Fondly,
Dr. William Beecham III
Hazel read the letter, and read it again. She felt as though she had been slapped across the face. She let the paper fall from her hands, and Burgess picked it up, silently mouthing the words as he read.
“Well, I think it was a good idea,” Burgess said finally. “And the wortflower root tea has been the only thing since I got this blasted fever that’s made me feel like my head wasn’t keen to explode, whatever Dr. Beecham says. He’s not so all important! You know his grandfather went mad at the end? Alchemy and the like. Maybe the lot of them are mad. Forget it, Hazel.”
Hazel nodded absentmindedly. She had been foolish and overambitious. She was just a child, when for years some of the most esteemed physicians in the world had been working on the problem of the Roman fever and it had come to nothing. She hadn’t even passed the Physician’s Examination yet, and she was arrogant enough to believe that she saw something that Dr. Beecham hadn’t. Her cheeks burned, and she tore the letter from Burgess’s hands. She ripped it into pieces and tossed them into the fire, not out of anger, but out of a deep humiliation.
“It’s no matter,” Hazel said, reaching to take the mug of tea Burgess was drinking from his hands. “We’ll listen to the experts, at least for now.”
Burgess pulled the mug away and took another sip of it in protest. “Not a chance.”
“Fine,” Hazel said. “Have it your way, but if something goes wrong, let it be on your conscience now.”
Burgess took another deep sip. “It’s just tea,” he said. “And it makes me feel better. I don’t know what Dr. Beecham was going on about, but you’re the one treating me, not him, and for what it’s worth, I trust you, Dr. Sinnett.”
It was almost enough to make her smile.
She hadn’t smiled much in the past few days. Besides the fact that she was still waiting for Dr. Beecham’s reply, Jack had all but disappeared from Hawthornden since Munro’s reappearance, trying to find a new job.
“You can stay here,” Hazel had whispered to him a few days after Burgess’s arrival, while she was still in bed. He pulled on a well-worn shirt and the jacket that he’d left hanging on the back of her chair.
“I can’t just stay here,” he said, splashing cold water from the basin onto his cheeks. “I need to find work. Who knows how long it will be until the theater’s open again. If it’s too dangerous to steal bodies now, I need to find something else.”
“It is too dangerous, Jack,” Hazel said. “We don’t know who took Munro or why. And the police aren’t going to help resurrection men—assuming they’re not the ones doing the taking. Please, please promise me you won’t go out resurrecting again.”
“I promise,” Jack mumbled. He laced his boots, kissed Hazel on the forehead, and left Hawthornden on foot. She hadn’t seen him since.
20 December 1817
No. 2 Henry Street
Bath
My most darling Hazel,
Word of your engagement has finally reached us in Bath, and I am most positively delighted. What joy to know you will be taken care of and your dear cousin Bernard will finally become your husband. The only recent incident that has brought me as much joy is Percy （finally!） recovering from his cold.
I look forward to seeing you and your husband-to-be in London during the social season. As you know, Percy will be attending Eton next year. I think I might remain in London to be near him in case his cold returns.
I am very proud of you.
—Your adoring mother, Lady Lavinia Sinnett
30
SHE WAS MARRYING A DUKE OR A COUNT OR an earl. One of those. What was the difference? And what difference did it really make? They all lived in big houses and did nothing for a living but order servants about and choose which embroidered handkerchief to keep in their pocket that day. No wonder noblemen had time to invent medicines and maths—they had to, out of sheer boredom.
The theater was still closed, thanks to the sickness. Jack hadn’t made a steady wage in months, and without the bonus of new bodies to sell the anatomists, his situation was becoming more and more precarious.
He tried the shipyard first, hoping that being young and relatively fit could secure him a job building ships. But work in Leith had been slow. The foreman laughed in Jack’s face when he asked about a job. “Had to dismiss twenty men this year already,” he said. He sniffed and spat away from Jack. “Sorry, lad.”
It seemed everywhere he tried, there were a dozen other men, older and more experienced, waiting for their chance to meet with the boss and beg for a decent day’s wage.