Free Stolen Remains by Christine Trent

hat with scent usually satisfied the family without her having to explain the grim reality of things.
    Once again Violet withdrew her embalming ingredients and mixed them inside a dark bottle half full of water. A half ounce chloride of zinc, which was a white, granular salt, followed by a quart of alcohol. The resulting solution was highly corrosive and irritating to the lungs, hence why she only made it up in small batches when she needed it. Any leftovers were kept in dark bottles to prevent decomposition in sunlight. She capped her concoction for the moment.
    From her box of tools, she removed a scalpel and two nozzles and set them on the table next to the body. She also withdrew two sets of tubing and a clear bottle.
    Laying out another cloth on the floor beneath Lord Raybourn’s midsection, she placed the clear bottle on top of it. She attached each nozzle to one end of each tube and laid them both aside.
    Picking up the scalpel, she whispered, “This won’t hurt a bit, I promise.”
    With a hand around his leg, Violet selected a location and quickly sliced into it with the knife, opening up a vein. In went one of the tubes, with the other end trailing into the basin.
    She spoke quietly as she worked. “You know that many important people have been embalmed, don’t you, my lord? Why, even President Lincoln—you probably didn’t know that I live in America now—was embalmed. In fact, he, too, was embalmed in his home, the White House. You are keeping very fine company.”
    Working quickly now, she cut into Lord Raybourn’s neck, inserting a nozzle tube into his carotid artery. She reopened the bottle of embalming fluid, holding her breath at the acrid odor, and screwed on a pump mechanism, through which she secured the other end of the tube into the bottle using a special clamp. She worked the pump several times to get fluid flowing through the tube, then held the bottle upside down in her left hand, as far above her head as she could manage.
    Her right arm, scarred from an accident, could no longer bear such a position for more than a few moments.
    Maintaining this position was one of her most difficult tasks when she didn’t have a pole to which she could attach the bottle. However, she didn’t like carting around hanging poles to her customers’ homes. It was too stressful for grieving families to witness the undertaker’s tools. Therefore, she had purchased the largest leather case she could find that was still manageable for a woman, and only what could be closed up inside it usually went with her.
    The embalming solution quickly did its work. As it flowed into Lord Raybourn’s arteries through his neck, it began pushing out his blood, which exited through the vein in his leg. Soon there was a rhythmic spattering of blood into the previously empty bottle below.
    Violet typically added a tincture of red dye to the fluid to give the skin a rosy bloom. The amount of dye varied from customer to customer. This time she skipped the dye, for she knew it was impossible for Lord Raybourn to be on display for mourners and visitors.
    He was just too damaged.
    The best she could do was sew up the worst of it, augment his face with a bit of putty, and liberally apply Kalon Cream—Natural Number Six, perhaps?—over her work. She didn’t think even the family should see him.
    Once Lord Raybourn’s blood was completely drained and the embalming fluid had settled in, Violet checked her work by once again probing and gently squeezing his limbs. The solution appeared to have distributed evenly.
    With needle and thread, she made several stitches in the two locations she had cut open. The embalming process was now complete.
    Mrs. Peet had dropped off an elegant suit on the hall table outside the dining room. The requisite trousers, tailcoat, shirt, collar, cuffs, and cravat were overshadowed by the most elegant double-breasted vest of burgundy satin Violet had ever seen. Violet exchanged it for the soiled clothing