Chorus of the Dead

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Had she a sister?

Had she a brother?

The village was awake and in full speed when Ainsley returned. Three children ran past him, close enough to flip the tail of his jacket, as he made his way down the main thoroughfare of Picklow. Opening their shops for the day vendors were displaying some wares just outside their doors. A barrel of brooms, bolts of fabric and crates of apples began to line the streets as the early shoppers sauntered down the streets. Within a few minutes he was turning off the main road and headed for Bennett's house.

Once inside, he found Mrs. Crane setting the breakfast table, wiping her hands on her apron as she appraised the meal she had prepared. "Oh Dr. Ainsley, I was about to call up and enquire on you. Both you and Dr. Bennett have been in bed for much longer than is usual." It was then that she saw Ainsley's attire and realized he had just come in. "You have been up for some time, I see," she said, chuckling at her own mistake. "I shall go knock on Dr. Bennett's door." She rounded the table and made for the stairs. She was not gone for long before Ainsley heard her call out to him. "Dr. Ainsley!" Panic laced her words. "Come quick!"

When Ainsley came into Dr. Bennett's room, having run up the stairs, he was struck first by the smell that hit him full force. It was the smell of sick and bile, excrement and sweat. It was the smell of hospitals and morgues alike.

Ainsley saw his colleague twisted in the bed covers, unmoving as he lay on his side. "Dr. Bennett?" Ainsley asked as he approached. Mrs. Crane was sitting on the bed well enough away from Bennett's face, her hand touching the doctor's back as he lay still. Ainsley could see vomit slipping down the sides of the elder doctor's mouth staining the white sheets beneath him. With Bennett's wide, glassy eyes fixed on him, Ainsley reached for Bennett's neck to feel for a pulse. "He's dead," Ainsley breathed. "Mrs. Crane, he's dead."

Mrs. Crane's wailing startled Ainsley who was not often so close to the scenes of death. In his shock Ainsley closed his eyes and slid down in to a wooden chair next to the bed. His body landed with a thud. For many moments he sat staring at the opposite wall, his head propped up by his hand, his elbow supported by the arm of the chair.

"This cannot be. This cannot be." Mrs. Crane's voice sounded like a far off whisper to Ainsley who was busy surveying the room and trying to piece together how Bennett had come to such an end. The white, porcelain chamber pot which sat next to Bennett's bed and directly beneath the elder doctor's head, was overflowing with bile and vomit. The sweat and excrement stained bed clothes were twisted, no doubt as Bennett doubled over and fought off the bouts of sudden illness. His struggle must have been short, though not short enough for the pain he would have felt at the end.

Bennett's night shift was twisted as well and raised, revealing the man's feet, legs and part of his buttocks. The sleeves were stained yellow with bile.

"What shall we do?" Mrs. Crane asked amidst sobs.

"Mrs. Crane," Ainsley began, finding his voice. "Fetch some warm water and new sheets. You and I shall restore him to dignity." Mrs. Crane left hastily and without another word.