The minutes of the Lazarus Club - By Tony Pollard Page 0,3

her at the moment, if you don’t mind, sir,’ he snapped. ‘That ship has become the bane of my life.’

His sharp response should perhaps have come as no surprise, as barely a week of 1857 had gone by without the newspapers revelling in the difficulties related to the ship’s construction, and now that she was finally ready to be launched they took pleasure in predicting that Brunel would never get her into the water. She was, after all, by far the largest ship ever built.

A change of tack was required. ‘What brings you to St Thomas’s, sir? I am not accustomed to men of such reputation as yourself sitting in on my lectures.’

Brunel’s expression warmed a little. ‘My apologies for being brusque with you, doctor. The past few months have been a very stressful time. And as for my presence here, they say you are one of the finest surgeons in London. I hope it was not improper of me to invite myself along?’

‘You flatter me, sir, but no, not at all, I am delighted you found my little performance worth your time.’

He didn’t seem to be listening, for the cadaver had once again captured his attention, and so I called for William to remove the cause of his distraction.

‘I have been around machines for far too long, doctor,’ he said with a touch of regret. ‘I have devoted my entire life to things mechanical. I thought it was time to learn something about the machine that I am. I hope to God, though, when the boilers go out they don’t break me down for scrap, not like that poor wretch.’

There was a loud crash as William slammed the trolley into the side of the door. I suspected he had been drinking spirits in the storeroom again.

‘William, be careful!’ I shouted, not wishing to cause my visitor any more upset over the treatment of the cadaver. As a matter of course I wouldn’t give two hoots. The dead are dead and that’s it. They don’t care if you put them in a hole, chop them up or feed them to a fire. At St Thomas’s, however, the corpse was never left to such a wasteful end. After they had been worked to the bone William would take what remained down into the cellar and boil them up in a vat, removing any last remnants of flesh. The bones were then taken to the articulator, who, after purchasing them for a small fee, which William was always careful to share with me, wired them back together and sold the skeletons on to students as anatomical specimens.

I went to put on my overcoat while Brunel pulled on a strap drawn tightly across his chest to reveal a leather satchel from behind his back. Unshackling a buckle, he exposed the tips of a dozen or so fresh smokes sitting side by side in what had to be the biggest cigar case I had ever seen; Brunel was clearly a man who didn’t do things by halves. He pulled one out and rolled it gently between his lips, moistening the end before biting it off and spitting it on to the floor. As he played a match over the rolled leaf it gave off thick clouds of smoke and a pungent aroma which even the sickly haze of preserving spirit could not mask. One puff was enough to improve Brunel’s humour.

‘That was the third of your lectures I have attended, doctor. I have found them fascinating, most fascinating. But one thing has been puzzling me. I have been addressing you as doctor, just as I have heard others call you, but is it not usually the case that you surgeons refer to yourselves as mister?’

‘Well spotted, sir. There has long been a fashion for surgeons to be misters rather than doctors; it goes back to our medieval origins as barbers, when razors were used to cut more than beards. But in addition to my training to be a surgeon I also earned a doctorate in philosophy for my research, so people tend to use my academic title. Anyway, my patients seem happier believing they are being treated by a doctor rather than a plain old mister.’

Brunel smiled. ‘Research, eh? Well, doctor, that brings me to my next enquiry. I was hoping that you and I could talk further on aspects of an anatomical nature.’

The prospect was an intriguing one, but this was not a good time. ‘Sir, it would be a pleasure to talk