Chorus of the Dead

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Owning her weakness,

Her evil behaviour,

And leaving, with meekness,

Her sins to her Saviour!

Ainsley smiled as Margaret leaned into him. The walk to the train station was breathtaking with the snow clinging to the naked tree branches above them. The air was crisp and still without the slightest breeze. Within hours they would be on the outskirts of London, the memory of the last week feeling like little more than a dream.

They had stayed in Picklow for two days after Lillian fell. She was horribly scarred from her fall. Her legs bore the brunt of the impact and she broke her pelvis. There was some suspected head trauma which made her gaze vacantly despite activity all around her. Ainsley had offered to operate, to minimize the damage but Mrs. Lloyd declined. Lillian was expected to expire within days, her internal organs would fail soon enough and little could be done to halt the internal bleeding.

The magistrate called an inquest where both Ainsley and Margaret gave testimony. No further action was pursued. It would seem Lillian's injuries were enough of a punishment no one was willing to incarcerate the girl when she was already a prisoner of her own mind. The proceedings made Ainsley's return to work a day late but he doubted Crawford would mind, considering.

"Do you think Father will be cross with me?" Margaret asked, breaking into Ainsley's thoughts.

"He'd be more angry with me than you."

Margaret shrugged, "I doubt that." She walked silently for a few steps before speaking again, "Do you think I should tell him what I saw in Tunbridge Wells?"

Ainsley let out a deep breath, "I imagine he already knows."

Margaret nodded and said nothing more.

Further down the road, Miss Dawson appeared. She clutched her basket. "Greetings," Ainsley said, as she drew closer. "Lovely day for a walk."

Miss Dawson smiled as she came to a stop in front of them. "How is Miss Lillian?" she asked.

"As well as could be expected," Margaret explained.

Miss Dawson nodded with an air of understanding. If anyone had an interest in the outcome of Lillian's fall, it was Miss Dawson. She seemed pleased enough that the person who murdered her daughter would soon perish. Miss Dawson gave the pair a quick glance up and down. "You are leaving us," she said.

"There is no further reason to stay," Ainsley explained.

"And many more reasons to go," Miss Dawson ventured to guess.

Margaret and Ainsley nodded.

"I should let you know I have decided to accept Walter's offer and sell my cottage. I am returning to Bristol to live with my sister. The climate is milder on the coast and I can find work there." Her face lit up slightly as she spoke. "My mind is made up. I am pleased to have found my freedom again," she explained.

"An ingenious plan," Ainsley said. "Godspeed to you."

Miss Dawson nodded and gave a slight curtsey. "And to you."

At the train station, their trunks waited, having been previously taxied from the Inn. "Perhaps I should become a doctor," Margaret said suddenly. She pulled away from her brother to look at his reaction.

"You? A doctor?"

"And what is wrong with it?" Margaret asked, expecting him to tease her relentlessly.

"Well, you are a woman," Ainsley answered with a cocky laugh. "Unless you want to deliver babies exclusively."

"For Pete's sake, no. A real doctor, a surgeon perhaps."

Ainsley laughed wholeheartedly then. Imagine his own sister attending the male dominated schools from which he had barely made it out alive. "Margaret, please."

"What?" Margaret's face became stern then, her gaze piercing.

"Be serious."

"I am."

Ainsley found it hard to look her in the eyes. She hardly had the stomach for such work. She was stronger than most women, that was a given, but strong enough to stomach the daily intake of death, the most terrible things man perpetrated on he each other? He doubted that very much. It took him a moment to decide how to let her down without being too harsh. "I don't feel medical school is the place for you," he explained.

"Of course. Can't have two doctors in the family. That would create too much competition." Her voice was laced with annoyance. She turned from him, and spied the ticket office to the side.

"Margaret, that's not fair."

She began to walk away from him. "Father would never allow it," he called out to her over the mechanical churning of the locomotive engine. She did not answer and proceeded to purchase their tickets.

Ainsley nodded toward a nearby porter and indicated which pieces of luggage belonged to them. The porter nodded and began installing the trunks on to a flat cart with wheels. Their luggage safely stowed, Ainsley turned to see Margaret walking toward them, a telegraph paper held in front of her in a gloved hand. Her other hand clenched over her mouth.

"What is it Margaret?" Ainsley asked.

Maragaret hesitated, unable to formulate her astonishment into words.

"Margaret?"

She looked at Ainsley, suddenly glancing up and offered him the telegram. "It's about Mother." Margaret had a look of abject fear on her face. "She's gone missing."

Tracy L. Ward

A former journalist and graduate from Humber College's School for Writers, Tracy Ward has been hard at work developing her favourite protagonist, Peter Ainsley, and chronicling his adventures as a young surgeon in Victorian England. Her website can be found at www.gothicmysterywriter.blogspot.com. Tracy Ward is currently working on the second book in the Peter Ainsley mystery series. She lives near Barrie, Ontario with her husband and two kids.

Cover Art by Claudia McKinney

@ phatpuppyart.com

Edited by Astra Daemon Hemming

Chapter Headings are linear excerpts from the poem "The Bridge of Sighs"

by Thomas Hood (1789-1845)

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission of the publisher,

Tracy L. Ward tracywardauthor@gmail.com

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.