The Bone Garden

by Tess Gerritsen

  “Billy, I need to ask you something.”

  But he paid no attention to her; his gaze was fixed on the fire’s glow. She touched his arm and felt him trembling.

  “It’s over on the wharves,” she said. “It can’t come this far.”

  “Yes it can. I saw a fire jump onto my da, all the way from the roof. If I’d had a bucket, I could’ve saved him. If only I’d had a bucket.”

  “Your father?”

  “Burned him black, Miss Rose, like cooked meat. When you light a candle, you should always keep a bucket.”

  In the east, the glow brightened and a flame leaped up, clawing the sky like an orange pitchfork. The boy backed away from the window as though ready to flee.

  “Billy, I need you to remember something. This is important.”

  He kept his gaze on the window, as though afraid to turn his back on the enemy.

  “The night Meggie was born, a horse and phaeton came to the hospital to take her away. Nurse Poole said it was someone from the infant asylum, but she was lying. I think she sent word to Meggie’s father. Meggie’s real father.”

  He still wasn’t paying attention.

  “Billy, I saw your dog at the hospital that night, so I know you were there, too. You must have seen the phaeton in the courtyard.” She grasped his arm. “Who came to get the baby?”

  At last he looked at her, and by the glow through the window she saw his bewildered face. “I don’t know. It was Nurse Poole wrote the note.”

  “What note?”

  “The one she told me to give him.”

  “She told you to deliver a note?”

  “Told me there’d be half a dollar if I was quick about it.”

  She stared at the lad—a lad who could not read. What better messenger than Dim Billy, who’d happily run any errand for a few coins and a pat on the back?

  “Where did she send you with the note?” Rose asked.

  His gaze was back on the flames. “It’s growing. It’s coming this way.”

  “Billy.” She shook him hard. “Show me where you took the note.”

  He nodded, retreating from the window. “It’s away from the fire. We’ll be safer there.”

  He led the way down the steps and out of the barn. The dog followed them, tail wagging, as they headed up the north slope of Beacon Hill. Every so often, Billy stopped to look east, to see if the flames were following them.

  “Are you sure you remember the house?” she asked.

  “’Course I remember it. Nurse Poole said there’d be a half dollar in it for me, but there wasn’t. Came all this way, and the gentleman wasn’t even at home. But I wanted my half dollar, so I gave the note to the maid. And she shut the door in my face, just like that. Stupid girl! I never got my half dollar. I went back to Nurse Poole, and she didn’t give me no half dollar either.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “This way. You know.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  They came down the hill onto Beacon Street. Again, he glanced east. The sky was an ugly orange, and smoke was blowing toward them, carrying the smell of catastrophe in the air. “Hurry,” he said. “Fire can’t cross the river.” He began to trot up Beacon Street, moving steadily toward the Mill Dam.

  “Billy, show me where you delivered the note. Take me right to the door!”

  “Here it is.” He pushed through a gate and stepped into a yard. The dog trotted in after him.

  She halted on the street and stared up in shock at Dr. Grenville’s house.

  “I took it to the back door,” he said. He headed around the corner of the house and vanished into shadows. “Here’s where I brought it, Miss Rose!”

  She remained frozen in place. So this was the secret Aurnia told in the birthing room that night.

  She heard the dog growl.

  “Billy?” she said. She followed him into the side yard. The shadows were so thick, she could not see him. For a moment she hesitated, her heart thudding as she peered into the darkness. She took a few steps forward then halted as the dog came creeping toward her, growling, the ruff of his neck standing up.

  What was wrong with him? Why was he afraid of her?

  She stopped dead in her tracks as a chill screamed up her spine. The dog was not growling at her, but at something behind her.

  “Billy?” she said, and turned.

  “I want no more blood spilled. And see that you keep my carriage clean. There’s already a mess here, and I’ll have to mop up this path before daylight.”

  “I’m not doing this alone. You want it done, ma’am, you’ll take an equal part in it.”

  Through the hammering pain in her head, Rose heard their muffled voices, but she could not see them, could not see anything. She opened her eyes and confronted a darkness as black as the grave. Something pressed down upon her, so heavy that she could not move, could barely draw in a breath. The two voices continued arguing, near enough for her to hear every agitated whisper.

  “What if I’m stopped on the road?” the man said. “What if someone spots me with this carriage? I have no reason to be driving it. But if you’re with me—”

  “I’ve paid you quite enough to take care of this.”

  “Not enough for me to risk the gallows.” The man paused at the growl of Billy’s dog. “Bloody mutt,” he said, and the dog’s yelp of pain faded to retreating whimpers.

  Rose fought to take in a breath, and she inhaled the scent of dirty wool and an unwashed body, alarmingly familiar smells. She worked one arm free and groped at what was lying on top of her. She touched buttons and woolen fabric. Her hands moved past a frayed collar and suddenly touched skin. She felt a jaw, slack and lifeless, a chin with the first pitiful bristles of an immature beard. And then something slimy, something that coated her fingers with the rich smell of rust.

  Billy.

  She pinched his cheek, but he didn’t move. Only then did she realize he was not breathing.

  “…either you come with me, or I won’t do it. I won’t risk my neck for this.”

  “You forget, Mr. Burke, what I know about you.”

  “Then I’d say we’re even. After tonight.”

  “How dare you.” The woman’s voice had risen, and Rose suddenly recognized it. Eliza Lackaway.

  There was a long pause. Then Burke gave a dismissive laugh. “Go on, go ahead and shoot me. I don’t think you’d dare. Then you’ll have three bodies to dispose of.” He gave a snort and his footsteps moved away.

  “All right,” said Eliza. “I’ll come with you.”

  Burke gave a grunt. “Climb in back with ’em. Anyone stops us, I’ll let you talk us out of it.”

  Rose heard the carriage door open and felt the vehicle sag with the new weight. Eliza pulled the door shut. “Go, Mr. Burke.”

  But the carriage did not move. Burke said, softly: “We have a problem, Mrs. Lackaway. A witness.”

  “What?” Eliza suddenly took in a startled breath. “Charles,” she whispered, and scrambled out of the carriage. “You shouldn’t be out of bed! Go back into the house at once.”

  “Why are you doing this, Mother?” asked Charles.

  “There’s a fire on the docks, darling. We’re bringing the carriage around, in case they need to transport the injured.”

  “That’s not true. I saw you, Mother, from my window. I saw what you put in the carriage.”

  “Charles, you don’t understand.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They’re not important.”

  “Then why did you kill them?”

  There was a long silence.

  Burke said, “He’s a witness.”

  “He’s my son!” Eliza took a deep breath, and when she spoke again she sounded calmer and in control. “Charles, I’m doing this for you. For your future.”

  “What does killing two people have to do with my future?”

  “I will not tolerate another one of his bastards turning up! I cleaned u
p my brother’s mess ten years ago, and now I’ll do it again.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s your inheritance I’m protecting, Charles. It came from my father, and it belongs to you. I won’t see one penny of it go to the brat of a chambermaid!”

  There was a long silence. Then a stunned-sounding Charles said, “The baby is Uncle’s?”

  “That shocks you?” She laughed. “A saint my brother is not, yet every accolade goes to him. I was just the daughter, to be married off. You are my accomplishment, darling. I won’t see your future destroyed.” Eliza climbed back into the carriage. “Now go back to bed.”

  “And the child? You would kill a baby?”

  “Only the girl knew where it was hidden. The secret died with her.” Eliza pulled the carriage door shut. “Now let me finish this. Let’s go, Mr. Burke.”

  “Which way?” asked Burke.

  “Away from the fire. There’ll be too many people there. Go west. It’ll be quietest on Prison Point Bridge.”

  “Mother,” said Charles, his voice breaking in despair. “If you do this, it’s not in my name. None of this is in my name!”

  “But you’ll accept it. And one day, you will appreciate it.”

  The carriage rolled away. Trapped beneath Billy’s body, Rose lay perfectly still, knowing that if she moved, if Eliza discovered she was still alive, it would take only a blow on the head to finish the job. Let them think she was dead. It might be her only hope of escape.

  Through the rattle of the carriage wheels, she heard the voices of people on the street, the clatter of another vehicle racing past. The fire was pulling crowds east, toward the burning wharves. No one would notice this lone carriage moving leisurely west. She heard a dog’s insistent barking—Billy’s dog, running after his dead master.

  She’d told him to go west. Toward the river.

  Rose thought of a body she’d once seen fished out of the harbor. It had been in the summertime, and when the body had bobbed to the surface, a fisherman dragged it out and brought it back to the pier. Rose had joined the crowd that gathered to stare at the corpse, and what she’d seen that day bore little resemblance to anything human. Fish and crabs had nibbled away at the flesh, turning eyes to empty sockets, and the belly had bloated, the skin stretched taut as a drum.

  That’s what happens to a drowned body.

  With every rumble of the carriage wheels, Rose was being carried closer to the bridge, closer to the final plummet. Now she heard the horse’s hooves clopping against wood, and knew they had started across busy Canal Bridge, toward Lechmere Point. Their final destination was the far quieter Prison Point Bridge. There two bodies could be rolled into the water, and no one would witness it. Panic made Rose’s heart pound like a wild animal trying to beat its way free. Already she felt as if she were drowning, her lungs desperate for air.

  Rose could not swim.

  Thirty-four

  “AURNIA CONNOLLY,” said Wendell, “was a chambermaid in the Welliver household in Providence. After only three months in their employ, she abruptly left that position. That was in May.”

  “May?” said Norris, comprehending the significance.

  “By then she would have been aware of her condition. Soon thereafter, she married a tailor with whom she was already acquainted. Mr. Eben Tate.”

  Norris stared anxiously at the dark road ahead. He was at the reins of Wendell’s two-man shay, and for the past two hours they had driven the horse hard. Now they were approaching the village of Cambridge, and Boston was just a bridge crossing away.

  “Kitty and Gwen told me their chambermaid had flame-colored hair,” said Wendell. “She was nineteen years old and said to be quite fetching.”

  “Fetching enough to catch the eye of a most distinguished houseguest?”

  “Dr. Grenville visited the Wellivers back in March. That’s what the sisters told me. He stayed there for two weeks, during which time they noticed he would often sit up quite late, reading in the parlor. After the rest of the household had retired for the night.”

  In March. The month that Aurnia’s child would have been conceived.

  Their fast-moving shay suddenly bounced hard over a rut in the road, and both men scrambled to hold on.

  “Slow down, for God’s sake!” said Wendell. “This isn’t the place to break an axle. This close to Boston, someone might recognize you.”

  But Norris did not rein in the horse, even though the animal was already heaving hard, and it still had a long journey ahead of it tonight.

  “This is madness for you to go back to the city,” said Wendell. “You should be as far away as you can get.”

  “I won’t leave Rose with him.” Norris leaned forward as if by sheer will he could force their little shay to move more quickly. “I thought she would be safe there. I thought I was protecting her. Instead, I’ve delivered her straight to the killer’s house.”

  The bridge was ahead. One short ride across the Charles River, and Norris would be back in the city that he’d fled only yesterday. But tonight, that city had changed. He slowed their exhausted horse to a walk and gazed across the water, at the orange glow in the night sky. Along the west bank of the Charles, a small but excited crowd had gathered to watch as distant flames lit up the horizon. Even this far from the blaze, the air was heavy with the smell of smoke.

  A boy ran past their shay, and Wendell called out: “What’s burning?”

  “They say it’s Hancock’s Wharf! They’re calling for volunteers to help fight it!”

  Which means there’ll be fewer eyes elsewhere in town, thought Norris. Fewer chances I’ll be recognized. Nevertheless, he pulled up the collar of his greatcoat and lowered the brim of his hat as they started across the West Boston Bridge.

  “I’ll go to the door to fetch her,” said Wendell. “You stay with the horse.”

  Norris stared ahead, his hands tightening around the reins. “Nothing must go wrong. Just get her out of that house.”

  Wendell grasped his friend’s arm. “Before you know it, she’ll be sitting right here beside you, and you’ll be on your way together.” He added ruefully: “With my horse.”

  “Somehow, I’ll return him to you. I swear, Wendell.”

  “Well, Rose certainly believes in you. That should be good enough for me.”

  And I believe in her.

  Their horse clopped off the bridge, onto Cambridge Street. The glow of the wharf fire was dead ahead, and the road seemed eerily empty, the air thicker with smoke and black motes of ash. Once he and Rose were out of this city, they’d head west to collect Meggie. By sunrise, they’d be well away from Boston.

  He turned the horse south, toward Beacon Street. Even here the road was eerily empty, and the night even more ominous with the smell of smoke. The air itself seemed to close in around Norris like an ever-tightening noose. Grenville’s house was now just ahead, and as they neared the front gate, the horse suddenly reared, startled by a moving shadow. Norris hauled on the reins as the shay lurched and tilted, and finally managed to regain control. Only then did he see what had panicked the animal.

  Charles Lackaway, dressed only in his nightshirt, stood in the front yard, staring at Norris with dazed eyes. “You came back,” he murmured.

  Wendell jumped out of the shay. “Just let him take Rose and say nothing. Please, Charlie. Let her go with him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “For God’s sake, you were my friend. All he wants is to take Rose.”

  “I think…” Charles’s voice broke into a sob. “I think she has killed her.”

  Norris scrambled out of the shay. Grabbing Charles by the collar of his nightshirt, he pinned him to the fence. “Where is Rose?”

  “My mother—she and that man took her—”

  “Where?”

  “To Prison Point Bridge,” Charles whispered. “I think it’s too late.”

  In an instant Norris was back in the shay. He did not wait for Wendell; the horse could m
ove faster with only one man in tow. He cracked the whip and the horse broke into a gallop.

  “Wait!” Wendell called, running after him.

  But Norris only swung the whip harder.

  The carriage stopped.

  Wedged into the floor of the carriage, trapped under the weight of Billy’s body, Rose could no longer feel her own legs. They were numb and useless to her, dead limbs that might as well belong to Billy’s corpse. She heard the door open, felt the carriage sway as Eliza stepped out onto the bridge.

  “Wait,” Burke cautioned. “There’s someone coming.”

  Rose heard the steady clip-clop of a horse crossing the bridge. And what would the rider think as he passed the carriage parked at the side? Would he glance at the man and woman who stood at the railing, looking at the water? Did he think Eliza and Burke were lovers, meeting furtively on this lonely span? Billy’s dog began to bark, and she could hear it scratching at the carriage, trying to reach its dead master. Would the passing horseman mark that odd detail? The dog barking and clawing at the carriage, the couple nonchalantly ignoring it as they stood with backs turned, facing the water?

  She tried to shout for help, but she could not draw in a deep breath and her voice was muffled beneath the heavy oilcloth draped over her and Billy. And the dog, that noisy dog, kept barking and scratching, drowning out what meager cries she could produce. She heard the horse trot past, and then the sound of the hooves faded as the rider moved on, never realizing that his inattention had just condemned a woman to death.

  The carriage door swung open.

  “Damn it, I thought I heard something. One of them is still alive!” Eliza said.

  The oilcloth flew off. The man grabbed Billy’s body and rolled it out of the carriage. Rose sucked in a deep breath and screamed. Her cry was immediately cut off by a thick hand over her mouth.

  “Hand me my knife,” Burke said to Eliza. “I’ll shut her up.”

  “No blood in the carriage! Just throw her in the water now, before someone else comes!”

  “What if she can swim?”

  His question was answered by the sudden rip of cloth as Eliza tore Rose’s petticoat into strips. With brutal efficiency she tied Rose’s ankles together. A wad of cloth was stuffed into Rose’s mouth, then the man bound her wrists.