“If it is so educational, you ought to make a point of inviting Lady Rose to watch you work,” I told him.
He reared back, the blush once more in evidence. “I hardly think so.”
“Whyever not?”
The monkey apparently took umbrage at my tone. It chattered rudely and leapt off the caryatid to take a perch on Stoker’s shoulder, where it began to run its little claws through his hair. Stoker ignored it as he began to explain.
“There are two types of waxworks,” he said. “There are those created for the purposes of entertainment, the sort put on display at Madame Tussaud’s and the like or hauled about the country in travelling shows.”
“And the others?” I watched, mesmerised, as the monkey held up a lock of his hair at a time, examining it closely.
“Created for the purposes of teaching anatomy. It used to be that corpses served the purpose,” he said, pulling a face.
“Burke and Hare,” I put in, remembering Lady Rose’s interest in the grave robbers at Madame Tussaud’s.
“Just so. But robbing graves is a nasty business, not to mentionhighly unethical. So, artists in Italy began to sculpt them. They were already in the habit of making human forms out of wax because they had been doing so for the purpose of sacred statuary. It was a small step from fashioning saints for churches to sculpting educational aids for medical studies. They were called Anatomical Venuses, and they were quite popular for a century or more, particularly in university cities like Bologna.”
“What does that have to do with our lady?” I asked. The monkey sniffed one lock of hair deeply and began to rub its face on Stoker’s head in apparent ecstasy.
Stoker looked deeply uncomfortable, but I suspected it had little to do with being molested by a monkey and more with the waxwork figure lying before us.
He gestured towards her midsection. “Well, if she is an Anatomical Venus, she would be complete. Thorough. Intact, as it were.”
I stared at him for a long moment before understanding dawned. “You mean she would be—”
“As detailed as an actual woman. In every particular.”
“All the more reason to include Lady Rose,” I said. “The child is on the cusp of puberty and heaven alone knows if anyone has prepared her for it.”
“That is hardly within the purview of our work here,” Stoker protested in a horrified voice.
“No, I suppose not. And certainly not anything you ought to be concerned with,” I told him. All the same, I made a mental note to invite Lady Rose and her elder sisters for a comprehensive examination of the wax figure should she prove complete. I had little doubt it would be instructive even if the Beauclerk children had been tutored in the rudiments of reproductive biology.
“Of course,” Stoker went on in a bleak voice, oblivious to the monkey’s antics, “I have no doubt Lady Rose will turn up on her own as soonas she suspects I’ve got to work. I shall have to think of some means of bribing her to stay away.”
I looked up at the monkey and saw it had wrapped a lock of Stoker’s hair around its head like a bonnet. It gazed beatifically at him before turning to me and baring its teeth as it made a sound that could only be described as a hiss. I gave Stoker a consoling smile. “Leave it to me, dearest. I know exactly what to do.”
CHAPTER
2
After dinner that evening, I finished the last of the day’s tasks, stacking articles to be sent, wiping pens, directing letters into the proper pigeonholes—actualpigeonholes since our correspondence was sorted into an antique dovecote—and generally bringing tidiness to my desk. Stoker thrived in artistic chaos, but I preferred a more regulated environment. We had bickered, gently but often, on whether or not an orderly space was indicative of a regulated mind.
After a final polish of my magnifying glasses, I joined Stoker in the rear of the Belvedere where the waxwork had been left. Stoker had made preliminary efforts at organising the work—clearing a large table and laying out an assortment of tools and supplies. My own contribution to the effort was to bribe Lady Rose to stay away by offering her an evening with the monkey.
“Keep it for the whole night,” I urged Lady Rose as I plucked the creature from Stoker’s shoulder. “You needn’t return it anytime soon,” I added as it nipped me smartly upon the thumb, drawing up a bead of blood.
“I shall let it sleep in my bed after I’ve given it a bath,” Lady Rosereplied, eyes bright with mischief. “And I will put curlpapers in its hair to make it pretty.”
Anyone else might have feared for the child’s safety with such a little beast, but I had no doubt Lady Rose could hold her own. Any doubts I might have had upon that score were firmly dismissed as they left, Lady Rose describing in detail to the monkey the doll’s clothes she meant to dress it in.
“You would look very nice in lace,” Lady Rose said seriously. The monkey glared at me over Lady Rose’s shoulder as it was borne away, and if I believed it capable of such higher-order thinking, I might have said it was plotting a reprisal against me.
But dealing with vengeful primates was a task for another time, and I smoothed out my skirts and donned a fresh working pinafore before joining Stoker at the rear of the Belvedere.
He had spent a considerable part of the afternoon rigging up assorted lamps and mirrors to illuminate the glass casket, and the effect was as theatrical as it was scientific. A bright halo of light cascaded down upon the glass, creating a sort of nimbus about the figure within as well as Stoker. He was bent over the casket, fingertips resting lightly upon the lid, expression thoughtful as he studied her. He must have heard my footstep, but he did not turn, and after a moment, I gave a dry cough.
“Would you care to be alone?” I asked waspishly.
