Read Online In Lonnie's Shadow by Chrissie Michaels - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chrissie Michaels
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swung down off Trident, keeping in mind that he still had a job to do, which was to showNed the horses on offer.
SKULL
Item No. 1834
Human skull. Adult male. Identity unknown. Has undergone forensic examination.
The former draper’s shop had been a front for many a trade, including a furniture mart and a fancy goods dealer. Old Postlethwaite, recently retired from pulling teeth, had lately taken up residence, opening a phrenological shop. To passers-by the chief attraction was the skull in the front window, covertly donated by an acquaintance who worked in the back rooms of the Melbourne hospital where skeletal remains were stored for medical study. Now proudly exhibited, the skull advertised the belief that the analysis of its shape helped to understand the workings of the mental powers.
Daisy’s nose pressed flat to the window as she intently considered the centrepiece. ‘Do you think it’s human or monkey?’ she asked Lonnie. Mapped out on the head were the continents of Animal and Moral, subdivided into countries called Combativeness, Vitativeness, Benevolence and Hope. ‘What do they all mean?’
Lonnie answered with a shrug. ‘Who knows? You’re not seriously going in there and letting that quack’s old fingers play a tune on your head?’
‘I am and so are you.’
Lonnie threw her a disgruntled look. ‘Having your bumps read won’t help with nightmares.’
‘Employers in the rag trade often check out their workers’ skull shapes before they employ them,’ she sniffed, ‘so it must work or else they wouldn’t do it.’
‘Postlethwaite’s an old shyster,’ warned Lonnie.
‘We’ll be wasting our time.’
‘What harm can he do? Come on, it’s worth a try. Besides, you gave me your word.’
‘I didn’t think you were serious.’
Daisy folded her arms obstinately, a stance Lonnie had lost many a battle over. She was a headstrong girl and would never take no for an answer.
‘Okay, Daise,’ he relented. ‘But I won’t stand for any messing around. If Postlethwaite tries anything creepy, we’re out of there.’
With a loud snort of victory, Daisy grabbed his hand and pulled him through the doorway before he had a chance to reconsider.
The self-proclaimed phrenologist, Alfred Postlethwaite Esquire, as the nameplate described him, was an earnest dabbler in all the sciences. His shop counter was bursting with bits of glassware and equipment – pipettes, tubes and crucibles, basins and burners. Arranged in glass cases were tweezers, forceps, scalpels and saws. Fungal colonies and spores were putting out shoots from bowls, ripening for closer examination. A collection of organs and animal specimens floated in formalin. Like any amateur’s dream, Postlethwaite wished to make a great healing discovery without killing the human body in the process.
The sign behind the counter read: First Consultation Only 6d. No one need go untreated!
‘Count me out,’ Lonnie muttered, as Postlethwaite bundled Daisy into a chair and set about outlining a portion of her skull with his fingers.
The phrenologist stopped at several bumps and deliberated with a swift tap, chattering away as if he was dictating notes to an imaginary person. ‘We are measuring the extent of this region to indicate the little lady’s temperament.’ His fingers continued their soft-shoe journey across her skull.
Suddenly he swept up a pad of papers and placed a tick against a word here and a phrase there. ‘Such scientists as Charles Darwin,’ he instructed knowingly,
‘have been most keen to promote this science. A slight knock here will enlarge the reflective section and encourage our little lady’s Agreeableness.’
‘Daisy’s agreeable enough,’ muttered Lonnie. ‘It’s her nightmares she’s come to find out about.’
‘Ah, I see.’ His hands circumnavigated Daisy’s skull. ‘The moral sector is well defined. You have a great amount of Spirituality.’
Lonnie was growing impatient. More likely
SKULL
Item No. 1834
Human skull. Adult male. Identity unknown. Has undergone forensic examination.
The former draper’s shop had been a front for many a trade, including a furniture mart and a fancy goods dealer. Old Postlethwaite, recently retired from pulling teeth, had lately taken up residence, opening a phrenological shop. To passers-by the chief attraction was the skull in the front window, covertly donated by an acquaintance who worked in the back rooms of the Melbourne hospital where skeletal remains were stored for medical study. Now proudly exhibited, the skull advertised the belief that the analysis of its shape helped to understand the workings of the mental powers.
Daisy’s nose pressed flat to the window as she intently considered the centrepiece. ‘Do you think it’s human or monkey?’ she asked Lonnie. Mapped out on the head were the continents of Animal and Moral, subdivided into countries called Combativeness, Vitativeness, Benevolence and Hope. ‘What do they all mean?’
Lonnie answered with a shrug. ‘Who knows? You’re not seriously going in there and letting that quack’s old fingers play a tune on your head?’
‘I am and so are you.’
Lonnie threw her a disgruntled look. ‘Having your bumps read won’t help with nightmares.’
‘Employers in the rag trade often check out their workers’ skull shapes before they employ them,’ she sniffed, ‘so it must work or else they wouldn’t do it.’
‘Postlethwaite’s an old shyster,’ warned Lonnie.
‘We’ll be wasting our time.’
‘What harm can he do? Come on, it’s worth a try. Besides, you gave me your word.’
‘I didn’t think you were serious.’
Daisy folded her arms obstinately, a stance Lonnie had lost many a battle over. She was a headstrong girl and would never take no for an answer.
‘Okay, Daise,’ he relented. ‘But I won’t stand for any messing around. If Postlethwaite tries anything creepy, we’re out of there.’
With a loud snort of victory, Daisy grabbed his hand and pulled him through the doorway before he had a chance to reconsider.
The self-proclaimed phrenologist, Alfred Postlethwaite Esquire, as the nameplate described him, was an earnest dabbler in all the sciences. His shop counter was bursting with bits of glassware and equipment – pipettes, tubes and crucibles, basins and burners. Arranged in glass cases were tweezers, forceps, scalpels and saws. Fungal colonies and spores were putting out shoots from bowls, ripening for closer examination. A collection of organs and animal specimens floated in formalin. Like any amateur’s dream, Postlethwaite wished to make a great healing discovery without killing the human body in the process.
The sign behind the counter read: First Consultation Only 6d. No one need go untreated!
‘Count me out,’ Lonnie muttered, as Postlethwaite bundled Daisy into a chair and set about outlining a portion of her skull with his fingers.
The phrenologist stopped at several bumps and deliberated with a swift tap, chattering away as if he was dictating notes to an imaginary person. ‘We are measuring the extent of this region to indicate the little lady’s temperament.’ His fingers continued their soft-shoe journey across her skull.
Suddenly he swept up a pad of papers and placed a tick against a word here and a phrase there. ‘Such scientists as Charles Darwin,’ he instructed knowingly,
‘have been most keen to promote this science. A slight knock here will enlarge the reflective section and encourage our little lady’s Agreeableness.’
‘Daisy’s agreeable enough,’ muttered Lonnie. ‘It’s her nightmares she’s come to find out about.’
‘Ah, I see.’ His hands circumnavigated Daisy’s skull. ‘The moral sector is well defined. You have a great amount of Spirituality.’
Lonnie was growing impatient. More likely
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