I was not surprised that the room that most excited Sherlock was the large dissection room. Situated on the site of the old museum and the old dissection room, it was to be fitted with the latest equipment for the study of anatomy and the osteological department of that study. Students would no longer need to repair from the dissection room to the museum for the purpose of grounding their knowledge of studying bones. The plans included a large gallery which would encircle the new dissection room and on each side of it would be mounted the most perfect osteological specimens available, affixed so that they could be turned about in any direction without being handled or removed from their place. It would have its own special heating apparatus so that students could dissect during the winter months without having to wear coats or take time to visit the fireplace. A lavatory had been installed next to the dissecting room, as well as a special room for demonstrators and prosectors and two locker rooms. The anatomical theater would seat 520 men and the new medical theater had a capacity of nearly three hundred. It was modern and convenient for the students in every way. Even a covered walkway from the library to the new block was under construction.
When we arrived at the entrance to the new wing, Sherlock ushered me inside and we made our way to the shell of the gallery of the anatomical theater. He said, “The gentleman to whom I shall introduce you, Frederick Womack, is an acquaintance of mine, a brilliant young medical student. He has some fascinating ideas. Though he is only a third-year, he has received many high honours. He is experimenting with pin-pointing time of death. He believes that soon we shall be able to accurately report the time of death to the minute.”
“Temperature calculations?”
“Womack is inventing a special mercury thermometer with a flattened bulb of thin glass. He intends to attach the thermometer to the cadaver’s belly and take temperature readings that will calculate postmortem interval with extreme accuracy.”
“My goodness. That would be quite an invention.”
“One day, I’m certain that he will be a teaching fellow and perform his temperature calculations in the mortuary and in this Anatomical Theater. There he is,” Sherlock said, pointing.
Once we were within earshot of Mr. Womack, I realized that he was talking with someone I knew, Jonathan Younger, who had attended the Harrow School with my brother Michael. He had served as Michael’s best man. Jonathan and Mr. Womack were discussing St. Bart’s most recent football season and Bart’s loss to the Harlequins at Turnham Green. I heard Jonathan say, “After Bart’s first loss to the Harlequins - you remember they scored one goal and one try to nil - I thought the season was over.”
“Yes,” Womack said, “that same day they played again at Forest Gate against Upton Park and lost there as well.”
“But what a turnaround. In the second match of the Cup Ties at Clapham Rovers, they gave Guy’s the old heave-ho.”
Finally, the two men noticed us. Womack turned and said, “Ah, Sherlock, what do you think of the hospital’s football team?”
“I don’t think about it at all, Frederick. May I present Dr. Poppy Stamford? Poppy, this is Frederick Womack.”
The two men standing before me could not have been more different. Frederick was short and dark with glasses. Jonathan was an extremely attractive young man - tall and athletic with flaxen hair, violet eyes and a sunny smile.
Frederick gave me a little bow and said, “A pleasure, Miss,” but Jonathan rushed forward to give me an unexpected hug. “Poppy, how wonderful to see you.”
It occurred to me that Sherlock had not been to Michael and Effie’s wedding and he generally stayed in the lab, did not socialize and had few friends. So he likely did not know Jonathan. “Pardon me,” I said, “I believe I have overlooked an introduction. Sherlock, this is Dr. Jonathan Younger. Jonathan, Sherlock Holmes.”
“Ah, so you are the unauthorized, eccentric occupant of our lab, then,” Jonathan exclaimed. “Michael mentioned you just the other day. Some sort of detective, are you?”
“A consulting detective,” Sherlock said with a grimace.
“Poppy,” Jonathan said, “I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of seeing you since Michael and Effie’s wedding, or perhaps it was at her funer-” He stopped mid-sentence.
I had not seen him since Effie’s funeral.
“Yes, I believe it’s been well over a year, Dr. Younger. It’s wonderful to see you. You’re looking well.”
“As are you,” he said. “And call me Jonathan, for heaven’s sake.” He looked at Frederick. “I’ve known Dr. Stamford - both Dr. Stamfords - since childhood. I was her brother’s roommate at Harrow.”
“So you know each other well?” Sherlock asked.
Before I could answer, Jonathan said, “Very well. And you, Poppy, what do you think of St. Bart’s victory over its old enemy, Guy’s Hospital?”
I shrugged.
He turned back to Womack. “I must say, we showed our voice with such patriotism that we drowned out the feeble cries of Guy’s. It was a brilliant victory.” His whole body animated and contorting it into football moves and gestures, he continued. “Bart’s won the toss and kicked against the wind. Uphill, they forced to a touchdown once, and then, just before half-time, they worked the ball, inch-by-inch to the enemy’s line and Ray obtained a try. After half-time, it was Bart’s again.
