Tess Gerritsen - The Bone Garden - A Novel

Norris could still smell that stink on his hair, his clothes. It did not ever leave you, but wormed its way like maggots under your skin, until every breath you inhaled was infused with it, and you could not tell living flesh from dead. He smelled it now as he climbed the stairs to the auditorium, like a walking corpse trailing its own scent of decay. He pulled open the door and quietly slipped into the lecture hall, where Dr. Crouch was now pacing the stage as he spoke.

— …though a branch of medicine distinct from surgery and physic, the practice of midwifery requires knowledge of anatomy and physiology, pathology and… — Dr. Crouch paused, his gaze fixed on Norris, who had made it only a few paces down the aisle, in search of an empty seat. The sudden silence snagged the attention of everyone in the room more dramatically than any shout could have. The audience turned like a many-eyed beast and looked at Norris, who was pinned in place by all the stares.

— Mr. Marshall, — said Crouch. — We're honored you've chosen to join us. —

— I'm sorry, sir! I have no excuse. —

— Indeed. Well, find a seat! —

Norris spotted an empty chair and quickly sat down, in the row just ahead of Wendell and his two friends.

On stage, Crouch cleared his throat and continued. — And so to conclude, gentlemen, I leave you with this thought: The physician is sometimes all that stands in the way of darkness. When we enter the gloomy chambers of sickness, we are there to do battle, to offer divine hope and courage to those pitiful souls whose very lives hang in the balance. So remember that sacred trust, which may soon be placed on your shoulders. — Crouch planted his short legs on center stage, and his voice rang out like a call to war. — Be true to the calling! Be true to those who place their lives in your most worthy hands. —

Crouch gazed up expectantly at his audience, which for a few seconds sat utterly silent. Then Edward Kingston rose to clap, loudly and conspicuously, a gesture that was not unnoticed by Crouch. Others quickly joined, until the whole hall echoed with applause.

— Well. I'd call that a Hamlet-worthy performance, — said Wendell, his dry appraisal lost in the din of clapping hands. — When does he roll around on the floor and perform the death scene? —

— Hush, Wendell, — cautioned Charles. — Do you want to get us all into trouble? —

Dr. Crouch left the stage and sat down in the front row with the other faculty members. Now Dr. Aldous Grenville, who was both dean of the medical college and Charles's uncle, stood to address the students. Though his hair was already silver, Dr. Grenville stood tall and unstooped, a striking figure who commanded the room with just one look.

— Thank you, Dr. Crouch, for a most illuminating and inspiring lecture on the art and science of midwifery. We move on to the final segment of today's program, an anatomical dissection presented by Dr. Erastus Sewall, our distinguished professor of surgery. —

In the front row, portly Dr. Sewall rose heavily to his feet and strode onstage. There the two gentlemen heartily shook hands; Dr. Grenville once again sat down, granting Sewall the limelight.

— Before I proceed, — said Sewall, — I wish to call on a volunteer. Perhaps a gentleman from among the first-year students would be bold enough to assist me as prosector? —

There was a silence as five rows of young men discreetly stared down at their own shoes.

— Come now, you must get your hands bloody if you're to understand the human machine. You've only just begun your medical studies, so you are strangers to the dissecting room. Today, I'll help you make the acquaintance of this marvelous mechanism, this intricate and noble fabric. If one of you will just be bold enough? —

— I will, — said Edward, and he stood.

Professor Grenville said, — Mr. Edward Kingston has volunteered. Please join Dr. Sewall on the stage. —

As Edward headed up the aisle, he shot a cocksure grin at his classmates. A look that said: I'm no coward like the rest of you.

— Where does he get his nerve? — Charles murmured.

— We will all get our turn up there, — said Wendell.

— Look at how he drinks up the attention. I swear, I'd be trembling like a sinner. —

Wheels rumbled across the wooden stage as a table was rolled out from the wings, propelled by an assistant. Dr. Sewall shed his coat and rolled up his sleeves as the assistant next brought out a small table with a tray of instruments. — Each one of you, — he said, — will have a chance to wield the knife in the dissecting room. But even so, your exposure will be far too brief. With such a shortage of anatomical specimens, you must not let a single opportunity go to waste. Whenever a subject becomes available, I hope you will seize the chance to further your knowledge. Today, to our great good fortune, such an opportunity has presented itself. — He paused to slip on an apron. — The art of dissection, — he said as he tied it behind his waist, — is exactly that— an art. Today, I will show you how it should be done. Not like a knacker butchering a carcass, but like a sculptor, coaxing a work of art from a block of marble. That's what I intend to do today— not merely dissect a body, but reveal the beauty of every muscle and every organ, every nerve and blood vessel. — He turned to the table where the body lay, still draped. — Let us reveal today's subject. —

Norris felt anticipatory nausea as Dr. Sewall reached for the shroud. Already he had guessed who lay beneath it, and he dreaded the unveiling of the half-rotten corpse he and Wall-eyed Jack had unearthed last night. But when Sewall swept off the sheet, it was not the stinking man.

It was a female. And even from his seat in the auditorium, Norris recognized her.

Curly red hair cascaded over the edge of the table. Her head was turned slightly, so that she faced the audience with half-closed eyes and parted lips. The lecture hall had fallen so quiet that Norris could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. That corpse is Rose Connolly's sister. The sister she adored. How in God's name had the girl's beloved sister ended up on the anatomist's table?

Dr. Sewall calmly picked up a knife from the tray and moved to the corpse's side. He seemed oblivious to the shocked silence that had fallen over the room, and when he regarded his subject, he might have been any tradesman, about to set to work. He looked at Edward, who stood frozen at the foot of the table. No doubt Edward, too, had recognized the body.

— I advise you to slip on an apron. —

Edward did not seem to hear him.

— Mr. Kingston, unless you wish to soil that very fine coat you're wearing, I suggest you remove your jacket and put on an apron. Then come assist me. —

Even arrogant Eddie, it appeared, had lost his nerve, and he swallowed hard as he donned the neck-to-ankle apron and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

Dr. Sewall made the first cut. It was a brutal slash, from breastbone to pelvis. As the skin parted, the abdomen released its contents and loops of bowel spilled out, pouring forth from the open belly to hang in dripping streamers over the side of the table.

— The bucket, — said Sewall. He looked up at Edward, who was staring down in horror at the gaping wound. — Will somebody position the bucket? Since my assistant here seems incapable of any purposeful movement whatsoever. —

Uneasy laughter rippled through the audience at the spectacle of their overbearing classmate being so publicly yanked down a few notches. Flushing, Edward snatched up the wooden bucket from the instrument table and set it down on the floor, to catch the loops of dripping intestine as they slithered from the belly.