Passing as Elias (5 page)

Closing time could not come quick enough for Elizabeth, and at the sound of the tower clock chiming six, she ushered out the stragglers from the apothecary and locked the door behind her. Dusk was falling, and she walked at a quick pace to the Professor’s house, only a few streets away.

Reaching his doorstep, Elizabeth banged loudly on the wooden door.

“Professor!” she called through the mail slot, “Professor de Bard! Are you in there?”

At that moment the Professor’s neighbour stepped out of her own door, and looked at Elizabeth curiously, “Wot chuu yellin’ for?”

“Excuse me, Ma’am, have you seen Professor de Bard at all over the last few days?”

The woman frowned, “I ain’t seen ‘im all week long. Never seen ‘im much anyways. Quiet fing ‘ee is.” She had a high, annoying voice, with an accent even more common than Elizabeth’s.

“Have you not heard him through your shared wall?” Elizabeth asked nervously.

“Not a whisper,” she replied, “Odd fellow, in’ee? Are you ‘is daughter? On’y I never seen him ‘ave family round before.”

“No … No.” Elizabeth cursed under her breath, and banged on the door again, “Professor … I am … I am coming in!” she shouted. People’s heads were poking out of their kitchen windows here and there along the street, wondering what the commotion was.

Trying the doorknob again Elizabeth found, without surprise, that it was still locked. Taking a deep breath Elizabeth threw her shoulder against the door, only causing herself immense pain. Wincing, she looked up and down the street before hitching her dress up to her knees, lifting a leg, and kicking the door as hard as she could. It did not budge. She tried again. Six kicks later ,and the door finally flew open with a loud bang, bouncing off the wall. Elizabeth caught the door before it rebounded shut again, and stepped over the threshold. The house was eerily silent, and immensely dark, as no lamps were lit. Allowing her eyes to adjust, Elizabeth stepped down the Professor’s narrow hall, the floorboards creaking ominously as she walked.

“Professor,’ she called, “are you home?”

As she had expected, only silence greeted her. Elizabeth checked the sitting room, kitchen, and the cupboard under the stairs before making her way upstairs and onto the landing. Once at the top there were two doors on either side of her. Turning to her left Elizabeth tried the first door. She opened it noiselessly to find herself inside the Professor’s wash room. It was small, and dark, with a basin in one corner, a rack of wash cloths, and a small tub in the other corner. No one was inside this room, though a rather foul smelled had reached her nose. Sniffing, Elizabeth found that the smell was stronger on the landing. She stepped out of the wash room, closing the door  behind her with a snap. The smell was so putrid that she was avoiding breathing through her nose at all costs. There was only one place the smell could be coming from. Elizabeth made her way to the second door, and reached out a hand to take the doorknob. Could the stench be some kind of new concoction the Professor had left brewing whilst taking a leave of absence? She turned the doorknob and cracked open the door by an inch. The first thing she noticed was a strange buzzing sound that seemed to be coming from inside the room. The atrocious smell hit her as though it were a tidal wave, causing her to gag and slap a hand to her mouth. Opening the door completely, a horrific sight met Elizabeth’s eyes. Professor de Bard was indeed in this room–and he was dead.

Elizabeth backed from the room and onto the landing, tripping over the moth-eaten rug and falling backwards to the floor with a crash. A strangled cry left her mouth as she stared transfixed at the sight before her. The Professor lay on the floor, his blank eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. His skin was white, and he had begun to decompose in the days he had been left in his house. Flies buzzed around his body aggressively, and the smell of rotting flesh filled the room, causing Elizabeth to retch on the rug before her.

“Help!” Elizabeth cried at the top of her lungs, “Murder!” She scrambled to her feet and sped down the flight of stairs, slipping at the bottom and crashing to the floor in a heap.

Elizabeth began crawling toward the open front door. Once on the lawn, she propped herself over the flowerbed below the sitting room window and was violently ill into the dirt. The smell of death was on her, and the image of the Professor was imprinted vividly in her memory. People were starting to come out of their houses now to find Elizabeth sobbing in Professor de Bard’s front garden. Two men asked her what  was the matter, and when Elizabeth pointed inside the house they went inside to investigate. The world seemed to speed up at that moment. Strangers were asking her questions, ushering her away from the house, and bringing her cups of tea. She was dizzy, and a Constable was questioning her. Some doctors came to examine the body, and took the Professor away in a big, black bag. All the while, Elizabeth sat unmoving on the front lawn of her once dear friend and teacher, Bernard de Bard.

Chapter Three

The will of Professor de Bard

In the days that followed, the coroner revealed to Elizabeth that Professor de Bard had died from poisoning. He told her that there had been no marks on his body, nor was there any evidence to suggest a struggle of any kind.

“This,” he had said, “indicates that Bernard de Bard was not murdered, but did in fact take his own life.”

“No,” Elizabeth had said firmly, “he would not have taken his own life. It was an accident. He … he liked to experiment.”

“The paperwork found in his home suggests that he was working on some kind of antidote, though we are having some trouble figuring out his methods and calculations. Do you know anything about this?”

“The Professor worked on many things, and did not reveal all of them to me, sir. Though he liked to document his remedies and the effects they produced.”

“You were his assistant, yes?” the coroner had enquired.

“Professor de Bard was my teacher. I was his apprentice.”

“Women are not to dispense medicine.” the coroner noted. “Surely you must know that.”

Thinking back on this conversation angered Elizabeth to a great extent.

~

Elizabeth did not get out of bed for two days. She did not wash, and only ate what her mother forced her to. The parish of the local church stopped by on Tuesday morning to tell Elizabeth’s mother that a burial had been arranged to commemorate Professor de Bard’s contributions to medicine. When Professor de Bard’s former apprentices heard of his death, many of them travelled back to the town to pay their respects. As Professor de Bard had no family, Elizabeth was unsure as to what would happen to his apothecary. No one had sought to collect the key from Elizabeth, which she was now keeping under her pillow.

Captain Greenwood had dropped by to bestow his sympathies on Elizabeth,  she had, however, refused to receive him. Once he had left, her mother had brought an extremely large bouquet of lilies to her bedside table. A small card was hidden amongst the flowers, which her mother read to her.

“Captain Greenwood wishes to escort you to the funeral,” her mother said in a light voice.

Elizabeth did not respond. She simply lay there sprawled on the bed, her hair a horrid mess, the sheets twisted around her ankles.

“He said he will come by on the morrow to find out your response. Sweetheart, I think you should accept. He is awfully worried about you.”

“I am sure he would enjoy being the shoulder I cry upon,” Elizabeth said in a muffled voice, for half of her face was concealed by the pillow. “You can tell him that I shall accept his proposal.”

On the day of the funeral Elizabeth felt like she were in a kind of trance, looking out at the world as though behind a pane of glass. She dressed silently in her only black dress, brushed the knots from her tangled hair and sat on her bed, waiting for the moment Captain Greenwood would knock on the front door. On cue, as expected, there was a rap at the door downstairs, followed by the sound of her mother greeting the captain solemnly.

Their voices carried upstairs, and Elizabeth caught a few snippets of what they were saying.

“Good Morning, Captain,” her mother said in a soft voice.

“Good Morning, Mrs. Searson. I trust you are in good health?” The Captain spoke in hushed tones, as though he were in the house of a dying relative.

“As well as I can be.”

“How is Elizabeth?”

Her mother sighed, “Not well I fear. She has eaten naught for three days, Captain, and has barely spoken a word.”

Elizabeth crept to her door to listen to the hushed conversation that was taking place downstairs.

“I imagine they were very close,” Captain Greenwood was saying.

“Oh yes. Elizabeth began working at the apothecary not long after her father died. I expect Bernard was a kind of substitute father in a way. She spent six days a week with him for three years.”

“She has suffered a terrible loss,” he said softly.

“Indeed. I believe she is almost ready, Captain. I shall go and fetch her.”

Elizabeth heard her mother’s footsteps on the stairs, and she hurriedly backed away from the door, so she would not be discovered eavesdropping. She busied herself in front of the mirror as her mother entered the room silently.

“He has arrived. Are you almost ready?”

Elizabeth did not turn around, but nodded, “I will be downstairs in a minute.”

Her mother left with a small smile.

Elizabeth waited a few minutes before she could not put off going downstairs any longer. She turned from her pale, gaunt reflection in disgust. She had acquired large shadows under her eyes from crying on and off over the last few days. As Elizabeth swept downstairs she found Captain Greenwood and her mother in the sitting room. The Captain was sipping a cup of tea politely, but jumped to his feet when Elizabeth entered, slopping tea down his front. She pretended not to notice this, and gave him a small curtsey, looking at the floor.  As she did this, her mother exited into the kitchen in order to give them some privacy.

“Miss Searson,” Captain Greenwood put his half empty saucer on the table, and wiped hurriedly at the damp mark on his vest, “My deepest sympathies for your loss.” He crossed the room and stood before her in three short strides.

“Thank you for your kind words,” Elizabeth nodded, “and thank you, for the lilies.’

Captain Greenwood seemed to be fumbling with something in his pocket. He pulled out a small brown package tied with red string.

“I do apologise, I had no time to wrap it,” he said, handing the light package to Elizabeth.

“You have … bought me something?” she enquired in a shaky voice, feeling quite emotionally unstable.

“It is nothing.” He waved it aside, although Elizabeth could see that he was extremely nervous.

Elizabeth untied the package with shaking hands, and let the wrappings fall open to reveal a pair of petite, silk gloves that seemed to shine brightly in the light pouring in through the sitting room window. Elizabeth touched them with her fingertips. The white silk was as soft as a gentle breeze.

“They are lovely,” she said, gazing at them.

“I thought … white … to represent purity,” he explained hurriedly, “I thought you could wear them to the funeral.”

Elizabeth looked up at him. “Thank you.”

Captain Greenwood reached out a hand and took the package from Elizabeth and placed it on the mantelpiece. Ever so gently, he took one of her hands and straightened out her fingers with the ball of his palm. His skin was hot, and Elizabeth felt an absurd quiver somewhere below her abdomen. Taking one of the gloves, Captain Greenwood proceeded to slip the silky material over Elizabeth’s fingers and gently pull it towards her wrist. He took great care in fitting each finger precisely in the gloves, and allowed his hands to linger in hers, massaging them gently with his thumb. Once both gloves were on, he let go of her hands, and smiled at her.

“How do they feel?” he asked.

Elizabeth’s mouth felt dry, and she had a strange sensation occurring in the pit of her stomach. The way he had touched her hands so gently had sent shivers down her spine. 

“They are perfect.” She smiled and turned her hands this way and that to admire the gloves.

“I am glad you like them, and at the same time I am very sorry about the occasion for which they are being used.”

Elizabeth’s throat felt tight, and she swallowed hard. She did not wish to cry in front of Captain Greenwood, for she had tried so hard to maintain the image of being a strong and independent woman. However, in this position she felt extremely weak and vulnerable.

“Shall we proceed?” he asked, holding out an arm for Elizabeth to take.

“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth said, her chest tight.

Traditionally, funerals would take place within the home of the deceased , with the coffin being carried from the house to the site of the burial by horse and cart. This had been the case with Elizabeth’s father. However, as Professor de Bard had no family to organise his funeral, it was taking place in the church, and would be a public affair.

Captain Greenwood had arranged a carriage to take them to the funeral, something Elizabeth was grateful for, as she did not much feel like walking. Once they had arrived, he opened the carriage door for her, and took her hand to assist her down the step.