Chapter 4

Look at her garments

Clinging like cerements;

Whilst the wave constantly

Drips from her clothing;

 

The train station in Picklow was little more than a long wooden platform with a small shed serving as a telegraph office at one side. As Ainsley stepped down from the steam engine, he saw some rail workers unloading mail bags which they tossed carelessly toward the shed. The doctor was only one of four people who disembarked there, a handful of other passengers remained in their compartments bound for destinations farther along the line.

Ainsley eyed his trunk, which a porter had placed at his side, and wondered whom he should ask for directions to town. There was no village that he could see, just a mass of trees surrounding the station on all sides and only a thin bare strip in which the tracks were laid ahead of the engine. He did notice a lane, two parallel paths of dirt, made by the repetitive coming and going of carriages. The lane disappeared into the trees, one in a northerly direction, the other more to the south. His fellow disembarked passengers climbed into carriages and went one way or the other.

He approached the workers, who were sweaty with the heat from the locomotive's boiler and the nature of their laborious task. They wore kerchiefs around their throats, tied at the front just above their short collars. As Ainsley walked toward them the man closest to him removed his cap and wiped his glistening forehead with his forearm.

“Hello sir,” the worker said with a nod. “Good weather for this time of year, ain't it now?”

“Yes, it is. Would you mind telling me how far it is to Picklow from here?”

The man tilted his head in thought while his co-workers took the opportunity for a short break as well. They too wiped their foreheads and surveyed their progress. “Picklow is another four and a half miles to the north along that road there.” The man pointed to one of the lanes. “I could take you there but I am not scheduled to leave for another two hours.”

“That's all right. I enjoy a good walk,” Ainsley answered with a smile.

“What about your trunk there? Can't walk with that. I can bring it to town on my way, if you'd like. Where are you to be staying?”

Ainsley hesitated for a moment. “Not sure at present.”

“There's the village inn on the main street. Might want to check there. Though this time of year they are pretty full from travellers passing through.”

“I am doing some work with Dr. Bennett, the physician. You could bring the trunk to his residence.”

The man gave a half smile, a smile of knowing. “Oh that old dingbat,” he said with a laugh. “You've got your work cut out for ya’ if you’re pairing up with him. My wife prefers Miss Dawson for her needs.”

“Miss Dawson?”

“She's the midwife, a medicine woman, lives down yonder,” he motioned down the south lane. “Many 'round here rely on her. Her tonics actually work. Dr. Bennett is not known for curing his patients, if you know what I mean.”

Ainsley nodded but said nothing while his mind stored away this information. No wonder the old gentleman had contacted Dr. Crawford. Pressure from the village folk was mounting. If Dr. Bennett couldn't find out what was killing these girls, he'd quickly be replaced. In fact, Ainsley wondered, perhaps he already was.

“I'd be much obliged if you could take my trunk in with you this evening,” Ainsley said, offering the man his hand to shake. “I will give some sovereigns for your trouble.”

The man shook his hand but refused the payment. “No trouble. Keep your money. We in these parts do what we can to help each other out.” Ainsley saw the other men become restless. Their short break was over. Ainsley wondered if perhaps he had taken too much of this man's time.

“Have a good day sir,” Ainsley called over the piercing train whistle. He raised his hand in a gentlemanly wave and turned from the crew who were back again making quick work of unloading their cargo.

 

The path through the trees was just large enough for a coach but no more. The autumn canopy overhead was thick, each branch intertwining with the others creating a tightly woven ceiling of wood and brightly coloured leaves. The sound as they moved with the wind was loud, their hard, crusty surfaces scraping on the others around them and the odd cracking of tree wood, as if protesting any movement from its natural position.

Ainsley walked briskly, eager to get out of the woods before dusk. He had been too hasty with his refusal of conveyance to the town. It was getting late in the day and the woods, he remembered, carried the blackness of night long before the towns and cities which were illuminated by lantern light.

The train journey had been long and Ainsley was tired. He had thought the walk would be good for his stiff legs but as he made his way through the woods all he wanted was a warm bed and a good night's sleep.

Ainsley reached the edge of town just as the last rays of sunlight slid behind the horizon. There were still people walking the streets and tending their chores as the sun dipped below the west side buildings. He could see a pair of youths going from street lantern to street lantern lighting the gas on fire, racing against the last moments of day light.

“Excuse me, Ma'am,” Ainsley called out to a friendly looking woman who was sweeping her walkway. She paused her chore and met him at the gate that lead up to her front door. “Would you know where Dr. Bennett resides?” he asked.

“Well now, he's just down that lane, third house on your right.” She pointed beyond him to a side street a few yards off.

“Thank you.” Ainsley tipped his hat to her and turned to continue his journey.

“Mind you be careful now,” she said, “Mrs. Crane don't like solicitors just showing up on her doorstep.”

Ainsley smiled. “I'll keep that in mind,” he answered with a wave before turning down the lane.

 

There was a carriage in front of the house with two properly dressed grooms waiting alongside the horses. They tipped their hat in acknowledgement to Ainsley as he approached. He made his way up the front walk to the door. A scruffy orange cat was curled up on a chair set to the right of the door. Before knocking he held his hand out to her which startled the feline. She hissed at him violently and swatted at his outstretched hand. It only took a moment for blood to appear at the wound she had caused. Ainsley snapped his hand away to inspect it and when he looked back the cat had fled. It was a minor wound though it reminded him to be wary of all things, even those that appeared harmless.

He heard some noise on the other side of the door and realized he had not yet knocked.

“Blast woman!” he heard a man say. “Your constant fussing is making me late!” The door opened sharply and an older gentleman stepped out right in to Ainsley who was too slow to step away.

“And who the devil are you?” the man asked brashly. “Not a lawyer I hope!” The rotund man laughed and turned to the matronly woman who hovered at the door. She looked stern and ill-amused.

“No sir,” Ainsley said, “I have been sent by Dr. Crawford. You dispatched a telegraph asking for someone capable of doing a dissection.”

The woman gasped and raised her hand to her mouth.

“Post mortem! Goodness man, don't be so disrespectful of the dead! We call them post mortems if there is a need to refer to them at all.”

Chided, Ainsley agreed. “Yes, quite right. My apologies, ma'am.” Ainsley was used to his work being secretive, though he was far freer with the terminology while amongst doctors like himself. He admitted it was a new science, and not one many people liked to hear referenced.

“Well I hate to say it, but you came all this way for nothing. Mrs. Lloyd, in her infinite wisdom,” Dr. Bennett sneered in sarcasm, “has decided it not necessary and she is refusing all my requests to have the child's body looked over.”

Ainsley looked from the woman to Dr. Bennett, suspicion sweeping over his face. “She has another daughter ill, has she not?” he asked.

“Yes, though Mrs. Lloyd seems content to just let the poor girl die.”

“That's preposterous!”

“Yes, I know.” Dr. Bennett took his hat from the woman standing at the door. “Very well,” he sighed, “you cannot travel back tonight. Might as well tag along. I am headed there now. Mrs. Crane,” he turned to the woman, “prepare a guest room for this gentleman. We will return before long.” The woman nodded and disappeared in to the house.

Ainsley followed Dr. Bennett to the carriage. A groomsman opened the door just as Bennett approached. Ainsley climbed in after him, taking a seat opposite him. It was a very fine coach with soft velvet benches and black curtains pulled back from the windows. A pair of black horses led the way with small lanterns dangling from either side of the coachman's bench. The two groomsmen climbed on the front of the carriage and soon the carriage lurched into motion.

“This coach was sent from the Lloyd estate,” Bennett said. “They are in the midst of the wake and I have yet to visit to pay my respects. You, young man, might just be the young blood I need.”