Beloved Poison Read Online Free

sir,’ said Will. ‘The demolition men will do that. I’m merely here to take some preliminary measurements of the body, so to speak.’
    Dr Magorian’s face grew stony. ‘And will you be plundering her, too?’ he said. ‘Stripping her corpse of anything useful or valuable?’
    ‘No, sir.’ Will coloured. ‘I’m here to empty the graveyard. But I hope for work more worthy of my skills and knowledge when the time comes.’
    ‘Do you?’ said Dr Magorian. ‘Well, I shall put in a good word for you. Your master, Mr Prentice, was a patient of mine. Lithotomy. 1838. His gratitude was extraordinary.’ The doctor’s laugh was spiteful and joyless. ‘I’m sure yours will be too. I will do what I can to ensure you are
correctly
employed in future. But if you wish to see St Saviour’s, what better place than the operating theatre? I shall expect you there at two o’clock, sharp.’
    Dr Magorian’s voice was loud and arrogant, and a small crowd had gathered as he talked. On the edge of the group I saw the great bulk of Mrs Speedicut, a pair of underlings by her side, all three of them grinning like gargoyles. Dr Graves too had emerged from the shadows, his habitual crouching gait giving him the air of a burglar creeping along a garden wall.
    ‘Ah, there you are, Graves,’ said Dr Magorian. ‘This is Mr Quartermain. He is coming to see me perform this afternoon.’
    ‘Is he?’ Dr Graves smiled. ‘Good.’
    I looked at Will. His face had turned a sickly greenish colour at the very mention of the word ‘amputation’.
    ‘My principal dresser is absent this afternoon and Dr Graves has been kind enough to take his place,’ continued Dr Magorian.
    ‘I consider it an honour,’ said Dr Graves, as unctuous as ever. His grin grew wider. A brown snuff-laden droplet hung from his left nostril. On more than one occasion I had seen such a droplet plop directly into a patient’s open wound.
    ‘Don’t worry, sir,’ cried Mrs Speedicut, noticing Will’s luminous pallor. She exposed her long peg-like teeth, one of which was missing, giving her a hungry, piratical air. ‘At least it’s not you what’s having your leg amputated.’
    ‘Not today, at any rate, eh, Mr Quartermain?’ Dr Magorian and Dr Graves laughed. Mrs Speedicut and her harpies nudged each other and cackled.
    Should I have stopped their game? Was it wrong of me to allow them to sport with him? After all, not moments before I had decided that I liked the man. And yet I did nothing to save him from his fate. Perhaps I was annoyed that he spoke about the rape and demolition of St Saviour’s so glibly. I was not usually so irrational – it was only a building, after all. But it was too late now.
    Behind us, the students were gathering outside the doors to the men’s foul ward. Dr Bain appeared amongst them. He said a few words, and smiled, and there was a gale of laughter.
    In the passage that led up to the Magdalene ward something caught my eye. There was a movement in the shadows and I saw the flicker of a pale face staring out of the gloom. Mrs Catchpole. She was watching Dr Bain with wide, anxious eyes, her face white as the dial of a clock. She wanted to speak to him, that much was clear, but she was held back by the presence of so many others, so many men.
    Dr Bain came over to us, his students trailing in his wake. St Saviour’s was a grey world – grey blankets on the beds, grey blinds at the windows, grey food on the plates, the patients’ faces grey with pain and sickness. Into this gloomy monochrome strode Dr Bain in his midnight-blue frock coat and azure watered-silk waistcoat. He was half a head taller than anyone else, with broad shoulders and thick dark hair. His eyes gleamed with mirth, and his whole frame seemed to radiate energy. The students loved him. ‘Sir,’ he said, addressing Dr Magorian. ‘I believe you’re operating today? If I might trespass upon your good nature, I have something I would like to try—’
    ‘
I
am