Of Lakes, Mysteries and the Odd Lunatic

Chapter XIV: In Which a ledger spills its secrets

Chapter XIV

In Which a ledger spills its secrets

Lawrence placed the book upon his reading board in his office and opened it to the first page. The paper was yellowed but strong, and had an old musk about it that only books have.

This is the Ledger and Journal of

Thomas Harvey Oakland, born 1772

The second page delved right into the matter with the first entry in Thomas’ journal.

March 12, 1806

Today I begin my journal. In this volume I will record my personal life, medical findings and other items of interest. It is warm and sunny, and I rose early this morning to take a walk in the gardens, admiring the newly bloomed Scilla flowers and the dew caught upon the leaves of the hedges and plants.

Nothing fascinating occurred during the day, although Marie (my wife) and I did eat a fabulous lunch prepared by the chef.

Lawrence skipped ahead a sheaf full of pages, seeing if there was anything interesting.

December 14, 1806

Dissected a mouse today. How interesting the workings of the mammalian body! I cannot wonder how complex each organ is, and it is truly a miracle from God’s hands.

December 15, 1806

Preparations are being made for Christmas festivities, with extra flour and sugar being bought in advance before the store runs out. Decorations are also being hung across the walls and from the ceiling, and our Christmas tree and door wreath will arrive presently, or so the servants tell me.

I have further dissected the mouse, although I did not find much to add to what I already know. It is also beginning to smell.

Lawrence skipped ahead another wad of pages, and landed upon a full-page anatomical drawing of a bird done in black ink. It’s wings were splayed out, and drawn in layers from skeleton, through to the top flayer of feathers. Parts were labelled here and there, but, interestingly, the circulatory, respiratory and nervous systems were the most labelled.

February 3, 1808

Marie has been taken down with a fever, she is currently in bedrest. Her maidservant visits her hourly with a damp cloth for her face and fresh water. I hope she is cured soon.

February 4, 1808

Marie’s fever still has not broken. I am beginning to worry now, death through fever is quite common.

February 5, 1808

Marie is getting worse. She is as hot as a boiler and speaks only in mumbled, incomprehensible bursts. The doctor visited, but he said he can do nothing more than what we are doing now.

February 6, 1808

I cannot write today, my tears will mar the page.

February 9, 1808

I have spent the last three days in a stupor of grief. I cannot move, I am lethargic. My butler fears for my health. I do not know if I will ever be released from this tormentuous cycle. This entry is all I have done today. I will go back to rest.

February 11, 1808

I suppose I should write as to why I am so distraught. There is no roundabout way of saying it, what it is is what it is.

My wife, Marie, is dead from fever.

February 14, 1808

I believe I am recovering somewhat, if it is possible to recover from the death of one so dearly loved.

February 16, 1808

I have been thinking. What if I were to try my experiments upon Marie? I have not yet been successful, but it is my only hope of her returning to me.

February 17, 1808

I have decided to go ahead with the experiment for practical reasons, and Marie’s body is beginning to decompose. I have her in the chair now, and the Machine is ready. It will take most of the night.

Lawrence looked out the window, chilled to the bone. So that was what the laboratory was for, that was why the chair was there. Thomas Oakland had tried to bring his wife back from the dead. He shared Thomas’s pain, as he had lost a loved one once, and had found himself in the same situation.

Lawrence decided he wanted to actually sleep that night, so he marked his place and closed the journal.

He did, however, leave the light on.