Page 36 of Disturbing the Dead
Isla waves us off. “Go back to your work. Expect the coach in an hour. I will ask Mrs. Wallace to prepare an early breakfast, which will be ready whenever you return.”
“Breakfast?” Gray takes out his pocket watch. “Ah.”
“Yes, breakfast,” she says. “I will endeavor to get a little sleep myself, but I shall rise by nine so that we might discuss the case.”
TWELVE
McCreadie goes to ask the household our list of questions while Gray takes me to see the body. He’s waiting until a more reasonable hour to send for Simon and the hearse. In the modern world, that might horrify us—leaving the body in the house so the hearse driver isn’t woken early? But there’s a reason Victorian undertakers don’t actually deal with the corpses. Embalming isn’t a thing yet, and so bodies often remain at the family home until they are ready for burial. The women of the household will handle the bathing and the clothing of the dead. So having a body in the house isn’t as distressing for Victorians as it would be for us.
It helps that Sir Alastair isn’t exactly lying on the kitchen table. The room where we unwrapped him is shut off, with a constable making sure no one enters. We slip inside and close the door behind us.
One reason for that guard is that Gray has left Sir Alastair partially unclothed. It’s just an open shirt, but in this world, that would be scandalous and disrespectful for a man of Sir Alastair’s position.
“I thought you would like to take a look before I clothe him for transport,” Gray says as we cross the room. “As you already saw, the most obvious injury is to his neck.”
I peer down at the bruises and abrasions I’d noted before. Then I check under Sir Alastair’s eyelids.
“Strangulation seems to be the cause of death,” I say.
“Presumably, yes. The classic sign of petechial hemorrhaging is present. If you’ll check the hands next…”
“Signs of defense?” I lift and notice small cuts on the sides of his fingertips. “No, that’s—”
I stop short, an image flashing, the memory of the night I crossed into this time. Grabbed from behind by a rope going around my neck. Struggling to pull it away from my throat.
“Yes, defensive wounds,” I say quietly. “But defending himself against the rope instead of the attacker.” I shiver convulsively. “I remember that.”
Gray inhales sharply. “I blithely showed you something that would trigger a past traumatic event. My sincerest apologies, Mallory. Let us stop this. You do not need—”
“No, I’m fine. It was just a flash. I’m tired, and my mind is wandering.” I give a quick shake and check the hands again. “The attacker gets the rope around Sir Alastair’s neck. Sir Alastair grabs it and tries to pull it away, but his attacker is stronger. Or…” I note the angle of the neck abrasions. “His attacker was above him. Pulling up. Same as…” Another deep breath. “My attacker was taller than me, and he got me up onto my tiptoes, which is why I couldn’t fight. I was just dangling there, like a rag doll. All my self-defense training, all my fighting skills, and I couldn’t even kick properly without strangling myself… Damn it!”
I take a deep breath. “I really am tired.”
I look up, but Gray isn’t in front of me anymore. Fingers rest on my arm, the touch tentative, checking whether I’ll pull away. When I don’t, he squeezes my arm.
“I would offer a hug,” he says. “You did that for Jack, when we rescued her, and she seemed to appreciate it.”
I smile a bit at the memory. At first, Jack had been appalled. A hug? Certainly not. She wasn’t the type, and this wasn’t the era of comforting embraces.
“I am offering,” he says, “though I doubt you will take me up on it.”
“That depends,” I say, through eyes suddenly glassy with tears. “If you’re only offering to be nice, then I’m fine.”
He puts his arms out. “I am never nice. Ask anyone.”
That makes me laugh, and I step into his embrace, careful, knowing how the Victorians feel about touching. But when his arms close around me, I let myself lean a little against his chest, and his arms tighten and I fall onto him. I don’t mean to. I just do, and before I can think to be horrified, he’s holding me and I’m feeling my eyes fill again, not from the memories of the attack but from the sheer relief of being held.
Is “relief” the wrong word? It feels like relief, as if I can finally let go and relax.
I’m still careful, too aware that this might be awkward for him, and I soon pull away, blinking back the tears and making some half joke about staining his jacket.
“If anything, you cleaned away some of the filth,” he says. “I am sorry if I rekindled those memories. I was not thinking.”
“If I didn’t think of it, no one else should be expected to. And if I had thought of it, I would have brushed it off.” I dry my eyes. “I’ve talked to so many victims of violence who blame themselves for not doing anything, and I didn’t think I’d feel that way, but I guess, deep down, I do. It happened so fast, and I wasn’t prepared.”
“Well, I consider myself an excellent pugilist, and yet you have witnessed several occasions where I was caught off guard and soundly trounced. Now, I believe I hear a coach outside, which may be Annis’s. We can leave if you would like.”
“No, I want to finish the examination.” I inhale and look back at Sir Alastair. “What I was saying is that Sir Alastair seems to have been strangled from an upward angle, which would have put him at a disadvantage. But Selim’s account suggests we weren’t dealing with a particularly tall person. Sir Alastair is above average height himself, and he is in really good shape for a Victorian.”
