Free Sawbones by Catherine Johnson

her own heart beat and lived. It made Ezra uncomfortable.
    “It’s my work, Miss Finch. I am sorry if I scared Mrs Gurney, but I need to ask you something, something important concerning your father’s death.”
    “It was murder, no doubt at all, Mr McAdam.”
    Ezra had to admit he agreed, but the girl was so volatile, he must proceed carefully. If there were a suspect, he was sure she would take her blade and hobble off to avenge her father’s death in an instant.
    “Your father, you said he did a lot of work for the Ottoman court?”
    “Yes. As I said, he was a favourite of the valide sultan – the sultan’s mother. And in London we often worked at the embassy, at least once or twice a year when they had receptions for other ambassadors – important people. You know.”
    Ezra did not know, but he was not going to say. He cleared his throat.
    “And in the Ottoman Embassy, was there anyone in particular your father corresponded with about work and such? A Negro, perhaps?”
    Loveday shook her head. “Not a Negro, a Mr Ali Pasha. But there were servants about the place – some of them were Negroes. Why, what is it?”
    “Nothing.” Ezra sighed. He must not allow himself to jump to rash conclusions. “I must get back to work. I will inform you of my findings as soon as I am ready. Goodbye, Miss Finch.” He bowed slightly and began to walk away.
    “I say, Mr McAdam. Here’s an idea: couldn’t I come with you? I might be of use. I could help you solve all riddles, find all facts.” There was an excited gleam in her eyes. “I am quite thorough.”
    “I am sure you are.” Ezra imagined dissecting the heart with Loveday Finch peering over his shoulder. He backed away, holding the bag tight across his body. “But no, Miss, I do not need your help.”
    “Mr McAdam, are you afraid of me?” Loveday said.
    Ezra thought of the men in the Fortune of War. “Absolutely not.”
    “Well then.” She picked up her walking stick. “I have just had an idea – the very best. We should work together, as a team. I should have something to do and perhaps we might earn some money.” She was grinning. Ezra tried to speak but failed. “We could discover truths and right wrongs.”
    “I don’t think so, Miss Finch.” He shook his head. “This is the stuff of children’s play.”
    “No, I am quite serious. It would be perfect. Falcon and Finch may be no more, but Finch and McAdam are just beginning!”

Chapter Five
    Mr William McAdam’s Anatomy School and Museum of Curiosities

Great Windmill Street

Soho

London

November 1792
    T he master had been called away to a private patient in the village of Hampstead and would have to stay over. Consequently Ezra had so much work to do that it wasn’t until the following day that he could get a good look at the heart. Alone in the laboratory, he took the jar down off the shelf. He had added preserving fluid and the heart bobbed and floated in its jar like an oversized pickled walnut.
    He was glad to be free of Miss Loveday Finch, her yellow house and her cracked ideas. He was not, and would not be, a part of some theatrical double act or wild thief-taking partnership. He imagined she must have read about such things in one of those ladies’ novels, or perhaps because she worked on the stage her imagination was overly stimulated. Ezra sighed. The heart sat on the wooden table dead and cold. He moved the magnifying lens into place and reminded himself that he was doing this for two guineas and for his future. With Anna or not.
    But he could not help becoming interested. What had caused these unnatural effects? It seemed undersized, as if it had been squeezed. He smelt it, touched it – the smell was not unusual but the texture and weight was. No wonder the man had died. How could this tiny shrivelled thing pump enough blood around a grown man’s body? But what could have caused it? Some kind of disease? Some kind of drug?
    Ezra took his scalpel and sliced the organ, as