Read Online The Dalwich Desecration by Gregory Harris - Free Book Online
Authors: Gregory Harris
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for anyone here to imagine anything untoward. And so, after a brief final consideration, I finally released my internal debate, turned down the gas lamp, removed the last of my clothing, and crawled into bed beside him.
CHAPTER 5
T he cloying scent struck me with a familiarity that I could not at first place.
Colin and I were standing just inside the Whitmore Abbey infirmary, a compact building set a short distance behind the main monastery at the edge of the wheat and barley fields that stretched out beyond it. The infirmary was painted the same dusky white as the main structure and also had a roof of thick, deep, yellow thatch that sagged in spots and appeared thinner in others than would truly seem needed to effectively banish the outdoors from within. Only the monasteryâs small chapel had an actual tile roof, clearly defining that which the monks, indeed the church itself, believed most valuable.
Our morning had progressed exactly as Colin had said it would. We dressed, I disheveled the bed in the other room, breakfast was dispensed with all due haste, and we managed to complete the trek to Whitmore Abbey in a brisk twenty minutes. The last feat was as much the result of Colinâs relentless pace as the mostly flat terrain. All of it, I understood without Colinâs having to say it, had been undertaken to ensure we got as much accomplished as possible before the local constable showed up.
Carbolic acid, I suddenly realized. The sweet, tarry smell underpinning the small infirmary was the disinfectant carbolic acid, though there was also a twinge of alcohol beneath it. But what took another moment for my nose to discern was a sort of tainted sting that seemed to hover just along the periphery with a familiarity I could not yet name.
Three empty beds were lined up along the wall to our right, all made as crisp and concise as if by a military troop. A tall side table stood beside each of the beds atop which sat a single oil lamp and a white ceramic pitcher and bowl. Once again I found it curious that while the decision had been made to sequester this building, they still had not bothered to equip it with gas. I wondered if they would ever adopt the new electricity.
â Hello . . .â Colin called out. There were several doors on the wall to our left and opposite us, making it seem that Brother Silsbury could be anywhere.
Before either of us moved farther into the main room the door on our immediate left swung wide to reveal Brother Silsburyâs towering form as he stepped out of a small office. âGentlemen . . .â He gave a polite bob of his head as he pulled the door shut behind himself. âI will be glad to have this regrettable task swiftly concluded. I am ill equipped to store human remains, which has left our beloved abbot unsuitably treated.â He quickly crossed himself.
âI understand,â Colin answered in a rather perfunctory way, and I suspected it was because these monks seemed more concerned about the protocol of the situation than in ascertaining who had left the poor man thus.
âVery well,â Brother Silsbury responded in a tone that did not hide his distaste for what we were there to do. With a stifled sigh he turned and headed for one of the doors along the back wall. âI have had hundreds of pounds of ice brought in to try and containââ He waved a hand beneath his nose but did not finish his sentence.
As he did so I finally recognized the cause of the sticky tang permeating the air. Walking through this infirmary was no different than being in Denton Rossâs deplorable morgue. I was surprised that I had not identified the cloying scent at once, but as we neared the specific door, the growing stench of putrefaction mixing with the prick of alcohol and carbolic acid, I felt my stomach starting to roll.
âI appreciate the sacrifice you and the other brothers have made,â Colin allowed. âThere is an extraordinary amount to
CHAPTER 5
T he cloying scent struck me with a familiarity that I could not at first place.
Colin and I were standing just inside the Whitmore Abbey infirmary, a compact building set a short distance behind the main monastery at the edge of the wheat and barley fields that stretched out beyond it. The infirmary was painted the same dusky white as the main structure and also had a roof of thick, deep, yellow thatch that sagged in spots and appeared thinner in others than would truly seem needed to effectively banish the outdoors from within. Only the monasteryâs small chapel had an actual tile roof, clearly defining that which the monks, indeed the church itself, believed most valuable.
Our morning had progressed exactly as Colin had said it would. We dressed, I disheveled the bed in the other room, breakfast was dispensed with all due haste, and we managed to complete the trek to Whitmore Abbey in a brisk twenty minutes. The last feat was as much the result of Colinâs relentless pace as the mostly flat terrain. All of it, I understood without Colinâs having to say it, had been undertaken to ensure we got as much accomplished as possible before the local constable showed up.
Carbolic acid, I suddenly realized. The sweet, tarry smell underpinning the small infirmary was the disinfectant carbolic acid, though there was also a twinge of alcohol beneath it. But what took another moment for my nose to discern was a sort of tainted sting that seemed to hover just along the periphery with a familiarity I could not yet name.
Three empty beds were lined up along the wall to our right, all made as crisp and concise as if by a military troop. A tall side table stood beside each of the beds atop which sat a single oil lamp and a white ceramic pitcher and bowl. Once again I found it curious that while the decision had been made to sequester this building, they still had not bothered to equip it with gas. I wondered if they would ever adopt the new electricity.
â Hello . . .â Colin called out. There were several doors on the wall to our left and opposite us, making it seem that Brother Silsbury could be anywhere.
Before either of us moved farther into the main room the door on our immediate left swung wide to reveal Brother Silsburyâs towering form as he stepped out of a small office. âGentlemen . . .â He gave a polite bob of his head as he pulled the door shut behind himself. âI will be glad to have this regrettable task swiftly concluded. I am ill equipped to store human remains, which has left our beloved abbot unsuitably treated.â He quickly crossed himself.
âI understand,â Colin answered in a rather perfunctory way, and I suspected it was because these monks seemed more concerned about the protocol of the situation than in ascertaining who had left the poor man thus.
âVery well,â Brother Silsbury responded in a tone that did not hide his distaste for what we were there to do. With a stifled sigh he turned and headed for one of the doors along the back wall. âI have had hundreds of pounds of ice brought in to try and containââ He waved a hand beneath his nose but did not finish his sentence.
As he did so I finally recognized the cause of the sticky tang permeating the air. Walking through this infirmary was no different than being in Denton Rossâs deplorable morgue. I was surprised that I had not identified the cloying scent at once, but as we neared the specific door, the growing stench of putrefaction mixing with the prick of alcohol and carbolic acid, I felt my stomach starting to roll.
âI appreciate the sacrifice you and the other brothers have made,â Colin allowed. âThere is an extraordinary amount to
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