“The mob,” Selwyn said, “was worse then.”
“They would have been killed on the spot, Mr. Frankenstein. Torn limb from limb. The mob hated resurrectionists.”
“You speak of them in the past tense, sir. But surely they still pursue their trade? The market must be as thriving as ever.”
“I do not doubt it. The medical schools have grown to enormous size.”
“Do they haunt the same places?”
“The graveyards? Of course. There is a paupers’ graveyard in Whitechapel-”
“No. I mean their places of business. Where they meet their clients. Where they are paid.”
“They are paid at the back door, sir. Every hospital has one.”
“Yet they must meet.”
“They meet to drink. Drink is their life. Not one of them could do the work sober. I have seen some of them, sir, sitting in a tavern from dusk until dawn.”
“What tavern is that?”
“The most celebrated of them all, Mr. Frankenstein.” He slowly drank the full glass, and held it out for more. “It is in Smithfield. Just opposite St. Bartholomew’s. Now there is a meat market.”
9
THE SMITHFIELD TAVERN was not difficult to find. I left Jermyn Street at dusk, and the carriage set me down at Snow Hill soon afterwards; I walked up to St. Bartholomew’s just as its clock was striking seven, and on my left hand I could see a low public house with the sign of The Fortune of War. It showed the deck of a naval frigate, with an officer dying in the arms of his comrades. I could hear it, too, with the noise of song, laughter and raised voices echoing against the stone wall of the hospital. I steeled myself, making sure that my purse of guineas was well concealed beneath my shirt, and entered the premises.
The smell was very strong. I could not help but associate it with dead things, although I knew that it came from the living; the taint of dirty flesh was in the air, mixed with the odours of the privy and the smell of strong spirits. I was of course accustomed to foul odours, in my work, and I registered no discomfort at all. I made my way to the wooden counter, and ordered a glass of porter. I decided to settle, and make myself as conspicuous as possible; I had no desire to be taken as a government spy, and I did not retreat into a corner. I stayed by the counter and, by remarking loudly upon the weather, made sure that my accent was heard by those around me. But they evinced little interest, being in most cases reduced to the last stages of intoxication, and after a while I was able to look around without drawing any particular attention to my presence. There were solitary drinkers, bent over their bottles and tankards; I observed that one had urinated upon the floor, of plain deal planks, without provoking any comment. In Geneva we have chamber pots in the corners of our taverns. My notice was attracted by a company of men, sitting in one alcove; all of them were smoking from the long, thin pipes that I thought were out of use. They were silent, and contemplative, in the extreme. For a moment I conceived the notion that they were the resurrectionists I sought. I discovered later that they were the pure-finders whose trade was to collect the excrement of dogs, horses and humans from the thoroughfares of the city.
Then a rough-looking fellow came in from the street and, advancing upon the counter, asked in a loud voice for a jug of brandy and seltzer. I noticed that the innkeeper served him with a word of recognition; but the fellow paid no attention to that and, slapping a few coins onto the counter, went over to a corner. There was a window there, overlooking the paved space in front of the hospital, and he seemed to be scrutinising the gates lit by a single oil-lamp. He was watching for someone, or something, very keenly; but, from my position by the counter, I could see nothing. A few minutes later two other fellows, smelling strongly of spirits and other less delectable items, joined him by the window. Another man was standing close to me at the counter. He was staring straight ahead, with a glass of gin in his hand, when he said to me, “You do not want to fall into the hands of them dogs, living or dead.”
“I have no notion,” I replied, “of who or what they are.”
“No need to know.” He was still staring straight ahead. “Stay clear of them. Otherwise you might end up in there.” He jerked his head in the general direction of the hospital.
The innkeeper looked at him angrily. “Are you talking out of turn, Josh?”
“Only saying what we all know. This young man is a new one. He may heed a warning.”
I steadied myself by drinking down the porter and ordering another. Then I went over to the table where the three men were sitting, and placed three silver guineas in front of them. They looked at the coins, and then looked up at me.
“You are free with the bunce,” one of them said.
“One for each of you.”
“Oh?” He picked up a guinea and tried it with his teeth. “What’s your game?”
“I need something.”
“Speak to them.” He pointed towards the group of men with the old fashion of pipes. “They pick up the filth.”
“You are a foreign chicken,” another said. “Are you a Frenchy?”
“No, sir. I am from Geneva.”
“’Tis all one.”
He seemed impressed by my calling him “sir,” however, and I took advantage of the moment. “I am a student of medicine, gentlemen.” They laughed loudly-too loudly, I suspected, but no one else in the tavern so much as glanced in their direction. “May I offer you another jug?” They nodded and, when I returned from the counter, the coins had gone. The bait had been accepted.
Their names, as I discovered later, were Miller, Boothroyd and Lane. Such a trio of villains I had never before encountered. They were dissolute and depraved to the highest degree, but I trusted that they were expert in their trade. I explained to them that, as a student of anatomy, I wished for a continuous supply of new bodies. As a foreigner, I said, I was obliged to work outside the hospital schools.
“How did you find us?” Lane asked me.
“He smelled you out,” Boothroyd replied.
“I will pay you twice as much as any hospital.”
“What about smalls?”
“Forgive me?”
“Babes and young ’uns.”
“No. No children. I can use only adults. Only males. That is the nature of my work. And they must be good specimens. I want no growths. No deformities. Payment on delivery.”
“He wants them handsome so he can fuck them,” Miller said.
Boothroyd silenced him with a glance. “You are asking a lot.”
“I am paying a lot.”
“No questions asked?”
“No answers required. Bring the subjects to me, and you will have your money.” I told them how they could find me; as it happened they were used to working by boat, since they had a steady trade with the convict hulks on the estuary where they could pick up three or four items at a time. They told me that they had to drag the bodies through the river in order to cleanse them of the filth that had accrued to them in the holds of the ships. So I described in detail the location of my workshop, and of the small wharf in front of it; they knew the neighbourhood well. I promised I would be ready for them on the Friday night, giving them two nights for their work. They each spat in their hand before shaking mine, a custom that I did not wholly appreciate.
FRED WAS WAITING UP FOR ME. “There is a funny smell in the room,” he said as soon as I entered.
“Smell?”
“Of drink, and tobacco, and something else, and something else, all mixed.”
“I have been in a tavern,” I said. I took off my coat and jacket, and put them on a chair in the hallway.
“Mr. Frankenstein in a tavern. Whatever next?”
“Mr. Frankenstein in bed.”