Chorus of the Dead

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Look at her garments

Clinging like cerements;

Whilst the wave constantly

Drips from her clothing;

The train station in Picklow was little more than a long wooden platform with a small shed serving as a telegraph office at one side. As Ainsley stepped down from the steam engine, he saw some rail workers unloading mail bags which they tossed carelessly toward the shed. The doctor was only one of four people who disembarked there, a handful of other passengers remained in their compartments bound for destinations farther along the line.

Ainsley eyed his trunk, which a porter had placed at his side, and wondered whom he should ask for directions to town. There was no village that he could see, just a mass of trees surrounding the station on all sides and only a thin bare strip in which the tracks were laid ahead of the engine. He did notice a lane, two parallel paths of dirt, made by the repetitive coming and going of carriages. The lane disappeared into the trees, one in a northerly direction, the other more to the south. His fellow disembarked passengers climbed into carriages and went one way or the other.

He approached the workers, who were sweaty with the heat from the locomotive's boiler and the nature of their laborious task. They wore kerchiefs around their throats, tied at the front just above their short collars. As Ainsley walked toward them the man closest to him removed his cap and wiped his glistening forehead with his forearm.

"Hello sir," the worker said with a nod. "Good weather for this time of year, ain't it now?"

"Yes, it is. Would you mind telling me how far it is to Picklow from here?"

The man tilted his head in thought while his co-workers took the opportunity for a short break as well. They too wiped their foreheads and surveyed their progress. "Picklow is another four and a half miles to the north along that road there." The man pointed to one of the lanes. "I could take you there but I am not scheduled to leave for another two hours."

"That's all right. I enjoy a good walk," Ainsley answered with a smile.

"What about your trunk there? Can't walk with that. I can bring it to town on my way, if you'd like. Where are you to be staying?"

Ainsley hesitated for a moment. "Not sure at present."

"There's the village inn on the main street. Might want to check there. Though this time of year they are pretty full from travellers passing through."

"I am doing some work with Dr. Bennett, the physician. You could bring the trunk to his residence."

The man gave a half smile, a smile of knowing. "Oh that old dingbat," he said with a laugh. "You've got your work cut out for ya' if you're pairing up with him. My wife prefers Miss Dawson for her needs."

"Miss Dawson?"

"She's the midwife, a medicine woman, lives down yonder," he motioned down the south lane. "Many 'round here rely on her. Her tonics actually work. Dr. Bennett is not known for curing his patients, if you know what I mean."

Ainsley nodded but said nothing while his mind stored away this information. No wonder the old gentleman had contacted Dr. Crawford. Pressure from the village folk was mounting. If Dr. Bennett couldn't find out what was killing these girls, he'd quickly be replaced. In fact, Ainsley wondered, perhaps he already was.

"I'd be much obliged if you could take my trunk in with you this evening," Ainsley said, offering the man his hand to shake. "I will give some sovereigns for your trouble."