This fictional exploration of the Burke and Hare murders explores the wives of the infamous pair, and their hand in their crimes. This extract shows Lucky first voicing the idea of selling cadavers.

Mrs Burke & Mrs Hare
By Michelle Sloan
Published by Polygon

They walk into the house, straight into the kitchen. There is no fire burning in the grate as there is nothing to burn, but there is a lamp flickering on the wall, and as daylight is now fading, Lucky lights a candle and places it on the table. She goes to a corner of the room, listens to make sure there’s no one else around, and lifts a loose floorboard. Reaching in, she retrieves a bottle. She pulls out the stopper and fills two chipped cups which are sitting on a shelf. She takes a swig, tops it up again and passes Burke the other cup.

‘To your dearly departed, may God rest his soul,’ says Burke, raising his glass.

‘He was a treacherous bastard,’ says Lucky. ‘Hell mend him.’ She knocks back her whisky and refills her cup. She picks up her tobacco tin and sits opposite Burke. She begins filling her pipe but looks up from time to time to see Burke watching her. He has a slight smile on his lips. Then he looks away, shyly almost, and swills the contents of his cup.

‘Where’s Helen?’ asks Lucky.

‘Out hawking,’ says Burke. ‘We lost everything we had in the fire. Apart from my tools which I managed to grab. But everything else, what little we had, is gone. Burnt to cinders like the rest of that tenement.’

‘You can stay in that room I told you about. Perhaps it’s providence.’

‘What? That we nearly died?’ Burke smiles incredulously.

Lucky takes a sip of her whisky and savours the fiery burn. A long silence passes between them. ‘Somehow, I don’t think your sort-of-wife will want to stay here,’ she says.

‘Well, unless she wants to sleep on the streets with the beggars, we have no choice.’

‘What do you think to making eight pounds?’ says Lucky suddenly, watching for his reaction.

Burke frowns. She raises her eyebrows. He laughs. He is handsome when he smiles, she thinks. The slight indent of a dimple appears beneath the soot and stubble on his cheek, and there is a hint of devilry in those blue eyes.

‘What about it? That’s a tidy sum,’ he says.

‘That medical school is paying up to eight pounds for dead bodies,’ her voice is quiet, steady. ‘I heard the gravediggers talking about it. They say that’s where the bodysnatchers take their booty.’

Burke sits back and rubs his brow. ‘That’s a dark way to earn your keep, Lucky. And that amount of money sounds like a tall tale to me.’

Lucky leans forward. ‘It’s true, William. Eight pounds. Think of that. How long would it take for the likes of you and me to earn that kind of money? You, hacking at frozen earth with a pick for three months. Three months of hard labour? Me, taking in all the waifs and strays, cleaning out their muck like it’s a cow shed. Or one body delivered to those men. Eight pounds. Why shouldn’t we get our hands on it?’

Burke shifts in his seat. ‘Do you really want to go digging up graves? That’s dreadful low work, so it is.

Heaving the dead from their resting place in the middle of night?’

Lucky rolls her eyes. ‘What? Don’t tell me you’re scared of ghosties and ghouls?’

Burke shakes his head. ‘It’s not that,’ he says. ‘Not that at all. They’re at rest.’

‘I don’t care about their “resting” place,’ she scoffs. Her eyes bulge. ‘They’re dead! And I’ll tell you, William, it’s the living you should be worried about. Not the dead. What do they need their bodies for? They’re just empty vessels – flesh and bones. They’re only going to rot away, become worm food.’

Burke sighs. ‘These words, Lucky, should not be spoken.’

Lucky sits back in her seat and puffs on her pipe. ‘Shocked you, have I?’

‘What about their immortal souls?’ he says quietly, rubbing his rough beard.

‘What about them?’ snaps Lucky. ‘Do you think they’re attached? The soul and the body? If there even is a soul, it’s long gone. Upwards or more likely downwards.’

‘Have you been visited by the Devil? Did he come whispering to you in that graveyard? You’ve just buried your husband and you’re talking like this?’

‘I see your fear,’ says Lucky. ‘It’s written all over your face. But, no matter, I’ll get Hare and someone else.’

She waves her hand dismissively.

‘If you rip these bodies from the place that’s been blessed as their final place of peace, where families have watched them being lowered into the ground,’ he falters, ‘you are disturbing the dead, interrupting the natural order. Not only is it wrong, Lucky, it’s an abomination. I’ll not have anything to do with this business – eight pounds or not.’ He stands as though he’s about to leave. ‘But I will take that room. Mending shoes will be my business, Lucky, not robbing graves.’

Lucky tuts. ‘I thought there was more to you. You disappoint me.’

Burke is about to reply when Hare wanders into the room. He acknowledges Burke with a nod. ‘And what might you two be talking about?’ he asks, placing his hands on Lucky’s shoulders.

Burke stares at them. And then his face cracks into a knowing smile. ‘Ah, I see. You two are together now!

Before the bed’s even cold, Lucky?’ He laughs. ‘Needs must, I suppose.’

‘It’s all above board, Burke,’ says Hare smoothly. ‘Margaret’s going to be my wife. When the time is right.’

‘We’ll run this place together,’ says Lucky, placing a hand over Hare’s. ‘Burke and his lady companion are going to move into the back room . . . to mend shoes,’ she adds, with a curl of her lip.

Hare nods and then goes to the shelf to take a cup for himself and fills it from the bottle. ‘Take a drink with us,’ he says. He refills Lucky’s cup and then Burke’s.

‘Old Donald is dead,’ Hare says. ‘His heart must’ve given up in the night. He was as lifeless as a stone this morning. The joiner came when you were out, so he’s in his box in the cellar until they come for him in a day or two. The old wretch died owing us four pounds. Died before he claimed his pension.’

‘And?’ asks Burke.

Hare looks up, wicked mischief on his face. He raises his eyebrows and looks between Lucky and Burke.

‘Providence indeed,’ says Lucky, her eyes glittering. ‘I know exactly what we can do with him.’ She leans back in her chair and stares directly at Burke. ‘What about snatching a body before it’s been buried, eh? How does that sit with your precious morals?’

Mrs Burke and Mrs Hare by Michelle Sloan is published by Polygon, priced £9.99.