Devoured by D. E. Meredith Page B

if I picked her up and carried her home I could warm her by the fire. That she would yawn and stir herself.’
    Hatton nodded, and helped Roumande with the crate, thinking of the chicks he used to catch as a child. The sick ones put in a tin, wrapped in calico, and left near the hearth. A trick of his father’s, who would promise the boy that they’d be better in the morning, and sometimes they were. Other times, little eyes shut, warm still from the nearness of the fire, but their short life brutally over. His father’s hand, steady on his shoulders. ‘ They are not meant to live, son, if God has ordained it so.’
    ‘Have the men at least left us a wagon, somewhere?’ Hatton beckoned again for the brandy flask.
    Roumande stamped his feet. ‘They said she had a ghost upon her. They said they didn’t want to touch her. Off to Newgate by now most likely, or the rookeries. But don’t worry, she’ll be as light as a feather. At least the Specials had the decency to label her this time. But even so, it’s a paltry amount of information offered. We should get her back, and then perhaps you could bring this up with the Inspector. Surely, this one he can’t ignore?’
    Hatton pulled out his pocket watch. An hour, maybe two, and they would be done. Dinner by eight. He agreed with Roumande. ‘Let’s make it a quick autopsy, Albert, and I’ll speak to the Inspector tomorrow.’
     
    In the morgue, the lamps were on. It seemed, unlike the other girls who had been beaten to a pulp, that his initial impression had been right – this child had died simply by drowning. Hatton stood over her, inspecting her organs. ‘Trauma to the sinuses and the lungs, considerable debris in her throat, and substantial haemorrhaging, suggesting that she struggled, sucking in the water before she succumbed. Pinpricks on one arm but nowhere else. Her body, malnourished, which is to be expected, although oddly it appears her hair has been brushed. What do you think, Albert? Her locks should be tangled, full of debris, but there’s only a little. The river has been frozen for a month. Not solid granted, but I think by the state of her, she’s been dead a day or so. But her cadaver kept in abeyance, helped by the freezing temperatures. Would you agree?’
    Roumande nodded. ‘I agree with everything you suggest, Professor. Her locks are smooth, brushed, as if she was on her way somewhere.’
    Hatton was troubled. ‘How many does that make now, Albert? Two? Three? Four girls? It’s not the same cause of death, but it’s the same sort of age and the pricks have definitely been done by a needle of some description; they have barely scratched the skin, as if the pricks were made after she was dragged from the river. And this narrows it down to what? Maybe a seamstress or a bookbinder? The sweatshops are notorious for child labour. The binding industry, not a whole heap better. But it is a very odd sort of person who would mark a cadaver.’
    Roumande shrugged, finished up writing their notes. Hatton washed himself down and lay his hand on Roumande’s shoulder.
    ‘It’s almost ten, Albert. Are you hungry? And would Madame Roumande forgive me, if you missed supper at home tonight? Because I could do with a drink.’
    Roumande looked up at the Professor from his notes. ‘I’ll put her back in her box and leave her by the hearth. It’s foolish, I know. Sentimental, even.’
    Hatton shook his head. ‘You know we can’t do that, Albert. She’s possibly a murder victim. We can’t warm the body. We need to preserve her.’
    ‘We have the details in the report, Adolphus. Would one night of comfort really matter? I’ll not leave her near the fire. I’ll put her at the end of the passageway. It’s cold as ice there, but she’ll be near the other cadavers and have some company.’
    Hatton nodded and poured himself a glass of porter and watched Roumande scoop the little girl up and place her back in the orange box.
    ‘Did you check the box