Sawbones by Catherine Johnson

Author:Catherine Johnson [Johnson, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781406349245
Publisher: Walker Books
Published: 2013-09-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Mr William McAdam’s Anatomy School and Museum of Curiosities

Great Windmill Street

Soho

London

November 1792

By the time he had reached Great Windmill Street Ezra felt numb, and not just with cold.

But there was Miss Loveday Finch, standing on the step, tomato-soup-red curls escaping from her black bonnet. She turned and began speaking as soon as she saw him. “I have been waiting close to half an hour and no one is in. I was almost worried! I have made you an appointment with Mr Falcon. We should go there now.”

Her chatter seemed to come to him as if muffled through a heavy cloth. Ezra shook his head. “I am in no fit state, Miss Finch.” He took out his key and unlocked the door. “Although you are obviously in the pink of health,” he observed. “I see you are not using your stick.”

She stopped for a moment, her expression softening slightly. “I know your master died,” she said. She seemed awkward; perhaps she did not know what to say when someone else was in mourning. “It has been all over the newspapers. I suppose,” she went on, apparently unable to keep herself from talking regardless, “if you are shot with a gun then it’s so obviously murder that the world sits up and takes notice, as opposed to merely being poisoned. They have arrested one of the culprits, the gunman – a man by the name of Ahmat – have you heard? I expect they will call you as a witness.”

“Ahmat,” Ezra repeated, interested in spite of himself. “That was his name. Is there a trial set?”

She flapped a hand. “He is sure to hang! They say he is Turkish, formerly with the Ottoman ligation.” She leant close, lowered her voice. “Don’t you see how it all knits together? We have to go to the embassy, as you said. Something is rotten there, something that caused my father’s death and that of the tongueless man, which led to the murder of your master!”

“It is possible,” Ezra said slowly, stepping inside. “But at present nothing much seems to matter.”

Miss Finch put a gloved hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, Ezra McAdam, I do understand how you must feel. And if there is one thing I have learnt from my own recent bereavement, it is that one should do everything one can to make oneself busy.”

“It is not at all that simple,” said Ezra wearily, pushing her hand away.

She was undeterred. “Mr McAdam, there is always something one can do.”

She followed him inside and down to the kitchen, and against his better judgement he told her everything. Miss Finch was suitably shocked. She made tea while he spoke.

“The master’s nephew is even selling his instruments – his knives,” Ezra finished with a sigh. “I know this sounds selfish, but I swear they were promised to me.” He shook his head. “As it is, he even wants his precious name back! Well, he can have it. I cannot think of anything worse than sharing a name with that snake.

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