exactly!’ he said. ‘My theory is that this physician examines the inmates, interviews them about their family situation, and chooses the ones that have no family, no close friends, and are comparatively healthy. The chairman of the Board of Guardians must be involved, too. A physician cannot simply walk in and examine paupers at his liking.’
‘So both had been abducted independently and later managed to escape together. Any idea how Noble got to Guy’s?’ I asked.
‘Unfortunately not. I interviewed a cab driver who takes that route regularly. He said that one day a man approached his hansom. He was unable to walk properly and couldn’t speak, grabbed the horse’s reins, and sank to the ground. That’s what made the horse whinny and rear. The driver, who believed the man was intoxicated, had had enough, cracked the whip, and left in a hurry. He had no idea where the man had come from and he could not remember whether there were any onlookers whatsoever.’
I served us tea and sandwiches and we were quiet for a while. Then I remembered Stark.
‘Stark paid me a second visit today,’ I said and Holmes looked up.
‘He wants the tetanus germs very badly. I can expect an invitation to Cambridge any day now.’
‘I had hoped this wouldn’t be necessary,’ he said quietly.
‘I’ll move into 13 Tottenham Court Road tomorrow and will give up this place for a while,’ I said, waving my arm at my apartment, ‘but how will we communicate?’
‘You will put a vase or the like into the window of your room whenever you have information that you need to share, or when you are in danger. I will come as soon as possible.’
‘When I’m in danger? Well, that means that vase will be constantly in the windowsill, I guess,’ I noted sarcastically.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘If you say so. And how will you contact me when you need to? By simply walking into my rooms?’ I asked, and he nodded.
‘So you are tailing me? Because how the deuce will you know when that vase is in the window if not for someone seeing it?’
‘Yes, I’ll tail you.’
‘Holmes, did you tail me before?’ I asked crossly.
‘No, I did not.’
‘How come you know where I live?’
‘I asked your Irish friend.’
‘Garret would have never told you.’
‘He didn’t need to tell me anything. I suggested to him to get clean clothes for you after the mugging and he led me to your place without his knowledge,’ Holmes stated happily.
How very simple, I thought. ‘And why the deuce would you want to know my address?’
‘I was curious.’
‘Next time, just ask,’ I murmured.
‘You wouldn’t have told me.’
‘Probably not, no.’
We were quiet for a long moment until Holmes grumbled, ‘I don’t like it that you throw yourself into the lion’s den.’
‘I don’t like it, either,’ I said quietly, trying to hide my fear. It probably didn’t work very well. ‘Holmes?’
‘What is it?’
‘I know who you are,’ I said softly. He didn’t reply, so I turned towards him. He was staring at the ceiling and, at first glance, seemed relaxed. But his face was too still and his hands were rigidly flat on the armrests. Whenever I got too close to him, be it physically or emotionally, he grew uncomfortable. It had begun immediately after the first time we met, and had got worse, as the distance he needed seemed to be getting greater every time we talked. He would disappear as soon as the crime was solved, I was certain. Surprised, I noticed the ache that accompanied the insight.
‘You don’t know me yet, but soon you will,’ I told him.
Slowly, his face turned towards me, and I explained, ‘I will have to shed most of what I am to serve the lie. You may not recognise me any more, but whatever you’ll see is a part of me.’