Thea could have done with Speckle’s kind presence as much as Martin this week. She had thought to call on Harriet after she had stopped crying in the carriage, but she knew Harriet would see something was wrong. She had neither the energy to formulate an excuse or the courage to tell her the truth, so she had gone home and cried on Mrs Phibbs. The housekeeper had fed her some chicken soup, dressed her up in her three piece and put her back in the carriage for lecture night. It would be good for her, Mrs Phibbs insisted. Thea wasn’t sure yet if that was correct or not, but the hip flask of whisky that she’d thrust into Thea’s pocket on the way out of the door was doing a reasonable job of dulling the pain.
That, and the stench of death, anyway. It seemed that it was worse when you got to the lower digestive system. Either that or the corpse was an older one, it had been a little bloated down there on the slab, but had deflated after the first incision.
She took another swig of whisky as the intestines Dr Hunter was pulling out became fatter. The cadaver was a woman today – that was unusual. She was used to seeing male bodies on the slab, as hanged criminals or those perished in jail. She wondered if this lady had gone that way, and if so, what was her crime? Perhaps thieving to support a family? Murdering an abusive lover? Having an opinion that was too challenging? Thea knew women of all social ranks made difficult choices in order to survive, just like she had. Sometimes it came off, and sometimes it didn’t. She felt a fraud for finding her own life so hard when others risked their lives on a daily basis. What right did she have to be miserable with her comfort and wealth?
She took another swig of whisky.
It was definitely time to acknowledge that her plan had not come off as she had hoped. Yes, she was financially secure and so were her children and her family. But everything about her life – both physical and emotional – was now controlled by George. Where she went, what she spent, who she socialised with, how often she saw her family. Nothing at all was in her control.
She felt her heart begin to beat faster and an unpleasant fluttering took hold in her abdomen. Doctor Hunter paraded the now-removed intestines around the room, inviting the students on the front row to give them a squeeze. Thea’s gut squeezed in sympathy. She took another swig from the flask to steady herself.
For over five years of marriage, she had comforted herself by thinking of the time Martha returned. When, even if they couldn’t pick up where they left off, they would have been able to spend time together, to understand one another and to provide physical and emotional support. Just to see her, a few kind words, a reassuring glance, a supportive touch. Now that hope was gone, and she had to decide what to do next. Her stomach rolled and her tongue seemed to get thicker as herbreathing became shallow. She flipped open her pocket watch as a distraction. Twenty minutes to go.
‘The rectum,’ Doctor Hunter announced as he finished fishing around in the abdominal cavity with his scalpel. Thea looked back from her watch just as he held it up, and something green dripped out of it. Her bowel constricted and her ankles seemed to fizz. That was new, she mused.
She had learned, at the hands of her father’s pragmatic gardener Scip, that fairness wasn’t something that one could expect or demand. So she had to move on, and to carve out some sort of joy for herself aside from the small amount of time she spent with the children. But ideas of how she might achieve that currently eluded her. The feeling of hopelessness grew. She took another swig of whisky to try and remedy her thick throat and tender stomach, but the burning sensation only made it worse. While her stays were looser than usual in Lord Foxmore’s suit, they still made her breathe into her chest and now she couldn’t get enough air. Her vision started to grey at the edges.
Not here – she couldn’t faint in here. Whoever picked her up, took her out and sat her with Martin would find out her secret. If only Speckle were here. She got the idea that he wouldn’t mind.
She got up and started to move along the row, apologising to those whose knees she knocked along the way. Better than vomiting on them, she thought, which was still a possibility.
‘And that is where the tract ends.’ The words in a Scottish lilt filtered into her brain as she stumbled out of the room. She looked left and right, almost uncertain of the way out in her foggy state but felt the cool of the outside air filtering down the passage. That was what she needed. She stumbled outside and took a few large gulps of air. It didn’t help her stomach, but her vision cleared a little. She bent over and grasped at the front of her stays, trying to give herself more room to breathe into her stomach. Now where? Sanders wouldn’t be here to pick her upfor twenty minutes yet and she couldn’t stand around looking like she was having a heart attack on the cobbles. An alleyway, that’s what she needed. She set off towards Albermarle Street, vaguely remembering an opening a few doors down.
‘Sir?’
A hand on her arm made her whip around and another enormous breath invaded her lungs. The man stood back and raised both hands in a gesture of assurance. She blinked and tried to make her mind work faster against the haze of panic and whisky. She knew this man. She blinked again and saw his brow crease. He was the one from the back row. The ginger one who had helped Martin. He was very short and slight, she saw now, but didn’t look like he was about to rob her. She could probably take him down anyway. Or maybe that was the whisky thinking?
‘What do you want?’ Her voice came out harsher than she intended, because words are hard when you have both not enough and too much air at once. Their breath was visible in the dark, lit by the light of the city.
‘Just checking you was alright Du… Sir,’ he said.
Thea faltered. There was attitude in that voice. And had he just...? She peered closer and tried to think even harder. Then she looked at his forearms, still held up. She recognised those.
‘Frankie?’ That definitely came out too loud.
‘Shhhh,’ he said. Or she said. Thea wasn’t quite sure. Then the figure came towards her, gripped her arm and began to march her down the street.
‘How dare you,’ she hissed. Because although she wasn’t sure of many things at this moment, she was sure that duchesses were not supposed to be dragged across the cobbles by gardeners. But Frankie didn’t stop, and Thea found herself complying. They found the alleyway she had been heading for, and Frankie pulled them into it. It was narrow and smelled of oldbrassicas. Thea shook herself out of the grip and tried to regain a little of the social advantage she struggled without.
‘What on earth are you doing here dressed like this?’
Frankie raised an eyebrow. ‘I could ask the same of you.’ Not even a ‘your ladyness,’ this time. But she had a point.
‘I am interested,’ she tried.
‘So am I,’ said Frankie. ‘They don’t do many lectures on botany, and I learn better by somebody telling me things.’ Fair enough. But a gardener’s wage surely didn’t pay for…
‘You sneak in, don’t you?’ said Thea, still put out at the lack of respect. ‘And whose is that suit?’
Frankie crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. ‘I do not sneak in,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Kit pays for me, and this is his old suit.’
‘Oh.’ Thea immediately regretted the accusation.
‘Not every poor person is a charlatan,’ said Frankie, defiance in her eyes. ‘I only came out to see if you was alright ‘cos I thought you was going the way of Martin, but I wish I hadn’t, now.’ She pushed off the wall and began to walk out of the alley, but Thea caught her arm, somehow unwilling to lose the company.
‘Wait,’ she said. Frankie turned back, looked down at the hand on her arm and back at Thea. She said nothing. Thea knew she should apologise, but it was hard. She wasn’t supposed to defer to those lower than her. But then, if they were all just meat with thoughts and she simply managed to clothe hers in more elaborate outfits purely through the ability to marry well, what was stopping her? Frankie’s arm still strained away from hers. She gripped tighter.
‘I have had an extremely challenging day and thought that this–’ she gestured to herself, ‘–and this–’ she held up the hip flask, ‘–would help. But they did not.’ Frankie’s eyes flicked between her own, and then her grip eased as Frankie returnedto lean against the wall. But she said nothing. Thea breathed in through her nose, her heart still hammering but feeling less like she was about to pass out. ‘I suppose,’ she licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘I suppose all of us who are curious find ways to learn that might not be… conventional.’ The ghost of a smile from Frankie.
