Free As Death Draws Near by Anna Lee Huber Page A

the few people who possessed both of the traits this investigation required. I was a woman and I possessed a detailed knowledge of anatomy, reluctantly accrued at the hands of my late anatomist husband, but acquired all the same. I knew this, and yet I hesitated to say what must be said, unsettled as always by this familiarity and what I was expected to do with it. Given the occupation my second husband had adopted, which I had decided to join him in, this skill had proven to be a useful asset. I could not dispute that. But I still had not grown comfortable with it being so.
    Gage, for his part, did not force the issue on me, but I could see from the look in his eyes he was waiting for me to say something all the same. I wondered how long it would be before he became exasperated with me for dithering over the examination of a dead body during our murder inquiries.
    I screwed up my courage, offering Reverend Mother a tight smile. “Would you allow me to examine her?”
    Her eyes showed no surprise, only increased interest. “So it’s true then? You assisted Sir Anthony Darby with his dissections?”
    That wasn’t precisely how I would have phrased it, but few people listened when I tried to explain, so I simply nodded. “Yes. In a manner of speaking.”
    I wasn’t sure how she would react to this. Some people, especially those who held to a rather strict interpretation of the Bible, believed dissection was evil, and desecrating a corpse in such a manner would mean that body could not fully rise from the dead on the Day of Judgment. Others accepted it rather calmly, distancing themselves from the act by their belief that it would never happen to them.
    Reverend Mother seemed to fall somewhere in the middle. She considered me, and I must have somehow passed muster, for she dipped her chin in affirmation. “Yes. I believe I would have.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of futility. “But I’m afraid now it’s quite impossible.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œMiss Lennox has been dead for almost ten days. I postponed the burial a few days longer than normal on the chance something could be done, though at the time I wasn’t certain what. But the fact is, it simply couldn’t be put off any longer. The body, you understand, it was . . . returning to dust. And the smell . . .” She shook her head. “It would not have been right to deny her the comfort of the grave.”
    â€œYes. Of course,” I hastened to reassure her. “I understand entirely.” After a week, the decay and decomposition would have been well advanced, and the scents of putrefaction would have been intolerable for anyone inexperienced withsuch things. Even as accustomed as I had been with it at one time, I had never grown a strong enough stomach to tolerate the stench for long. I had not been looking forward to examining Miss Lennox’s body, particularly considering how much time I knew must have passed, and the realization that now I would not need to do so felt like a reprieve.
    Reverend Mother appeared equally relieved by my ready acceptance of her decision. “We noted any details as best we could, but I’m afraid there wasn’t much. Though perhaps we did not know what to look for.” She glanced at Mother Paul, who appeared just as unsure. “I asked our infirmarian, Sister Mary Bernard, to take special note when she washed Miss Lennox’s body and prepared it for burial, so you will wish to speak with her as well.”
    â€œThank you,” I replied, grateful she had thought to do as much. “Could you at least tell how she died?”
    â€œShe was bashed in the back of the head.” She reached up to press a hand to her black crape veil on the right side. “Here.” She lowered her hand quickly into her lap, clenching it so that it almost disappeared inside the pure white weepers of her cuffs. “At