Of Monsters and Madness (14 page)

What does he mean “It’s in your blood?” Perhaps my fascination with the cow’s heart and the specimen jars is abnormal. Are other women of medicine interested in such things?

I pace the floors of the hallway outside the dining room, strangely conflicted by my feelings. I don’t wish to give up on my hopes of becoming a surgeon, yet the
thought of living the rest of my life being looked at as someone who is abnormal is not something I’m sure I can bear.

I pass a small mirror hanging above a marble table, and I stop and glance into it to fix a loose tendril of hair that has come free.

But what I see horrifies me.

High on my left cheekbone is a smudge of red. The very spot where Edgar touched my face with his blood-stained fingers.

Furious, I rub at the blemish. He must have seen it. He must have known it was there. How dare he mark me like this? What if someone else saw?

My footsteps echo angrily on the floor as I decide to find something to keep my mind occupied, and head in the direction of the library. As soon as I enter, I’m drawn to the back corner again. To the case with those odd books. Are they the strange ones that Cook said Father was always reading?

Just as I’m about to select one, the sound of breaking glass comes from outside the room. I hurry to the door, and find Father there. A shattered vase lies on the floor. He’s standing amongst the jagged pieces. The alcove behind him, where the vase once stood, is now
empty. He must have lost his balance and knocked it off the ledge.

“Wretched thing,” he mutters at the ground. Then he looks up and sees me standing there.

“I was just looking for a book to pass the time,” I say. I feel as if I have to offer him an explanation as to why I’m here.

“I have need of a book as well.” He glances over at the library door and then glances back to me. “Would you retrieve it for me? In the very back of the room is a small section of books in a glass case. I need the one titled
De viribus electricitatis in motu musculari commentarius
.”

I know which bookcase he’s speaking of. I was just there.

“Of course.” Hurrying to the glass case, I find the book he’s requested. I return, and hold it out to him.

But he doesn’t take the book from me. Instead, he leads me into the kitchen. I’m surprised to find the room is empty. Father gestures toward the worktable, then withdraws a pocket watch. Annoyance crosses his face as he clicks the watch shut. “My assistant was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. How am I to work when he’s tardy?”

I don’t know where Edgar has gone, but I can’t tell Father that I saw him just a little while ago in his laboratory.

Father looks at his watch one more time. “Worthless boy! I’m in the middle of a project, and time is of the essence. I can wait no longer.” Taking a large ring of keys from his pocket, he moves toward the door beside the fireplace. He waves at the book and then at me. “You may carry that downstairs for me.”

I follow quietly behind as he slowly limps down the stairs. When we reach the bottom, he takes out another set of keys and pauses. “You must not speak of anything you see down here. Do you understand? I demand my privacy.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” He inserts the key into the second door and pushes it open. “Place the book on the operating table. I have need of it there.”

I slowly move toward the table and lay the book down. Some kind of experiment is taking place. There are three large bowls on the table, connected to one another by wires. Another wire travels from the third bowl to the cow’s heart, which is on a silver platter.

Father takes down a black canvas apron from a
hook on the wall and ties it around his waist. “You can go now, Annabel.”

I give him a brief curtsy and turn back to the stairwell. Just as I’m about to pull the door closed behind me, I hear a crash. Rushing back into the room, I find him on the floor surrounded by broken shards of glass. Knowing this is the second time I have seen him like this, I anticipate his anger.

But it never comes.

“Damn leg wants to be a bother,” he says gruffly. There is embarrassment behind his words. Using the table to steady himself, he gets to his feet.

“Shall I fetch someone else to assist you, Father?” I ask.

“There is no one else, and I have squandered too much time already. You may stay until my tardy assistant arrives.”

A wave of excitement sweeps over me, and I have to sternly remind myself to act like a lady. That’s the only way to gain his respect. “Of course, Father,” I say demurely. Waiting for his instructions, I clasp my hands together. I fear that if I do not, the excitement will overcome me.

“Take one of the aprons there from the hook. You
shall retrieve what I ask of you.”

I nod and tie the apron tightly. My fingers are shaking, and I try to calm myself like I do during my morning meditations, by taking several deep breaths. This is my opportunity to show him I’m capable and proficient. Father opens the book I’ve placed on the table, and turns to a page near the back.

“I have need of the thin metal rod with the hook at the end of it,” he says, nodding toward the tray of surgical implements. “Then we will begin.”

I hand it to him, and he touches the heart gently with the rod.

But nothing happens.

He straightens and tries again. The result is the same. Touching the rod to the heart for a third time, he presses it deeply into the flesh. There is still no change. “I have the proper amounts of zinc and copper,” he mutters. “The connection is strong.”

He tinkers with the wire on the end of the rod. “The wire has been coated with salt water.…” He leans in to touch the page in front of him. “Yes,” he says. “It’s all right
here
. I don’t understand what can be wrong.”

I dare to voice my question. “What was supposed to have happened, Father?”

“Animal electricity.” He toys with the wire again.
“Were this experiment a success, the spark would, in theory, make the heart beat again.”

“Like the study of galvanism!” I say excitedly.

He turns to face me. “You’ve heard of it?”

“It was all the rage when Mother and I lived in England. I was too young, of course, to attend any of the showings, but I remember hearing about it. Luigi Galvani’s nephew, Giovanni Aldini, would put on shows across Europe in which he would produce animal stimulation. When I grew older, I read about it.”

“I believe his success to be doubtful. If his claims were real, then this should have worked. I followed his directions quite explicitly.” Father prods the heart again as he speaks. “It’s not just the heart,” he mutters. “
That’s
the problem. I know this. The brain is needed as well.”

“What do you mean, the brain is needed?”

He suddenly looks up excitedly and throws the rod he’s holding onto the table. “Go to that crate over there.” He points at the shelf behind me. “And bring it here.”

I hesitate momentarily. What will I see inside it?

“By all means, whenever you are ready,” he says in exasperation.

Hurrying to the shelf, I do what he says. But I
cannot stop my sharp exhale when I look into the crate. A horse’s head stares up at me. It’s brown eyes wide and unblinking.

“Come, come now,” he says. “You say you helped your mother in the village. Although this is an animal, there will not be much of a difference.”

Human heads are not stored in crates with their eyes open and staring wide
. But I know I cannot say what I’m thinking, so I carry the crate over to the table and set it down before him.

He lifts the head out of the crate and puts it directly onto the table. Even with all my doubts over whether or not my interest in medicine is abnormal, I cannot quell my curiosity.

“Bring me the cutting blade,” Father says.

I find the one he wants and he places the blade at the back of the animal’s head. Then he begins the arduous task of removing the skin and hair. When he hits bone, the noise it makes as he saws back and forth sets my teeth on edge. But I clasp my hands tightly together again, behind my back, and force myself to keep watching. If I turn away now, Father will no doubt see it as a sign of weakness. A sign that women cannot handle the study of medicine.

Once he’s opened the horse’s skull, he makes a few more cuts and then lifts the brain out. “Another tray is needed.”

I search on the shelf behind me, but I cannot find one.

“To your left,” he directs. “Just there.”

Seizing an empty tray, I bring it to the table and place it beside him. The horse’s head is within my line of sight, and I glance down at the floor, trying to avoid looking directly into its eyes.

“Sentimentality will keep women out of operating rooms forever,” Father scoffs.

The comment stings, but I do my best not to react. “May I ask what it is you’re going to do with the brain, Father?”

“I’m going to show you that in order to stimulate the heart, the brain is needed as well.” His face lights up with anticipation. “That is truly where
life
comes from.”

He carefully lays the brain on the tray and requests another wire. I hand it to him, and he links them together. The brain and the heart are now connected to each other, and the three bowls by their respective wires. I hold my breath as Father picks up the metal
rod again. Then he touches the brain with it.

Suddenly, Father slams his hand on the table. “Another failure! I cannot understand what has gone wrong!”

He prods the brain again and again as he speaks until large holes appear, and the flesh begins to weaken. The prodding turns to stabbing.

His actions unsettle me. “Is there anything I can do, Father? Perhaps I can—”

His hand stills and he gives a deep sigh. “Just go. I have no further use of you.”

Those words hurt more than his comment about being sentimental. Trying to tell myself that he is merely frustrated by his experiment, I hang up my apron and turn toward the door.

“Annabel.” I glance back to see him following me, and my hope rises. “It was a mistake to let you help me,” he says. “I hope you understand that. Women have no place in medicine or in science. It will not happen again.”

“Yes, Father.” My voice is a whisper.

“And tell that new watchman to go find my assistant. Otherwise, I’ll need to find a new one. You are dismissed.”

Before I can say anything more, the door shuts behind me and I’m left standing there alone in the dark. When the grating scratch of the key turning against the lock comes, it’s a final death knell in the cold silence.

Thirteen

C
ook and Johanna are both in the kitchen when I return upstairs. Neither of them asks why I was down in the laboratory, but Cook casts a worried glance over at the door. “Father needed my assistance,” I offer quietly. “Do either of you know where I can find Brahm?”

“He’s in the stables with Jasper,” Cook says. “What do you need him fer, miss?”

“Father’s assistant is late and he has requested the new night watchman go find him.”

Cook and Johanna share a look, and then Cook
says, “Johanna will find him, miss. No need fer you to be doing that.”