Dr. Hall seemed to note the change in her stance, for he remained still, waiting for the constable to lead the way. The old man shook his head with disapproval, and moved down the hallway.
They descended two different spiral stone staircases that led to a cold, curious set of rooms. It reminded Grace of a sort of dungeon, as there was a pungent odor in the air that seemed to grow as they continued. At the farthest end of the hallway stood several men, each with their faces covered with white cloths. Grace immediately sized up their outfits, noting that the two were completely covered in dirt, while another two were dressed as police officers. Another, the last man, was wearing a tweed suit, although he was also wearing a white apron and a pair of spectacles. Grace swallowed as they came to a stop in front of this group, her nerves on edge as they all glared at her.
She remained completely and utterly stoic. Grace doubted that the devil himself would surprise her in that moment, for all her focus was on herself and remaining calm. If she faltered, if she showed an ounce of disgust or worry or weakness, they would all see it and dismiss her.
She couldn’t let that happen.
“Dr. Hall,” the man in the apron said. “I didn’t know you were bringing a lady.”
“She is no lady, she is a medical student,” Dr. Hall said without emotion, reaching for two aprons that hung on the wall. He tossed one to Grace, who grabbed it immediately and began putting it on, as did he. “What are your notes on the body?”
But the man with the glasses resting on the end of his nose didn’t seem to hear the question.
“A woman medical student?”
Dr. Hall sighed, visibly annoyed as one of the police officers handed him a face covering, before also offering one to Grace.
“Yes.”
“But it’s unheard of.”
“On the contrary. Medical students often shadow mentors, particularly when said students do not have the opportunity to attend medical school.”
“Because it’s unheard of.”
Grace remained perfectly still, sure that any words she might speak would be ineffective to pleading her point. Instead, she watched Dr. Hall, who turned to face the police just as he finished tying his face covering.
“Chief constable, is it illegal for a woman to practice medicine in Scotland?”
“Er, um, well, not that I know of.”
“So, I am committing no crime at this moment?”
“Well, no.”
Dr. Hall turned to face the doctor.
“There you have it. Now, Dr. Stewart, if you have some sort of formal complaint about this, I’d suggest you take it up with the school. However, since Miss Sharpe is learning as an apprentice of mine, and she is protected to do so under the Apothecary Act of 1815, your only complaint would be to Parliament or myself, and as I do not care about your opinion, might I suggest you write to London. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, open thedamn door so we can see if Mr. Flannery was poisoned and keep your concerns regarding my student to yourself.”
Confusion flashed in the man’s eyes as Grace had to focus all her energy on not shaking, though her heart was likely visible beneath the apron she wore, for she was sure it was going to beat right out of her chest.
Never in her entire life had anyone spoken with such heat, such assurance when it came to her and her profession. She had support, of course, from family and friends, but at most they could only support with anxiety, fearing that she would flounder. But Dr. Hall was so confident, so serious and so respected that the other man didn’t even argue. Instead, he opened the door and allowed them both to enter.
Grace was grateful to be present in a room with a decomposing corpse, for it was certainly the only sort of distraction she could manage to find that would pull her thoughts away from Dr. Hall.
The room was stark white, with small, rectangular windows set near the ceiling, allowing what little natural light to mingle with the brightness of several oil lamps that had been turned all the way up.
In the center of the room stood a wooden table, taller than any table Grace had ever seen, with a white sheet covering a mass of what she could only assume was the remains of Mr. Flannery. Setting her jaw, Grace followed Dr. Hall as he went immediately to the center of the room and, standing next to him, waited for instruction.
“Usually, an autopsy would take place in the medical theater,” he said quietly to her as he reached for a pair of thick brown gloves that lay on the edge of the table, next to where Grace assumed the head of the body was placed. “But because this body was exhumed so late after its demise, this room was chosen for the coolness to help alleviate the smell.”
Grace gave him a single nod, having tried to avoid inhaling through her nose since entering.
Once the gloves were on his large hands, Dr. Hall pulled the white sheet down and revealed a truly nightmarish sight.
The translucent skin of Mr. Flannery’s face was sunken in, almost as if a thin clay had been pressed over a skull. The man’s hair was wiry and long, as if it had continued to grow even after death, and his neck had all but shrunk to the size of a billiards stick. Dr. Hall dragged the sheet down to his waist, revealing emaciated hands with long fingernails and a sunken in chest that was similar to the illustrations Grace had seen in medical journals.
Dr. Hall took up a long silver instrument from the side table. He searched the mouth, pulling the decaying skin back as gently as possible as he searched for something Grace did not know.
