London, 1816
He loved the dead. Children mustn"t play with dead things but he did. He always had. When he was small they were like toys to him, but when he was older they were no longer toys.
It began with a bird; just a pretty little robin that he used to feed. When it lay stiff and dead, he wept.
His older brother buried it and put a flower on top of the grave. “Now you may remember it always,” he said.
But young James didn"t wish to be parted from his little friend.
I will dig it up and keep it.
He had seen things rot. In fact, he found it fascinating and had often inspected rats that were burst open by maggots. His father was horrified and ordered him beaten. The servants thought the child a little mad, as mad as his mother, they whispered.
The truth was they didn"t like the mot
