Free The Devil's Grin: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller Book 1) by Annelie Wendeberg Page A
Authors: Annelie Wendeberg
is dissecting a murder victim?’ I cried. ‘After the trial against Burke and Hare, the Anatomical Act was passed. It gave free licence to medical doctors to use donated bodies for dissections. Tell me, Dr Watson, who would donate a loved and deceased child, mother, or husband?’
The execution of William Burke, 1829 (14)
His face paled. He didn’t reply, so I answered for him. ‘No one but the poorest, to feed their children, or themselves. Don’t you think the government knew what was going on? Don’t you think they turned a blind eye? Don’t you think they passed the Anatomical Act to make the butchering of paupers legal? Do you really believe that no one would inject a deadly disease into a pauper to test a cure for that very same disease? One worthless life — isn’t that an acceptable price to pay for the good of mankind? Man kind, Dr Watson!’
Watson gulped. I turned to Holmes and changed the topic. ‘What do we do next?’
‘We?’ ge replied, slightly shocked. ‘You won’t do anything, and I will do some thinking.’ With that, he lit his pipe again and leant back in his armchair. After a moment, Watson and I realised that we had been dismissed.
‘It was very nice to meet you, Dr Watson,’ I said down at the street, when both of us were about to part.
‘It was, er…interesting, Dr Kronberg, to say the least. May I ask you something?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Has your secret ever been discovered?’
‘Yes, by Mr Holmes.’
‘Of course, but I meant by anyone else?’
‘No. People usually believe what they see.’
He met my eyes for a short moment; it was the first time. Throughout the evening, he had avoided looking directly into my face.
‘I have the impression that I make you feel uncomfortable, Dr Watson. Should I have offended you, I am very sorry.’
It took him a moment to answer, but it was something that seemed to upset him greatly. ‘He has taken an interest in you!’ He choked the words out, as if the unspeakable had taken hostage of his mouth, forced his teeth apart to slip through his lips and escape his control. He regretted it instantly.
‘Please do not worry yourself, Dr Watson. Mr Holmes’s interest is that of a scientist in his study subject,’ I said as calmly as I could.
— seven —
T he hansom dropped me off half a mile from home and I walked the rest of the way. Given my expensive clothing, this was a bit reckless, despite the fact that most people here knew me.
The evening sun threw its last rays over the rooftops, painting the slums in a softer light, making the people within look less dirty, sick, and poor. Amongst the red glow stood a tall and broad-shouldered man with hair like fire — the bright red stuck out every which way. The hint of orange on his cheeks and chin was a constant phenomenon, no matter how often he shaved. He grinned at me over everyone’s head and I smiled back. Garret O’Hare was a handsome Irishman, warm-hearted and naive in a charming way, with no clue that half the female population of St Giles regularly stared at his buttocks.
Like many of my neighbours, he earned his living by stealing whatever he got his hands on and selling it at the pawn broker’s. But, in contrast to most of his colleagues, he was exceptionally good at it. A fact that made me equally proud and anxious.
As everyone else here, Garret believed I was a young widow who worked as a medical nurse at Guy’s — lies I had planted to explain my lack of a husband and my skills in dealing with infections, stab wounds, fractures, and the like. In return for medical care, my neighbours offered me protection and friendship.
Still smiling, he walked up to me. ‘Anna! Ain’t you pretty!’ He came to an abrupt halt and contemplated, his brain visibly rattling.
‘You’ve not been seeing another…bloke?’ he enquired, scratching his chin and measuring me from soles to hat-band.
I pointed at his shoes. ‘You have new boots.’
‘Er…yeah.
The execution of William Burke, 1829 (14)
His face paled. He didn’t reply, so I answered for him. ‘No one but the poorest, to feed their children, or themselves. Don’t you think the government knew what was going on? Don’t you think they turned a blind eye? Don’t you think they passed the Anatomical Act to make the butchering of paupers legal? Do you really believe that no one would inject a deadly disease into a pauper to test a cure for that very same disease? One worthless life — isn’t that an acceptable price to pay for the good of mankind? Man kind, Dr Watson!’
Watson gulped. I turned to Holmes and changed the topic. ‘What do we do next?’
‘We?’ ge replied, slightly shocked. ‘You won’t do anything, and I will do some thinking.’ With that, he lit his pipe again and leant back in his armchair. After a moment, Watson and I realised that we had been dismissed.
‘It was very nice to meet you, Dr Watson,’ I said down at the street, when both of us were about to part.
‘It was, er…interesting, Dr Kronberg, to say the least. May I ask you something?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Has your secret ever been discovered?’
‘Yes, by Mr Holmes.’
‘Of course, but I meant by anyone else?’
‘No. People usually believe what they see.’
He met my eyes for a short moment; it was the first time. Throughout the evening, he had avoided looking directly into my face.
‘I have the impression that I make you feel uncomfortable, Dr Watson. Should I have offended you, I am very sorry.’
It took him a moment to answer, but it was something that seemed to upset him greatly. ‘He has taken an interest in you!’ He choked the words out, as if the unspeakable had taken hostage of his mouth, forced his teeth apart to slip through his lips and escape his control. He regretted it instantly.
‘Please do not worry yourself, Dr Watson. Mr Holmes’s interest is that of a scientist in his study subject,’ I said as calmly as I could.
— seven —
T he hansom dropped me off half a mile from home and I walked the rest of the way. Given my expensive clothing, this was a bit reckless, despite the fact that most people here knew me.
The evening sun threw its last rays over the rooftops, painting the slums in a softer light, making the people within look less dirty, sick, and poor. Amongst the red glow stood a tall and broad-shouldered man with hair like fire — the bright red stuck out every which way. The hint of orange on his cheeks and chin was a constant phenomenon, no matter how often he shaved. He grinned at me over everyone’s head and I smiled back. Garret O’Hare was a handsome Irishman, warm-hearted and naive in a charming way, with no clue that half the female population of St Giles regularly stared at his buttocks.
Like many of my neighbours, he earned his living by stealing whatever he got his hands on and selling it at the pawn broker’s. But, in contrast to most of his colleagues, he was exceptionally good at it. A fact that made me equally proud and anxious.
As everyone else here, Garret believed I was a young widow who worked as a medical nurse at Guy’s — lies I had planted to explain my lack of a husband and my skills in dealing with infections, stab wounds, fractures, and the like. In return for medical care, my neighbours offered me protection and friendship.
Still smiling, he walked up to me. ‘Anna! Ain’t you pretty!’ He came to an abrupt halt and contemplated, his brain visibly rattling.
‘You’ve not been seeing another…bloke?’ he enquired, scratching his chin and measuring me from soles to hat-band.
I pointed at his shoes. ‘You have new boots.’
‘Er…yeah.