by Hester Fox
“Miss Cooke, I’m coming in there.”
The key turned in the lock, and when the man opened the door, he found her perched demurely on the edge of the bed, hands clasped on her lap.
He narrowed his eyes. “I thought I heard something break.”
“Did you?” She cast a serene gaze about her. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Well, never mind that now. We’re going to be late. Are you ready?”
Taking one last cursory glance around the room, she stood and smoothed down her silk skirt, taking comfort in the cool weight of the mirror shard against her leg. Escape was not an option, not corporeally speaking, in any case. But what could they do to her if she was dead? What could they do to Eli? Would they betray him and send him back to the south? It was a risk, but so long as she was alive, she posed infinitely more of a risk to him.
“I am ready as I will ever be.”
29
IN WHICH A SEARCH PARTY IS FORMED.
ELI MUST HAVE been coming back from church when the hack came to a stop on the steep hill in front of the boarding house. He looked older than Caleb remembered, much older, his gray hair thinner, his gait stiffer. More than that, though, he looked tired. Dressed in a dark wool suit, he was escorting an older black woman, smiling down at her as they spoke, but as soon as he looked up and saw Caleb, his expression turned sour.
“Miss Suze, you’ll have to excuse me,” he said, tipping his hat to the woman.
The woman gave Caleb a wary look. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” Eli said without taking his stony gaze from Caleb. “I know this boy. He’s trouble, but he wouldn’t be so stupid as to try anything with me.”
When she had gone, he turned back to Caleb. “Oh, but you have some nerve coming here, boy,” he said. “Your face is on every broadsheet between the harbor and the river for your jail break...where you were being held for murder,” he added in a hiss.
Caleb hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but he had at least hoped that the old caretaker would give him a chance to explain. He raised his palms in a gesture of peace and nodded toward Alice. “I’m not here to make trouble. I can explain everything later but there’s no time right now. This is Alice, Tabby’s sister.”
At the introduction, Alice stepped forward, and Eli seemed to notice her for the first time. His face went gray. “You...you look just like her. Tabby never said anything about a sister.”
“Is she here?” Alice demanded, without reciprocating the introduction.
Mr. Cooke dragged his gaze away from Alice, before turning to Caleb and giving him a long, hard look. Caleb took an involuntary step back. “I haven’t seen Tabby for over a month. She just up and disappeared one day. The police are no help, and no one has seen neither hide nor hair of her.”
Caleb felt as if someone had kicked his legs out from under him and he was free-falling. “A month,” he repeated. Tabby had been gone for a month. How could he have ever even considered not returning? How could he have thought he could live carefree in Edinburgh while Tabby was in danger?
“Do you know where she’s gone?” he asked stupidly.
“If I knew where she was I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you,” Mr. Cooke said, fumbling in his pocket for his key and climbing the crumbling front steps to the boarding house.
“Please.” Alice stopped him with a hand to his sleeve. “Caleb has told me all about you and Tabby, about how you took her in when she was just a girl. I know you only want what is best for her. Please let us help. We think she might be in danger. Do you know of a man named Mr. Whitby?”
Slowly, Mr. Cooke placed the key back in his pocket and stepped off the stoop.
“I don’t know of any Mr. Whitby,” he said. “Just what kind of danger do you think she’s in?”
Caleb opened his mouth, but no words came out. Where to start? Luckily, Alice took over. “We think that there are men behind recent grave robberies in Boston who have her and want to use her for her abilities. We think that she is being held somewhere against her will.”
Eli frowned. “Abilities? What are you talking about? Why would grave robbers want Tabby?”
Good lord, Eli didn’t know. Tabby had entrusted her secret to Caleb, and not even her own father. He was both humbled and ashamed, but he was spared having to explain any further by footsteps behind him. Caleb turned to find Mary-Ruth standing behind him with arms crossed, her face pale and tight with worry. Wonderful. The only other person who trusted him even less than Mr. Cooke.
Mary-Ruth put her basket down and gave Mr. Cooke a kiss on his cheek. “These folks say Tabby is in some kind of trouble,” he said.
“Miss O’Reilly,” Caleb said with a tight smile. “How good to see you.”
She gave him a scowl and then her lips parted as her gaze landed on Alice. “You look just like her,” she said in a whisper.
“Tabby’s sister,” Caleb hurried to explain. “We think she may be in trouble. There’s a man, a Mr. Whitby, who—”
But he didn’t have a chance to finish. “Mr. Whitby?”
“You know him?” Caleb asked.
Mary-Ruth nodded, looking uneasy. “Well, I don’t know him, but Tabby mentioned him. She was convinced that he murdered Miss Hammond, and was after her, as well. Oh God,” she groaned. “She told me she was going to hide, to stay out of sight. I figured that was why I hadn’t seen her in so long.”
Caleb shared an alarmed look with Alice. This was worse than he’d thought, so much worse. Why had he taken the coward’s route and gone to England? Why hadn’t he stayed and tried to protect her?
“She had been doing watching for me,” Mary-Ruth continued. “The last time I heard from her she had been at Robert Graham’s house. She was supposed to send for me when he had passed, but I never heard from her again. I searched everywhere.” Mary-Ruth paused. “I had thought...that is, I had hoped that she had left town and was lying low.”
Mr. Cooke had lowered himself down onto the step, his face in his hands. “We all of us failed her,” he said.
The sky was heavy, looking like it might finally let loose its snow any moment. The day when Caleb had kissed Tabby in the gentle spring air seemed decades ago. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was no use wallowing or giving in to despair. They were going to find her, it was only a question of when and how. They had to start with what they knew. “Who’s Robert Graham?” Caleb asked.
Mary-Ruth pushed a dark strand of hair out of her tired eyes. “He is—was—a dean at Harvard, and from a very prominent family. He had a wasting condition and died about a month ago.”
A prominent family with ties to Harvard. Caleb gave a dry swallow. “Might...might he have been acquainted with Richard Whitby?”
Mary-Ruth’s gaze sharpened. “I would be surprised if they hadn’t been acquainted. You don’t think...” she trailed off.
“Well, we aren’t going to find her standing around here and speculating,” Alice said with an impatient huff.
Mary-Ruth nodded. “She’s right. We need to go to Robert Graham’s house, find out where she might have gone after that.”
As Caleb stepped out onto the street to find a hack, he looked around at the small group. They were an army that was prepared to defend Tabby and do everything they could to keep her safe. Wherever she was, he could only hope that she knew how much so many people cared about her.
A small weight lifted in Caleb’s chest now that they had the beginning of a plan. The hill was not heavily trafficked, but eventually a hack strained its way up the street and he hailed it.
Mr. Cooke was adjusting his hat, moving toward the hack, and Caleb realized he meant to come. “Someone should stay here in case she comes back,” he said.
Scowling, he jabbed a finger at Caleb’s chest. “That’s my girl, and if you think I’m not going to do everything I can to get her back, t
hen you’re thick as they come.”
Caleb opened his mouth, but it was Mary-Ruth who put a gentle hand on Mr. Cooke’s arm. “Mr. Bishop is right,” she said. “This is Tabby’s home and when she comes back, she’ll want her father there. You won’t be helping her by running around the city and putting yourself in harm’s way.”
With obvious reluctance, Mr. Cooke nodded. “All right. I’ll go put some coffee on just in case she’s wanting something warm when she comes back. I’ve been doing the same every day for a month, but maybe today will be the day.”
“You two go to the Graham house,” Mary-Ruth ordered after Mr. Cooke had gone back inside. “There are some places around the city I can look, and some people to talk to who might know something,” she added cryptically.
Caleb didn’t like the idea of letting her go off by herself, even if she did seem to be a woman of unusual boldness. What if she ran afoul of the same men who were after Tabby?
Mary-Ruth must have seen the conflicting emotions on his face, because she scowled and said, “I know this city backward and forward, and if anyone can find Tabby, it’s me.”
There was no use arguing with her; besides, she said this with such conviction that he couldn’t help but trust her.
He nodded and watched her hurry down the hill as he and Alice boarded the hack.
What, exactly, would they do when they found Tabby? The best case was that she was simply out of town, staying safe and far away from Mr. Whitby. But he had a feeling that it would not be the best case. Deep inside, he knew that something was very, very wrong.
30
INTO THE LION’S DEN.
“THEY’LL ARREST YOU, you know,” Alice told him as they took the brick steps up to the front of the Graham house.
“I know.”
“You won’t do Tabby much good with a noose around your neck.”
Caleb swiped an impatient hand through his unwashed hair before replacing his hat. “And what, exactly, do you propose I do?”
Alice didn’t say anything, just pressed her lips together in disapproval as Caleb slammed the brass knocker harder than was strictly necessary.
“What do you know about Mary-Ruth?” Alice asked as they waited.
“Miss O’Reilly?” Caleb frowned. He knew that she guarded Tabby like a precious jewel and that she did not care for him, but that was about all. “She’s a friend of Tabby’s. Does something with corpses, if I’m not mistaken.”
He was about to ask her why she was interested, when the door opened and revealed a clean-shaven man of about forty in a black mourning suit. He raised a brow, no doubt taking in Caleb’s unkempt appearance and Alice’s travel-worn dress. “Yes?”
Time was of the essence, and it seemed silly to cling to manners and convention, but if there was one language that men of his class understood, it was that of etiquette and manners. Caleb pasted on an apologetic expression and gave him his most winning smile. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry to trouble you, but I believe that you employed a young woman about a month ago to watch a Mr. Graham. I am trying to find her as my uncle is not long for this world, and my aunt specifically requested the services of Miss Cooke.”
The man gave him an assessing look, flicked another glance at Alice, and then nodded. “Yes, she was here with my father when he passed.” The man paused. “But as you said yourself, that was a month ago. I have not the slightest clue where you would find her now.”
Caleb’s heart sank. What had he expected? That the man would know exactly where Tabby had gone after and where she was right now? “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “And for imposing on you during this sad time.”
The man shrugged, and was just about to close the door when he paused, his expression turning thoughtful. “Do you know, you’re the second person to come looking for her. I wonder if there’s not something going around Boston and her services are in high demand. God help us if it’s the yellow fever again.”
Caleb froze. “Who...who was looking for her?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
But the man didn’t seem to hear Caleb’s question. He was looking at him with unnerving scrutiny. “You look extraordinarily familiar. Have we met?”
Damn those broadsheets advertising Caleb’s escape that Mr. Cooke had mentioned. Caleb flicked his tongue over his dry lips. “I believe we’re neighbors. We have probably passed each other in the street a dozen times and then some.”
The man was still staring at him. “Yes,” he murmured. “I suppose that is it.”
Before Caleb could say anything else, the door closed and the man disappeared. Alice shook her head. “I’d say we only have a matter of days, if not hours, before word gets out that you’re back in the city and the police come looking for you.”
Caleb stopped halfway down the steps, a thought striking him. “The police—that’s it!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on,” said Caleb, taking her by the elbow and practically dragging her the rest of the way down. “We’re going to have to go into the lion’s den.”
* * *
They stood outside the police station, their breaths coming out in white puffs in the chill air.
“Are you sure you want to go inside? You could wait out here while I make inquiries.”
Caleb nodded. Alice had made a sacrifice for Tabby all those years ago, and now it was his turn. “I have to do it.”
Walking with more confidence than he felt, Caleb headed into the station, Alice hesitantly following him.
He had envisioned a swarm of officers descending on him, yelling and clamping him in irons. But on the contrary, he and Alice passed inside with only the briefest of nods from a couple of men loitering in the hall.
Approaching the desk, Caleb had to clear his throat to get the officer’s attention. The man looked up from his newspaper, irritated. “Yes?”
“I’m looking for Officer Hodsdon. Is he here?” He assumed that by now Billy’s arm had fully healed and he was no longer on guard duty in the prison. If he wasn’t, then Caleb risked being arrested before finding him.
The officer gave him a long, hard look before answering. “Sergeant Hodsdon is in his office,” he said, jutting his chin vaguely to the hallway behind him.
Sergeant Hodsdon. So, he had gotten his promotion after all, though only God knew how after he had let Caleb escape. Sending up a brief prayer to some higher power, Caleb led Alice down the hallway where they found Billy’s office with his name and title neatly stenciled on the door. Caleb lightly rapped.
He almost didn’t recognize the man who looked up from his papers at their entrance. Officer Hodsdon had been young and eager, bright eyed and clean-shaven six months ago. But Sergeant Hodsdon had dark smudges under his eyes and a patchy dusting of stubble that spanned from his overgrown side-whiskers down his neck.
If Caleb didn’t recognize Sergeant Billy Hodsdon, Billy certainly recognized Caleb. The pen he had been holding dropped from his hand and he stood bolt upright, upsetting his chair. “W-what are you doing here?” He gazed frantically around the small office as if looking for a weapon or some way to defend himself against this murderer who had escaped from his custody. Caleb had only a few seconds before Billy probably started hollering for reinforcements.
“I’m here because of Tabby,” Caleb said quickly, putting himself on the other side of the desk.
At this, Billy stopped in his tracks, his face paling to a worrying shade of green. “What about her?”
“We believe she may be in danger,” Alice cut in.
Billy was stock-still for a prolonged moment before he crumpled back down into his seat and cradled his head in his hands. “She is, and it’s my fault, goddamn me.”
Caleb shared an alarmed glance with Alice. “What do you mean? Where is she?”
Drawing his hands down his face, Billy gave a hopeless shak
e of his head. He looked like he wanted to bolt from the office. Alice must have seen this too, because she stationed herself more squarely in the doorway.
“You need to tell us, now,” Caleb said in the sternest voice he’d ever heard come out of his mouth.
Billy closed his eyes. “Whitby,” he finally whispered. “And Dr. Jameson.” He brought his gaze up to meet squarely with Caleb’s. “Do you know who they are? Do you know what they are?”
“I know that Whitby is a conniving son of a bitch, and that he killed Rose Hammond.” He knew it, but he wanted to hear it from Billy’s lips. He wanted vindication, he wanted justice. But nothing could have prepared him for what came next.
* * *
The sound of men talking in the hall drifted in, and the air in the office strained with heavy expectation as Billy finished telling his tale of grave robbers, mediums, the resurrection men, and their morbid exploits trying to bring the dead back to life. Eyes cast down and fingers drumming nervously against the desk, he ended with his role in exposing Tabby to the worst possible people. Caleb and Alice shared a look; it all corroborated what she had told him in Edinburgh.
“You protected them,” Caleb said, breaking the silence. “You looked the other way, and then when I told you about Tabby and her gift, you delivered her up to them.” His fists flexed at his sides, his blood rushing hot and fast to his head. He could never take on a man like Billy in a fight, but still he imagined his fists connecting with his jaw, pummeling him into a bloody pulp.
“They paid me handsomely for turning a blind eye, and made sure that I climbed the ranks. And I wanted to contact my mother, was desperate to speak to her one more time. I knew the information about Tabby would be valuable to them, and that I could use it to my benefit, as well.” His voice dropped and to his credit, he looked genuinely miserable. “I was always fond of Miss Cooke, exceedingly fond.” He paused. “I’m not proud of what I did.”