A Rip Through Time(23)

NINE


Once Gray is finished putting away his tools, he grabs his jacket—a double-breasted frock coat that falls just past his hips. When he dons a hat, it’s an honest-to-goodness silk top hat. It looks remarkably good on him, and not at all as if he’s going to whip it off and pull out a rabbit.

As he strides toward the door, I say, “Are we not going to wash our hands, sir?”

He looks at me and then examines his hands. “They seem clean enough.”

“You were just handling a decomposing corpse.” I peer at him with a dawning suspicion. “If I say ‘germ theory,’ what do you hear?”

He frowns. “A new theory from Germany?”

At my expression, his eyes glitter. “I am teasing, Catriona. I am well versed in contagion theory as well as the arguments of those who prefer miasmic theory. I lean heavily toward the former. I am quite fascinated by the work of Dr. Pasteur. There is also a new theory from Dr. Lister in Glasgow regarding the use of carbolic acid. I have even read older theories on the possibility of contracting illness through touch, particularly a fascinating account from a doctor in sixth-century India. I tried bringing it to the attention of my medical colleagues, but they called it foreign nonsense.”

He strides to the small water closet, which contains a washbasin. “We probably ought to scrub up. The smell can be repellent, and I do try to remember to wash my hands after handling bodies, in case there is any possibility of contamination.”

He motions for me to go first. As I scrub, he says, “When I was a medical student, my classmates would fairly clamor for the privilege of wearing the apron of a retired surgeon. It had never been washed and was quite stiff with blood and other bodily fluids. They thought that proof of his long and storied career, but I always found it…”

“Horrific, repulsive, and utterly terrifying?”

“I was going to say ‘somewhat unwholesome.’”

My kingdom for a bottle of hand sanitizer.

I dry my hands and turn to him. “While you wash, I shall need to fetch my boots.”

He frowns at the ones on my feet. “Are you not wearing them?”

“These are my indoor boots.”

When his frown only deepens, I stifle a sigh. “I suppose they will do. However, I do require a coat.”

“Ah.” He lifts a hand. “That I can remedy.”

He finishes scrubbing and drying his hands, strides into a side room, rummages in a wardrobe, and pulls out …

Oh my God, it’s a Sherlock Holmes coat. Lightweight tweed with a cape around the shoulders and upper arms. It’s gorgeously tailored, which I’m beginning to realize just means a normal piece of middle-class clothing in a world where most is still handmade. I’m reaching for it when I pause.

“That didn’t come from a client, did it?” I ask.

“Client?”

“Of the nonliving variety?”

A moment’s pause. Then a half-snorted laugh. “No, it did not. This belonged to my apprentice, the one who left.”

“Will he mind me borrowing it?”

“Oh, I’m quite certain he has no intention of returning. It was rather an abrupt leave-taking.”

“May I ask what happened?” I ask as I pull on the coat.

“A most puzzling thing, really. I’d obtained a cadaver from the Royal College. Perfectly legal. All the appropriate paperwork and such. I wanted to test the marks made by various weapons.”

“Weapons?”

“Axes in particular.”

“I see.”

Gray opens the front door for me and ushers me out. “Scotland had two ax murders within a month, which got me thinking it would be advantageous to be able to compare wound patterns. There are many sorts of axes, particularly in the countryside.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I asked James to hold the body down while I wielded the ax. The first blow was rather messy. It had to be a fresh cadaver, you see. Decomposing tissues would have reacted in an entirely different way. Also, in my zeal, I may have severed the cadaver’s arm, which may have shot up and struck James.”

“Uh-huh.” We’ve moved onto the street, and Gray continues talking in a conversational tone, causing two well-dressed ladies to quickly gather their skirts and cross the road.

“I’m guessing that’s when he quit?” I say.

“Quite abruptly.”

“Probably for the best. It seems he lacked a proper appreciation of science.”

Gray nods mournfully. “I fear so. It will be devilishly hard to replace him.”

“I am certain you’ll manage, sir. Though, if I might offer some advice, perhaps the first step in your hiring process should be to hold the interview while you are examining a body. Ask for their help. If they flee, you have your answer.”

“That is a fine idea, Catriona.”

“You’re most welcome, sir.”



* * *



Nan lives outside Edinburgh, which means that while I’ve spent time in the city, I don’t know it as well as I might if she’d actually lived here. It’s like when I grew up in a suburb of Vancouver. I knew the city well enough, but my experience was limited to the areas we visited regularly. Here, I know that the spot where I came through is in the Grassmarket, which is in the Old Town, and I know that Gray’s town house is in the New Town, but I have no clue how to find my way from one point to the other.