Chorus of the Dead

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Touch her not scornfully;

Think of her mournfully,

Gently and humanly;

Not of the stains of her,

The exterior of the house, illuminated both inside and out, seemed to mirror Ainsley's mood. Damp. Near Frozen. It was an impressively large home with three stories and a labyrinth of balconies and landings. It must have been recently built, using a cornucopia of styles borrowed from architects of old. The mist that hung thick in the air made the limestone exterior appear to be sand, collapsible at any moment should anyone dare to touch it.

As Ainsley stepped from the carriage he noted the death wreath on the door, no doubt hastily created from laurel which must grow abundant somewhere on the vast property. The door stood slightly ajar, a gesture for mourners to come in, without ringing the bell. The noise would disturb the somber peace of the place, and perhaps would remind the dead that the living remained active while they had met their end.

Ainsley followed Bennett who showed the way into the house. A housemaid met them in the foyer and took their coats. Bennett turned to the drawing room where the young Josephine was laid out. Ainsley made a quick nod of thanks to the maid before remembering his flask. The maid turned away just as he called out. "Oh sorry, just a moment." He risked penetrating the calm quiet of the house but he was desperate. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small silver flask. He would need that before long.

With the maid gone and his flask safely placed in the inner pocket at his breast, Ainsley stood at the threshold to the parlour. There were others there that night, lending support to the family and assisting in keeping watch over the body during the wake. He could see the small white casket held off the ground by two sturdy chairs strategically placed at the head and foot. Flowers were arranged in abundance around the corpse, staving off the distinctive smell of death he knew would be surrounding the body so long after her passing. From his position at the door, he could see no parts of the body save the tiny hands that were folded together on the girl's chest. He glanced around the room, wondering which of the ladies gathered there was Mrs. Lloyd.

Dr. Bennett led the way towards two women who were seated to one side of the room. The younger woman, with golden blond hair and a slender physique not entirely hidden beneath a modest black frock and gloves, held the hand of another woman who was seated beside her weeping. The crying woman appeared to be slightly older though the two of them looked so alike they could be sisters. Neither of the women spoke. They simply sat side by side, their gazes transfixed on nothing in particular, both looking in opposite directions.

"Mrs. Lloyd," Dr. Bennett began softly.

The older woman raised her gaze and then stood, recognizing the doctor. "Dr. Bennett, so good of you to attend."

Dr. Bennett grasped Mrs. Lloyd's hands in his own. "Allow me to introduce, Dr. Ainsley. He's come all the way from London to assist me."

Mrs. Lloyd turned to Ainsley then, revealing a sullen face with stone cold features and a hardness he had never seen in a woman of her station. "Dr. Ainsley." She nodded in greeting and extended her hand.

Ainsley took her hand gently. "Mrs. Lloyd, I am deeply sorry for your loss." She nodded.

The younger woman spoke then. "Mother, you should sit. Your health." She led her mother back to her seat, as if the woman was a hundred and could not seat herself.

"Elizabeth Lloyd," Dr. Bennett said to Ainsley very quietly. "The eldest girl."

Ainsley nodded as he watched Elizabeth escort her mother back to her seat. No wonder she was still unmarried. She bore the same sullen and bitter face as her mother but looked even more disagreeable given her younger age. "Charming," Ainsley said in a whisper.