The Fall (23 page)

— day 81 —
 

A
day of great changes. Goff and a few footmen had moved our laboratory from the medical school to the warehouse at Langley Place Basin. Twenty-four mules had been delivered, together with a large load of hay and grains. Last night I had finally convinced James that dumping diseased mules into the river would pose great danger of transmitting glanders and anthrax throughout London. Instead, we would ship the carcasses out onto the sea and sink them. By now, my father should be safe at his friend’s home. I remained. Not as a captive, but as a spy and a cheat.
 

Treatment of a horse suffering from glanders, 1751. (14)

Never in my life had I tried to make a man trust me, let alone fall for me, only to use him and cause him harm. Although I knew all this was necessary, I was disgusted with myself. Whether this disgust came solely from the game I played with him or from the tender feelings I had begun to develop was not always clear to me. How ridiculous! Had I not concluded that I must generate feelings for him? That I must make him believe my actions were genuine? Why did I feel sorry for the beast now? So as not to give the impression I was cold and calculating? But wasn’t that the highest art of lying; to first make myself believe in the lie before trying to convince anyone else? Would I soon make myself suffer deliberately, only to cleanse myself of guilt?

My short notes to Holmes contained my daily observations and conclusions. Although I never gave clues as to my emotional state, every time I flushed the vials down the drain I was afraid he would notice that I was about to lose my mind.

With a heavy sigh, I walked into each pen and inspected the mules for open wounds or sores, running my hands along their warm bodies. They answered by pressing their noses into my back, face, or side. The animals looked better than I had expected. Their eyes were shiny, ribs not visible, coats smooth. Their imminent fate pained me, and I hoped yet again that Holmes could speed up his investigation and James would finally give me the information Holmes needed, so I wouldn’t have to kill these mules. ‘I may have to,’ I told them quietly.

‘Excuse me?’ asked Goff, who was waiting at the stable’s entrance.

‘I might have to use two or three batches of mules until we know enough about the spreading and effectiveness of our germs.’

‘Everything is ready. We should feed them the bacteria today.’

‘We could. But I want to be certain of their health. They’ll be under quarantine and observation for five days,’ I said and saw Goff’s disappointment. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Goff. There will be plenty of carcasses for you to sink.’

I went outside for a smoke and to think about what could possibly be done. Soon we would have several highly infectious animals in that warehouse. Every day, we got one step closer to two gruesome bacterial weapons. I had to find a way to sabotage my work. It had already become too risky. I needed to talk to Holmes.

James and I had taken up our usual places for discussing our work — the armchairs facing the fireplace in his study.

‘I’d like to develop a vaccine against anthrax,’ I said.

‘That would slow the development of weaponry, would it not?’ He took a glass of brandy from Durham’s offering hand, then flicked his index finger at me — a signal for his servant to offer me one as well.
 

‘That could well be,’ I said. ‘But I think it will be necessary. A vaccine is like the hammer of a gun. If you had a revolver that will dislodge a bullet every time you touch the trigger, wouldn’t you want to make it safer?’ Durham handed me my glass and retreated to his usual position outside the door.

‘Certainly. On the other hand — war has never been safe.’

‘Do you think we are the only country developing weapons for germ warfare?’

He smiled a thin line. ‘I cannot tell who would be developing any such thing at the moment. But I’m certain that the Germans are considering it. Possibly the French, too.’

‘Koch and Pasteur are working with deadly germs, and using disease in war is not new. Someone else will be thinking of it or already has.’

‘Not many have as progressive a mind as I do.’ He looked at me and smirked. ‘Or you.’

I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘Thank you,’ I said and held my hand out to him. He took it. ‘You have connections to politicians and the military. Don’t you think it would be of advantage to know what other countries are planning?’

As I spoke, he squeezed my hand hard and pulled me towards him, grabbed my hips and forced me onto my knees. With one hand cradling my chin, he bent forward, about to kiss me.

Irritated, I shook him off and took two steps back. ‘If you do not wish to talk about it, then I beg you to simply tell me and spare me this charade.’

His colour drained. He ran his hand over his face as though to wipe the anger away. ‘My apologies. I had other business occupying my mind and talking about vaccines tired me. I will have to leave for Brussels tomorrow early in the morning and will be gone for a week. Would you care to share my bed with me tonight?’

‘Perhaps,’ I answered, wondering how I could probe this man’s mind and find out what he was planning to do in Brussels. He had been evasive with me the entire evening. I would have to be very careful.

Abruptly, he rose and stepped up to me. He was so used to women spreading their legs for him and his drugs that a little resistance now and then must feel like sabotage.

‘Perhaps?’ he asked, his expression unreadable. He wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me close. His lips touched my ear as he softly said, ‘May I try to convince you?’

‘Perhaps,’ I repeated, and let myself be led upstairs.
 

Later that night, with candles pouring light over us and the bed, I noticed how strong my inner prison had grown. Its invisible walls held my fading personality. My will seemed to waver ever so lightly, my strength to slowly disappear. I knew this was his aim. Perhaps not consciously; who knew where such things as habit were born?

My gaze swept over his thin body, his chest still heaving, his heat and sweat slowly dissipating. I wondered which part of me would die when I killed him.

— day 82 —
 

T
he message I sent out last night had been short. “We need to talk”, was all there was.

Garrow dropped me off at the warehouse early in the morning. Goff was already waiting. The man observed me while I examined the mules again. They still looked healthy. I wondered whether I could infect them with something harmless, so that I would have to cure them before we could test glanders germs on them. But what then? After a two or three week delay, I would have to come up with yet another way of sabotaging. I couldn’t afford a pattern. I needed something major. My gaze flickered towards Goff. Wouldn’t it be handy, if my personal parasite disappeared?

No sign of Holmes for the remainder of the morning. Around noon, Goff and I took a hansom to a public house and had lunch. Just after Goff had paid for us, a familiar-looking woman pushed past, heading to the lavatories. A minute later, I excused myself and followed.

‘Refreshing,’ I commented on the privy, filled with excrement and covered in a buzzing sheet of flies. The room was small, Holmes hardly fit in with his voluminous dress.

‘You look dreadful,’ he said.

‘Why thank you! Holmes, I need to sabotage my own work and I’m not certain how to do it without drawing suspicion. It needs to create enough of a delay, so I don’t have to produce an obvious pattern of sabotage. A delay of one month or even two would be perfect, but I fear I would have to burn down the warehouse to win that much time. But I can’t, because Goff sticks to me like a fly to shit. If possible, I would very much like to get rid of him.’

‘The warehouse is guarded by ragamuffins and four gun-toting men,’ he said, and I nodded.

Eyes narrowed, he stared at me. ‘Any valuables other than the mules in your warehouse?’

‘Grain alcohol, glassware, workbenches.’

‘Wonderful!’

‘But Holmes, do not open the petri dishes! You may move them about, but under no circumstances are you to open them.’

He inclined his head, his mind already working away on the details of his plan.

‘Could I throw them on the floor?’ he asked.

I frowned. ‘You could, but keep at least six feet distance and after they are opened, you must leave at once. Oh, and wash—’

He waved my concerns away. ‘I handle concentrated acids quite regularly and, as you can very well see, my hands and eyes are still intact. I will certainly disinfect myself after having touched anything in your laboratory.’

‘Good,’ I said, a little relieved. ‘Thank you.’

He nodded and pointed his chin towards the door.

‘Goff?’ I whispered.

‘I believe so.’

My heart stumbled. I couldn’t squeeze out the door without Goff spotting Holmes in the lavatory. Holmes and I gazed at each other, simultaneously raising our index finger to silence the other.

After a long moment, we heard a rap, and a ‘Dr Kronberg, are you alright?’

‘No, Mr Goff. I am not alright. This privy is disgusting and my stomach has decided to rid itself of the oysters I just had. If you’d be so kind as to order a strong beer and another serving of oysters and bread for me, so I may eat it far away from this place.’

He coughed, then answered, ‘Yes, er…I certainly will.’ Footfall faded towards the bar.

‘Impressively strong stomach,’ said Holmes.

I grinned, pinched his arm, and made to leave the lavatory.

‘I might need a few days,’ he said quietly.

I nodded at the door handle and left.