The Orphan of Cemetery Hill

by Hester Fox

  Just when she thought that she would suffocate in the blackness swirling with death, light gradually pierced the void, the grotesque faces fading away like paint running in the rain.

  The world came back into focus, the smell of hot food and summer flowers replacing the thick odor of decay. “Careful now,” Eli said, helping her sit up.

  Polly, who was crouched down on her other side, handed Tabby a cup. Tabby gulped down the water, the sharp coldness washing away the lingering bile in her throat. She was scared to know, but had to ask. “What happened?”

  “You fainted clean away,” said Polly. “One minute you were standing up, the next you were flopping on the ground like a fish on the dock.”

  Ella stared at her from the corner, wide-eyed, her dolls crushed to her chest. Tabby gave her a tremulous smile. “It’s all right. I’m all right.”

  But when she tried to embrace her, Ella shrank back as if Tabby were a monster.

  Eli and Tabby walked back home through the lingering summer evening, the setting sun gilding the Boston buildings in rosy light. As usual, by some mutually unspoken agreement, they took the back way, skirting the busy areas of the city. It would have been a lovely stroll if not for the pregnant silence that hung between her and Eli. Several times Tabby opened her mouth, trying to form the words to explain what had happened, but each time she lost her nerve. Never before had she experienced such an assault on her mind with so many spirits contacting her at the same time, and she had no idea how to explain it away. It ate at her soul, little by little, not to be able to confide in the man she trusted and loved above all else in the world.

  6

  IN WHICH IT ALL FALLS APART.

  IT WAS NEARLY two o’clock before Caleb arrived outside of the Hammond townhouse. He hadn’t had a chance to change his suit, and when he’d caught his reflection in a shop window, his rumpled clothes had all but loudly announced that he had just taken part in a clandestine encounter.

  Tabby Cooke had tasted of licorice and sun-ripened strawberries, innocence and desire. He had never wanted the kiss to end. God knew he’d kissed his fair share of women before, but this had somehow been different. Even with Rose, the few times they’d shared a kiss there had been no real passion there. What on earth had he been thinking? It was a new low, even for him. His father’s voice rang out in his head: Good-for-nothing boy. Can’t keep your filthy hands to yourself, can you? Someday you’ll find yourself in real trouble and lord knows I won’t be the one to get you out of it.

  It was just that he had been so good since getting engaged. Rose kept him honest and he wanted to please her, even if they weren’t in love. Every time he let his eye wander, he hated himself a little more. So why did he continually do this to himself?

  Taking the marble steps two at a time, Caleb rapped his stick on the door and stood back. A moment later, an older black man in tails came to the door and looked down at Caleb with one brow disdainfully raised.

  “I say, Roberts, it’s only me, no need to look so vexed. I’ve come to call on Miss Rose.”

  But the butler didn’t budge. Perhaps the old man’s hearing was finally starting to go. Pity. Caleb tried again. “I’M HERE TO SEE MISS ROSE,” he said loudly, enunciating every syllable.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” said an irritated feminine voice. Rose swept out to the door. “Thank you, Roberts. I’ll handle this.”

  The butler shot Caleb a scornful look, and then disappeared back into the house.

  “Rose? What is this? Can I come in?”

  “Caleb,” she hissed, throwing a look over her shoulder into the hall. “You have some nerve. You were supposed to be here hours ago for luncheon.”

  He’d completely forgotten he had promised to come for luncheon today. He fidgeted with the brass head of his cane. He’d never had to beg permission to gain entrance to a woman’s house before. “I can explain. Can I please come in?”

  “Mama and Papa are out—they got tired of waiting. I know the past week has been hard on you,” she said, softening a little, “but this is hardly like you. One moment you’re whisking me out to the theater, attentive and full of good cheer, and the next you can barely look me in the eye or bother to honor your engagements.”

  He should have apologized and been on his way, but he had to get inside, had to explain to her how truly sorry he was for his behavior this past week. He couldn’t live with himself if he was the heel who seduced virgins behind his intended’s back. “Please? I won’t be but a moment and Roberts won’t let anything untoward happen.” He nodded toward the butler, who was vigorously dusting a clean vase and pretending not to eavesdrop.

  He could see the indecision wrestling on her face, but eventually Rose stepped back and opened the door the rest of the way for him. She was wearing a blue silk dress with full bell-shaped sleeves and tiers of lace on the skirt. On another woman it might have looked overly fussy, but Rose wore it with easy grace, the blue bringing out her intelligent eyes and setting off her delicate features. What was wrong with him? What had she ever done to deserve this sort of treatment? And for God’s sake, why couldn’t he cajole his stubborn heart into feeling something more for her?

  In the foyer, Caleb deposited his hat and cane on the sideboard and then followed Rose into the parlor. She didn’t offer him anything to drink, just perched herself on a settee and looked at him expectantly. “Well?”

  “Look, I know I’ve been distant lately. You have to understand that losing my father was a terrible blow, and everything with the business... Well, I’m a bit lost.”

  Massaging her temples with elegant fingers, Rose let out a long breath. “Caleb, I don’t doubt that losing your father has been difficult, but this isn’t like you. You could hardly stomach being in the same room as your father when he was alive.” She paused, a vulnerable edge creeping into her voice that made him feel like the worst kind of scoundrel. “You promised me you would be here today to set a date for the wedding, and you made me look a fool waiting with my parents.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. Truly, Rose. It’s just...” he trailed off. He was a terrible scoundrel. It was one thing to indulge in such follies while in the bloom of adolescence, but for God’s sake, he was nearly a twenty-eight-year-old man. In front of him sat the most beautiful, kind, and God knew, patient woman he had ever known, and all he could think about was someone he had met a handful of times, and in a cemetery no less. He gave a deep sigh, raking his hand through his hair. “The truth is, I was late because I was... I was with a young lady. It was a mistake,” he hastened to explain. “It meant nothing.” Though even as he said the words, they left a sour taste in his mouth.

  Rose’s silence was a censure, her stillness a weapon. What the hell had made him say that? She wasn’t a priest, and she couldn’t absolve him of his sins, and as the pain spread across her face, he realized he’d made a terrible mistake. The best course of action would have been to say nothing, to never do it again, and endeavor to be a better man. But it was too late now, and the damage was done. Who had said that honesty was the best policy? He’d wanted to be truthful, to make a clean breast of it, but as she sat there, radiating anger, he realized he had wounded her deeply. And was it any wonder?

  Her face deepened three shades of red, and without so much as moving a muscle made Caleb melt into his boots with shame. “You were what?” she ground out.

  “I’m so sorry, Rose. I—”

  Standing up, she stopped him with a swift outstretched palm. “Don’t, Caleb. I’m not so naive as to think that my husband would not have his dalliances before our marriage, but we have been engaged these six months without a wedding date in sight. To admit that you are still...” she trailed off, shaking her head, as if it were too terrible to even put words to his indiscretions. “Well, it is beyond the pale. And I certainly do not want to hear about them. What if someone saw you? What if they gave the story to the papers?
Do you know who would pay the price of your indiscretion? It would be me! The competing papers would love nothing more than to paint the daughter of Boston’s premier newspaper owner as a fallen woman. At the very least I deserve respect, and that means honoring our engagements and presenting a unified front.”

  “No one saw, I swear it.” He could at least assure her of that much. There had been no one in the cemetery aside from him and Tabby. “And I do respect you.”

  “No. You. DON’T!” She slammed her fist down onto a side table, sending a vase of anemones crashing to the floor. “If you respected me you wouldn’t go about cavorting with other women while you were supposedly visiting the grave of your dead father! If you respected me you wouldn’t then tell me about it.” She lifted a trembling hand to her temples and closed her eyes. “My God, Caleb.”

  She was right. Everything she said was right. He pulled at his necktie, sweat beading down his back. The gold medallions on the wallpaper swam and bled together. Why was it so bloody hot in here? “Rose, please—”

  “I think you should leave now. I won’t call off the engagement because it would break my parents’ hearts, but I need time. Just, go.”

  Caleb opened his mouth to argue but clamped it shut just as quickly. There was nothing he could say to make it better, not right now anyway. He’d already irrevocably damaged the trust between them. Besides, he needed some air. The whole room was close and stuffy and hot. Standing, he nodded. “Send for me when you’re ready,” he said, but Rose had moved to the far side of the room, staring out the large window into the dusk. He threw one last hopeful look at her before placing his hand on the doorknob.

  It was the last time he would ever see her alive.

  7

  IN WHICH THE VEIL IS BREACHED.

  THE LAMPS WERE low on oil, and the small room where Tabby and Eli took their meals hung in flickering shadows. For an extra two dollars in rent, they could have dined downstairs with the landlady and other boarders, but Mrs. Hodge watered down her soup and served only the fattiest cuts of meat, so it was salted cod and potatoes made in the warming pan for them. When they were finished, Tabby would take out her embroidery, and Eli his whittling, and they would work together, heads bent low, close to the dim lamp. Sometimes Eli might sing a song, his velvet baritone filling the room. It was a comforting routine, and Tabby looked forward to it every day.

  “You look worn down,” Tabby said as she spooned out the last of the potatoes onto Eli’s plate. She had never seen him so weary and stooped, and was afraid that the events of the other night were weighing heavily on him. Eli took his charge as caretaker seriously, and it couldn’t be easy to lose someone to whom he was tasked with providing eternal rest.

  For her part, Tabby was still rattled from their luncheon at Miss Suze’s. We will give you no peace until we have peace. If she had been under any illusion about the possibility of a normal life, that afternoon’s events had swept them clean away. The look of terror on Ella’s face alone was enough to convince her she could never have a family of her own. She had always known she would not have a normal life, but now it seemed she would not have a peaceful one, either. How was she supposed to help those poor souls? How could she care for a child when she could not control her own strange powers?

  Sighing, Eli drew his hand over his face, as if trying to sweep away his troubles. “The police have been to Harvard and the hospitals, but they say it’s unlikely they’ll be able to find the remains. I thought we were done with this after the last time.” He pushed the plate of potatoes away, and shook his head. “Boston prides itself as being a city of progress, but sometimes it feels like we’re going backward.”

  Even if their bodies were used for the greater good and led to scientific advancements, it was hard to think about the dissections that took place in the sterile medical theaters for audiences of students and anyone else who could pay the five cents admission. It was usually the bodies of the poor, the insane, the unloved, that found themselves on a cold marble slab, and while Mr. Bishop certainly did not deserve such indignity, there was a sort of irony that for all his wealth and status, he had met the same fate. Like death, it seemed that the grave robbers did not discriminate when it came to reaping their grim harvest.

  A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts and her stomach tightened. They’d been a little late with the rent, but Mrs. Hodge had accepted their money without complaint; could she really be back for more already?

  “Stay,” she ordered Eli when she saw him moving to get up, and answered the door.

  When the door opened it revealed a young policeman in a starched blue coat with shiny brass buttons that winked in the dim hall light. “Miss Cooke? My name is Officer Hodsdon. I’ve come ’round to ask a few questions.”

  Had they found the body? Tabby shot Eli a questioning look over her shoulder, and found him with a stricken expression on his face. But then it cleared and he nodded for her to let the man in. “Yes, of course,” she murmured, letting the officer step inside.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, glancing at the remnants of their meager dinner on the table.

  Eli pushed back his chair and stood, and Tabby winced as he wobbled a moment before finding his balance. “No trouble at all,” he said gruffly. “Were you able to apprehend the robbers?”

  “Ah, no, that’s not why I’m here, I’m afraid.”

  Uneasiness swept over Tabby. Eli was a free man in Boston, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have to worry about hysteria whipped up over fugitive slaves in the north. All it took was one witness claiming that a black man resembled a newspaper advertisement they had seen for a runaway, and an officer willing to hear them out. Tabby had to agree with Eli; Boston was certainly not as progressive as it prided itself on being. But Eli was well-known, a respected member of the community; surely no one would think to accuse him of being a runaway?

  If Eli was thinking the same thing, his face gave nothing away. “And what would this be concerning then?”

  The officer removed his hat and tucked it under his arm. “May I sit down?”

  Tabby absently pulled up a stool for him, trying not to let her apprehension show.

  “Thank you kindly,” he said, seating himself. He cleared his throat several times, looking almost as uncomfortable as Tabby felt, before he finally said, “I’ve come because there’s been a murder.”

  Tabby’s hand flew to her mouth as her mind spun out in a thousand directions. Mary-Ruth? Her aunt or uncle? Oh God, what if it was Alice? “W-who?” she asked.

  “Miss Rose Hammond.”

  Relief surged through her. Tabby had never heard the name before. Eli likewise shook his head. “Don’t know a Rose Hammond,” he said.

  “I believe she was the intended for Thomas Bishop’s son.”

  The young woman whom Tabby had seen with Caleb just three days ago. She had been so young, so vibrant and beautiful. How could it be possible that she was dead, murdered? And why would an officer come to notify them? Tabby had never even met Miss Hammond, let alone spoken to her.

  “You’ll excuse me, officer,” Tabby said, “but why are you telling us this?”

  “I understand you buried Thomas Bishop earlier this week, and that the young Mr. Bishop has been back several times?”

  Tabby opened her mouth to ask him how he knew that, but thought better of it and closed it again.

  “He came back after learning of the theft of his father’s corpse,” Eli put in.

  “Ah, yes. That,” the officer said. “Well, apparently the Hammonds’ butler overheard the younger Mr. Bishop arguing with Miss Hammond a few hours before her body was discovered in the family’s parlor.”

  Tabby stifled a little cry. It couldn’t be Caleb. When he had kissed her, there had been an unexpected vulnerability in his touch. But then, what did she really know about the charming young man? This was why she couldn’t let he
r guard down; men were wolves in sheep’s clothing, waiting only for the first sign of weakness before striking.

  “What I want to know from you,” the officer said, producing a little pad of paper from his pocket and licking at the lead of his pencil, “is what state of mind you found him to be in when he was in the cemetery. Was he distraught over the grave robbery? Did you speak with him about anything particularly of note?”

  Shifting a little in her seat, Tabby tried to tamp down her prickling conscience as she remembered the kiss. She’d had passing clouds of shame about it all day, but mostly the event had taken on an otherworldly glow, her memory making the sun softer, the air warmer. Now she felt only a deep sense of guilt, compounded by the uneasy feeling that the kiss they had shared could have been the precursor to something dark and tragic.

  “He didn’t seem particularly distraught,” Eli said, before quickly adding, “but he did seem taken off guard by the news. We didn’t speak much beyond that.”

  The officer didn’t lift his eyes from his notepad as he scribbled this down. “I see. Anything else?”

  Eli shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Sighing, Officer Hodsdon flipped his pad shut and eyed the half-eaten meal on the table in front of him. “I must apologize again for interrupting your supper. Sometimes I lose track of the hour when I’m working.”

  All Tabby wanted was to see the officer on the other side of the door and enjoy a warm drink by the fire, but she knew how important it was to appease him, to make him feel welcome, lest he decide Eli would make an easy target in the future. “It is no imposition,” she said. “Would you take a cup of coffee before you leave?”

  He gave her a surprisingly warm smile. “That’s very kind of you, miss. I’d appreciate that.”

  Tabby could feel Eli bristling as she relit the fire and put on more water to boil.