Chapter 4

 

 

 

“Open at once!” Sybil pounded furiously on Dr. Corbett Buchanan’s door. An animal-like grunt from within was the response.

“Easy, Cousin,” Eleanora murmured. “Let’s not make a scene.”

They had just returned from the Kitchener residence. A contrite Mr. Kitchener, with his satisfied wife in attendance, paid them their fee and stated that they would be seeking a divorce. Once case down, now to focus on the one before them.

Sybil turned to face her. “Why you continue to use this drunkard, this lumberjack from the wilds of Canada, is beyond my understanding. He lives in a brothel, Ellie, couldn’t we find a more respectable—”

A gruff clearing of the throat interrupted Sybil. Leaning against the doorway was “her Canadian,” as Eleanora called him, the man that she used when medical matters needed addressing in any particular case.

He looked the worse for wear, eyes bloodshot, rumpled clothes, and—Eleanora inhaled, the distinct odor of sexual activity, along with tobacco, alcohol, and sweat. Not a pleasant combination by any stretch of the imagination.

Corbett lit the cigarette stub dangling from his lower lip. “Well now, darlin’, can’t say I ever felled a tree, so lumberjack doesn’t exactly fit. But I’ve certainly been to the wilds of Canada, and no mistake.”

Sybil flushed in response. Eleanora had noticed more than once her cousin’s flustering in Corbett’s presence.

“We have need of you, Doctor,” Eleanora stated. “There is a carriage waiting downstairs to take us to my uncle’s precinct. His dead room awaits.”

Not all police stations in London had a medical examination room. But her uncle, Reece Galway, was of a like mind of his late, older brother: forensics would play a prominent part in policing in the years ahead. Eleanora believed the same. Her uncle was an inspector at J Division, Bethnal Green.

“I’m hardly in a fit state to examine a corpse,” Corbett said. Absently, he wiped his nose with his sleeve as he drew deeply on his cigarette stub.

Sybil curled her lips in disgust.

“I’ve hot coffee. You can swill it on the way,” Eleanora said. “Strong, as you like it. Uncle sent one of his police conveyances for us to collect you. The journey to the East End should be long enough for you to sober up sufficiently. I will double your usual fee.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” He dropped the cigarette stub to the floor, then pulled the door closed behind them. After they stepped outside, Corbett grabbed the sides of the horse trough, bent at the waist, and plunged his head into the water.

He stood upright, and the air whooshed from his lungs, then ran his hands through his longish wet hair, slicking it back from his face as water droplets sprayed every which way as if a dog were shaking his fur after a brisk swim.

“Now he smells of horse on top of it all,” Sybil complained.

“Nothing wrong with smelling of horse. I often slept with one out on the prairies,” Corbett replied.

“I don’t doubt it,” Sybil retorted. “Probably the only creature that would deem to share your bed.”

She marched toward the carriage, leaving Eleanora and Corbett standing by the trough.

“I believe she likes me,” Corbett said, a sardonic tone to his voice.

Yes, she does.

But Eleanora didn’t voice her opinion. “Shall we depart, Doctor?”

Corbett opened the door, allowing Eleanora to enter first. She sat next to a fuming Sybil. Corbett climbed in and sat opposite. Unscrewing the glass container, she poured a generous amount of coffee into an enamel mug and passed it to the doctor as the carriage pulled away. His hand trembled slightly as he took the proffered cup.

“Not sure how hot it is, but it will serve the purpose. Drink,” Eleanora coaxed gently.

He gulped it all down, hardly taking a breath, then held out the mug toward her. “More.”

She refilled it and watched as he drank. Although he wretched briefly, the doctor held out the mug again.

Corbett sat back, drinking this mug more slowly.

“You ladies on a case, I assume?” he asked as placed the mug next to him on the seat and lit a cigarette.

“Yes, we will reveal more once we reach the station,” Eleanora replied.

“Out socializing last night? I imagine that Miss Sybil was accompanied by a dapper young man. Dinner? Perhaps then to a concert?” He waved out the match and tossed it out the open window.

Corbett must be feeling better for he was teasing Sybil. Her cousin met his gaze, fury plain on her face.

“Once a man learns of my family background, most slink away. Nor do they ask me to any respectable venue. Not that I would have gone anyway,” Sybil replied, her voice laced with cold disdain.

“Family background, what are you on about?” Corbett asked.

“I’m the daughter of a sheep farmer. Deemed to be part of the lower classes.”

“What in hell has that got to do with anything? Are you ashamed?” Corbett snapped.

Sybil bristled. “Absolutely not. I don’t hide it. I’m merely stating that I do come across prejudice with regards to my station.”

Corbett snorted. “Prejudgment is everywhere you turn. The class system and social hierarchy in this country are poisonous. It’s not what I believe.”

Sybil stared out the window. Corbett alternated between gulping down the black coffee and smoking as he looked out the opposite window. Eleanora found studying humans absorbing. Here was a classic example of two people attracted to one another but perceptibly denying it.

What did they know about Buchanan beyond he came from Canada’s East Coast and served in The North-West Mounted Police as a surgeon on the Canadian Prairie? He had hinted that he was involved in the second Riel Rebellion a decade earlier, but would not elaborate on any details. How he wound up in London living above a brothel would be an enthralling tale.

The fact remained; he was a drunkard, as her cousin had stated. However, when sober, or at least halfway there, Eleanora had found an accomplished physician. He possessed a plethora of forensic knowledge and skill. His fees were reasonable, and he was available at all times of the day or night—a definite bonus.

Buchanan’s eyes never left Sybil, who continued to stare out the window at the passing city streets. There was a yearning there, on both their parts, Eleanora was astute enough to recognize it.

The carriage pulled up to 458 Bethnal Green Road. The familiar sight of the light brick and sandstone building gave Eleanora a thrill. The fancy gold streetlamp on the sidewalk had the word “Police” painted on the glass.

If only women were permitted to enlist with the police force. Yes, there were about fifteen police matrons, but Eleanora would only join if given all the rights to investigate and arrest as men had. But women weren’t allowed, so she would have to take these small moments when she could.

Walking up to the front desk, Eleanora nodded in greeting. “Good morning, Sergeant Wilmot. We are here to see Inspector Galway. He’s expecting us.”

The bushy-bearded sergeant turned to a young uniformed officer. “Tell the inspector Miss Galway and company is here. Cut along now.”

The young man hurried toward the rear. Moments later, her uncle emerged from the back office. Eleanora’s breath caught in her throat. It did every instance she saw her uncle, for he was so similar in looks and bearing to his older brother—her late father—her heart hitched. It made her grieve all over again. After three years, you would think the feeling had lessened, time supposedly healing all wounds and all that rubbish, but not in her heart.

Her mother had died not long after Althea was born, so all they had growing up was their father and uncle, for Uncle Reece had lived with them for a time. To lose Da to a damned cancerous bowel was a devastating blow. He hadn’t even known he was sick, except for feeling more tired. Once discovered, he was gone in less than three months.

Sighing, she swallowed back the sorrow and smiled at her uncle in greeting. Taller than even their father at close to six and a half feet, it was not difficult to see where Eleanora got her height. At forty-three, her uncle looked years younger, surprising considering the difficult division he policed in.

“Ellie, Sybil, good to see you. And Dr. Buchanan. Right this way.”

Her uncle led them to a converted office. Though cramped, he had spared no expense in the renovation. The tiled room had a cement floor. A large cupboard had been converted into cold storage for a dead body thanks to regular ice deliveries. Uncle Reece opened the door, slid out the box, and set it on the examination table.

“What’s this?” Corbett asked, pointing to the oblong package.

“A body part, more specifically, a leg. I think it’s a woman’s leg,” Eleanora replied. “It was delivered to a group of gentlemen at their club. We were hired to discover all we can about the macabre consignment. Uncle, the fingerprinting has been done?”

Fingerprinting was being used sporadically by a few intrepid officers like her uncle. The Metropolitan Police had not accepted it overall as yet.

He pointed to the wooden chest on the table opposite, “Got the kit from Hawksley’s on Oxford Street. Unfortunately, I got nothing off the box. Only where the gentleman grabbed it to open it. We can fingerprint him and compare.”

“Perhaps we should. Sybil, make a note. None of us touched it. I wore gloves, and we wrapped it in Althea’s shawl for the trip home.”

Corbett cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. “You ladies took home a severed leg and stuck it where—in your icebox for the night?”

“Until we could bring it to Uncle Reece’s cold storage, yes. Is there any information to be gleaned from the leg?” Eleanora asked, focusing the Doctor’s attention on the matter at hand.

With his cigarette dangling precariously from his lower lip, he gently removed the leg from the box and laid it on the exam table.

“Clean cut, possibly professional.” He slowly rolled the leg over and grunted. “This is definitely a lady’s leg due to the length of the tibia and fibula.” Corbett leaned in closely. “She was dead when the limb was removed. See the dark patch of skin on the back of the leg? Blood settles in the extremities, livor mortis. She was lying on her back when she died. The skin has not deteriorated much.”

“It was cold to the touch when we answered the call. I surmised whoever sent this kept it on ice until delivery. Could it be a body part from a hospital and used as a ghastly prank? Or is there something more nefarious at work?”

“Hard to tell without the rest of the body…Ah. There’s a tattoo on the ankle.”

“We took note of that,” Sybil replied.

Uncle Reece leaned in for a closer look. “Buchanan, I have managed to allot some funds for a salary. You could work here part of the week, be on call the rest.”

“Excuse me, Inspector, a reporter from The Times to see you,” A young officer declared from the doorway.

“Take him to my office and tell him I will be along directly. Make sure he stays there,” Uncle Reece replied.

“Yes, sir.”

“Inspector, you seem a decent sort, but I’ve had enough of working for organized justice,” Corbett stated. “I labor on my terms as an outworker. No one to order me about. Occasionally do some doctoring. Suits me fine. No man will command me ever again.” Corbett’s tone was determined but not disrespectful.

“As you wish, Doctor,” her uncle replied.

“More time for drinking and whoring,” Sybil muttered crossly.

Eleanora pushed her cousin’s shoulder to silence her.

“Well, darlin’, it comes in handy. This small butterfly is on the ankles of some of the ladies working at The Chrysalis. They are the elite of the club. For special guests, big money. They are clean, fancy; you get my drift.”

Sybil wrote furiously. The blush crawling up her cheeks was apparent.

“The leg, however, shows a different fate. The unkempt nails, the ridges which I believe show lack of certain nutrients,” Eleanora interjected.

“Maybe, pull off most people’s threadbare socks—if they own socks at all— and you will find the same. If you’re thinking of going around to The Chrysalis and ask questions, I wouldn’t advise it. It is exclusive. They won’t let you in. You could ask your gentlemen clients about it; they could obtain you an entrance.” Corbett met Eleanora’s gaze. “Are they of the peerage?”

She nodded.

He whistled low in response. “Could be a practical joke, knowing what amuses these nobs. Then again, you ladies be careful.”

Uncle Reece strode into the room as Buchanan gave the warning. Her uncle gently clasped Eleanora’s upper arms. One of the few men she had to glance up at. “I second that. The moment you discover that this is not a prank and you need my assistance or wish to involve the police, do not hesitative to contact me.”

He laid a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I have a couple of men at other divisions I trust implicitly. They can discreetly assist with any queries. Rory Kerrigan at L Division, Lambeth, and Edmund Reid at H Division, Whitechapel. Let me know.”

“We will, Uncle,” she replied softly. “Doctor, are you coming with us?”

“I want to examine this limb more thoroughly, and get a blood sample. Maybe it will tell us something about her health at the time of death. After, I know of a place not far from here when I can get a decent steak pie. I’ll find my way from there.”

Eleanora motioned toward Corbett, and Sybil stepped forward, holding out a couple of pound notes.

“Your fee,” Sybil stated.

Corbett trailed his long fingers along Sybil’s upturned palm and, to Eleanora’s astonishment, her cousin did not pull her hand away. Their gazes met, and Eleanora could swear that electrical sparks crackled between them. As swiftly as the attraction flared to life, Sybil turned, the spell broken, but not before Corbett snatched the notes from her hand.

He grasped Sybil’s shoulder and leaned in, “I know you can take care of yourself, but be careful, darlin’.”

She hesitated, then nodded, making her departure without looking back.

Once out in the main room, Eleanora took a closer look. Workmen in overalls were installing something of import considering all the banging and activity.

“What is all the commotion, Uncle?”

“Telephone lines, if you can imagine. Up Glasgow way, they’re experimenting with police boxes. Small kiosks the uniforms can use while walking the streets. It will ring here to the station. Our precinct was selected for a tryout.”

Eleanora smiled. “I don’t believe telephones are a fad, after all, Uncle.”

“No, you have the right of it. They are here to stay, blasted nuisances. Coming for dinner Sunday? Bring your sister and cousin, of course.”

Uncle Reece had married two years past to a widow that Eleanora had taken an immediate liking to. Wilhelmina was in her mid-thirties and the widow of a copper that had been under Reece’s command. One thing led to another, and they had fallen in love. The policemen at J Division raised an eyebrow at first. Eventually, they came around and were genuinely happy for their inspector. They were also glad the young woman was not left destitute as so many police widows are.

“Of course. Seven o’clock?” She smiled in reply.

“Absolutely.” Her uncle instructed one of the uniforms to hail them a hansom.

Eleanora pulled Sybil aside. “I believe it’s time to dust off ‘Constance Baxendale, niece of Sir Reginald Ramsay.’ We need information on these Rakes of St. Regent’s Park and The Chrysalis, and the best method to gather gossip is at a toff ball or gathering.”

“Sir Reginald will allow you to continue to use the disguise?” Sybil murmured.

“Yes, it’s part of his fee. I still have eighteen months to go. I took the liberty of sending word early this morning, and he responded immediately. There is a ball this Friday night at the Earl of Pembroke’s townhouse. I will be going in his stead. Not that he attends many social events.”

“What about a fancy gown? You only have the two.”

“I haven’t worn the brown and gold one; it will suffice.”

Sybil furrowed her brow. “Well, it’s more of a copper and gold, but what if one of those Rakes of St. Regent’s Park shows up?”

Eleanora shook her head. “I highly doubt it; I assume it is not their sort of thing. I won’t be staying long anyway. Young men usually arrive late at these gatherings, and I will be long gone.”

While part of her held upper-crust society in scorn, another was delighted to be stepping into another persona. Truly, she should have been an actress on the stage. Moving about among the elite? Drinking champagne and eating frosted cakes until she burst? Harmless flirting with all sorts of men, and gossiping with the women?

Empty pursuits by empty people, she couldn’t imagine living such a hollow, superficial life twenty-four hours a day. But for a few hours, Eleanora could look beyond all that and revel in the gathering of facts.

That is where her actual enjoyment lay.

She couldn’t wait.