Molly blanched.
“Come now,” said Tom. “You have to admire the old girl. She’s near to eighty with no skills to speak of. How else is she supposed to make her living? Nobody wants her on her back anymore.”
“I’d rather beg.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” Tom’s voice turned serious. “Now keep watch. I can work faster if I’m not looking over my shoulder.”
He rolled up his sleeves and began to dig. Despite his thin frame, muscles bulged along his wiry forearms, and Molly blushed, looking quickly away.
Her eyes prodded the dark, trying to separate the shadow men of her imagination from possible real ones.
“Tom. Do you think it’s the Tooth Fairy? Is he the Knifeman?”
Tom didn’t answer for a long while. “It’s happened before,” he said finally. “Over in Scotland, there were a couple called Burke and Hare who killed the bodies they sold. ‘Burking,’ it’s called now.”
Molly shivered.
“There’s been talk amongst some of the other folks in the business that it might be true. That he’s been trying so hard to compete with your aunt that he’s become desperate. Killing folks to sell and then leaving a few behind that he mutilated so the coppers will think it’s a madman on the loose.”
He must have seen her face change, because he added, “It’s probably just talk.”
“What does this prove,” Molly said, “taking his bodies?”
Tom flung another shovel of dirt behind him. “It proves we’re the best is what it proves. That he’d better stay in his place.”
“Will he?”
Tom’s shovel hit something hard. “Only one way to find out. Here we are.” He dropped the tool and knelt, peering into the grave. The top of a wood coffin stared back. “I’m going to open it, and then you can help me lift.”
“But you’ve only uncovered the top.”
Tom took the crowbar and plunged it viciously into the wood with a loud smack. “There’s no need to dig up the whole thing if we do it this way,” he said. “You can pop ’em out like an oyster.” Reaching into the pit, he grabbed hold of the coffin’s top. With a grunt, he forced it backward. A loud, splintering snap followed as the lid broke in two.
“Oh!” Molly jumped back to avoid the flying shards, but not before she saw the grinning face of the dead man inside. A putrid, sulfuric smell, like eggs cooked too long in the pan, rose from the body, and she began to cough. “It’s awful!”
“It’s fresh,” Tom said. “Not fresh enough for your aunt to give to the doctor, of course, but she might be able to ship it.”
“Ship it?”
“Aye.” Tom leaned into the hole. “And it looks like one with a factory injury too. See how his face has burn marks on it? The doctors out west love to study that kind of thing. Don’t see much of it there.”
“Out west?”
“As far as Kansas,” Tom said. “We even sent one by post to Oregon once, but it’s much harder to keep them from leaking juices that far. Gotta pack a lot of sawdust in the crate, and even then there’s sometimes a stink.”
Molly was so fascinated by this new revelation of the scope of her aunt’s business that she entirely forgot her role as lookout.
“Here.” Tom reached into the pine box and slid his hand gently beneath the head of the dead man. “I’ll get him started, and then we’ll pull him out together.”
She hesitated.
A loud crack filled the air, and Molly felt the bite of a small insect sting her cheek.
She raised a hand to it and pulled it away.
Three glistening drops of blood, like crushed cherries, were smeared across her fingers.
* * *
“Get out of my cemetery!” The words rumbled like thunder as a shadow rose behind them.
The world swam in and out of focus, and Molly could not make sense of anything except the large shape hurtling across the dark.
Another loud crack sounded, and something the size of a cicada sped past her face.
Tom grabbed for her hand. “He’s shooting at us!”
“The body!” Her senses spun with confusion, but she forced herself to quiet them. “We can’t leave without the body.”
She didn’t know if this man had killed Kitty or anyone else, but he had made her watch while he plucked out the teeth from her first body. She would not let him take something from her again.
“Are you crazy?” Tom stared at her.
The figure in the grass was fifty yards away. Then forty. Bald head gleaming in the watery moonlight. Molly knelt beside the grave and began to pull.
“Damn’t, Molly, we need to go now!”
She dug her fingers beneath the corpse’s shoulders, gritting her teeth at the feel of flesh. “Pull harder!”
“I’ll bloody kill you!” The roar was so loud that Molly felt it in her very bones. “I’ll take your teeth and wear ’em!”
Together, they gave a final, desperate yank. The corpse slid free to the feet and then stuck.
“I’ll eat your feckin’ eyes!”
“Harder!” Molly begged. “Pull harder!”
“For God’s sake, Molly. Leave it. This isn’t worth our lives.”
But she thought of Kitty. And the dead girl with the puckered, empty mouth.
Molly shut her eyes and with every bone in her body summoned whatever strength she had left.
“Now!” she yelled.
With a final heave, the stuck shoes popped free.
Unweighted by its coffin, the emaciated body was as light as air. Tom flung it over his shoulder, and together they ran—over the field and through the graves, to the waiting carriage.
Another shot rang out behind them, but it was farther away this time, the big man hampered by his size. When Molly dared glance over her shoulder, she saw the Tooth Fairy stooped over, winded.
Tom shoved the body into the back, not bothering to cover it, and even as Molly clambered into her seat, he urged the horses into a run.
They flew through the uneven streets. For a long while, there was nothing but their heavy breathing and the clap of the horses’ hooves. When the beasts could go no more, Tom eased the wagon over to the side of the road beside a warmly lit tavern.
A drunk girl fell out of the door and tumbled into the street, laughing. A man followed, beer mug raised in a raucous song. The graveyard seemed a million miles away.
Molly saw that her hands were shaking. Kitty was still dead. Would always be dead, no matter how many bodies she stole from the Tooth Fairy. Even if she found the Knifeman and brought him to justice.
“That was right stupid of you,” Tom said. His voice was husky. “You could have been killed.”
Reaching out, he gently touched her cheek, and Molly sucked in her breath with a hiss.
“Easy.” His face wrinkled in concern. When he pulled his fingers away, Molly saw blood on them. “The bullet grazed you, but it isn’t deep.” Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled handkerchief and used it to lightly dab at her wound.
He was so close that their noses nearly touched. “Right stupid,” Tom said again. His hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer.
Molly closed her eyes. “Why didn’t you speak to me today? In the carriage at the funeral?”
His voice tightened. “I was embarrassed. Your aunt had no right. Dressing me up like a stable boy, parading me in front of those anatomy students. They already think they’re better than me.”
“They’re not.” She reached up to his face. For the first time, she touched it. The skin along the scar was not rough at all. It was soft. Like velvet. “Tom,” she said, “what happened to you?”
He flinched. “My sister—”
“Hey! You spare a penny for a beer?”
Molly pulled quickly away. A man swayed at the
base of the wagon, rolling unsteadily on his feet. “What ya got back here? A man? Tilda, come over here, won’t ya? They’ve got a real-life sewing dummy back here, the likes of . . .”
Tom flicked the whip, and the horses started again, leaving the drunks, and whatever the moment between them might have been, behind.
19
Molly Green?”
As the carriage rattled into the drive, a figure stepped into the lantern’s flickering light. Tom stiffened beside her.
“Your aunt has told me so much about you.” It was Dr. Francis LaValle. He wore dress pants of an emerald green, with a vest to match. A dark-blue jacket, its lapels made of the finest silk, completed the ensemble. “I was hoping we might get to know each other a little better.”
Molly felt Tom’s hand land lightly on her arm. “You all right?” His voice was low.
“I’ll be fine.” She let herself down and nodded for him to leave. He waited several seconds, pinning the doctor with his amber stare, unblinking, before obeying. The wagon rattled away into the dark.
“Dr. LaValle.” Molly curtsied, for once remembering her manners.
He laughed. “I see your aunt has trained you well.”
The smoke from his pipe curled lazily about his head, escaping into the night sky. The moon was a crescent, staring at them like a corpse’s barely open eye.
He studied her, and she wondered how they’d managed to avoid one another for the more than two weeks she’d been at Ava’s. Though he did not live with them, the doctor held his classes in the church most days. Despite her aunt’s original insistence that Molly would also help prepare and clean the bodies, she had yet to be summoned back to the cellar. Molly wondered now if this had been intentional.
The girl’s dangerous . . .
She remembered the tightness of Ava’s response. Molly had not heard that same note of tension in her aunt’s voice since. What kind of man, she wondered, did it take to put it there? And why?
“I’m sorry we haven’t seen more of each other.” The doctor lifted a polished boot and tapped the ashes from his pipe with its sole. “I have been extraordinarily . . . busy.” He tucked the pipe into his jacket. “I was hoping tonight we might spend some time together. Would you care to accompany me to dinner?”
“At this hour?”
He grinned. “There are places open if one knows where to look.”
Molly’s pulse quickened. “Will my aunt be joining us?”
“Ah.” The doctor’s face pulled into a frown. “I’m afraid not. Ava is feeling rather unwell.”
She did not know how to say no. “Of course. Let me just change.” She looked at her dirtied dress. It was an informal brown cotton, completely inappropriate for dining.
“Not at all,” the doctor said. “You look absolutely perfect.” He reached up, as if to touch her face. She flinched.
He pulled away. “You seem to have a small wound.”
She’d forgotten about the scrape since Tom had so gently wiped the blood away. Molly moved to dab the cut, but the doctor caught her hand. “Allow me.” Pulling a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, he handed it to her. She felt his eyes on her as she pressed it against the injury.
“There.” He smiled. “As perfect as one of Mount’s maidens.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Whatever kind of man he was, her aunt depended on him for her livelihood. They both did. Swallowing her unease, Molly took it.
LaValle summoned a cab, and together they drove the few blocks to one of the city’s better restaurants, Parkinson’s.
“Did you know,” the doctor said, helping her down, “this place was pitted against New York’s finest in a dinner competition and we Philadelphians came away with the award?” He smiled again, but his eyes were lost in the shadows. “Rumor is, the meal started at six o’clock and did not finish until sunrise the next day. There were four courses of dessert. It even had an Indian temple and a Moorish fountain.”
“How fascinating,” Molly said. Her nerves hummed, making her feel light-headed.
A doorman bowed, turning a gilded handle and opening wide a large glass door to the restaurant.
Sparkling couples, each more exquisitely dressed than the last, were seated at beautifully lit tables. Molly flinched, looking again at her dress.
“Perhaps a change in clothes would be in order after all.” The doctor clapped his hands, and Molly was immediately led away to a small dressing room, where a gown awaited her. She felt gooseflesh rise on her arm. He seemed to have planned this evening down to the smallest detail.
The new dress’s bodice was shockingly tight, the red silk fitting her like paint and dipping to reveal her breastbone. She emerged feeling naked, not to mention conspicuous, the cumbersome skirts rustling so loudly she felt people turning to stare.
“Very nice,” LaValle said as his eyes skimmed her body.
A waiter seated them at a table in the corner and immediately presented them with glasses full of red wine.
“Ah!” said the doctor. “Madeira.” He clicked his fingers, and the waiter reappeared, bottle in hand. He showed the doctor the label. “Fifty years. Not bad.”
Molly took a sip, and the sugary drink laced the back of her throat in a sticky trail. The doctor, it seemed, did not save his sweets for dessert.
Courses began to arrive rapidly, one after the other. Oysters, green turtle soup, canvasback duck. Molly could hardly eat any of it.
Though the dishes were beautifully presented, she found the food itself dry and unseasoned. Whether this was because she didn’t want to be there or the fault of the cuisine itself, it was hard to say.
“How are you doing in your new profession?” A large, bloody steak arrived, and the doctor snapped his fingers again, then waited, watching, as the waiter cut it for him.
“It’s fine,” Molly said. “I’m grateful to have the opportunity.”
The doctor laughed. “Ava told me you were smart. But you don’t have to kowtow to me, my dear. Tell me how you’re really getting along.”
She loosened a bit, the wine and the doctor’s seemingly genuine interest in her putting her somewhat at ease. “I’m growing used to it.”
“Yes, well. I suppose that’s the best that can be expected for right now. Though I do hope you come to enjoy it.”
“Why does my aunt need you?” The question was out of Molly’s mouth before she could stop it.
“Pardon?” A cloud shifted across the doctor’s face.
“She says you rent the church and material from her.” Molly hesitated, thinking of Tom’s disclosure that Ava sold corpses not just in Philadelphia but across the nation. “Surely, my aunt could make enough money selling elsewhere so that she wouldn’t have to put herself at the risk of having you conduct your lectures at her home.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “Ava and I share in the export business.” Molly heard something like amusement in his voice. “I trust you don’t think your aunt could manage such a large endeavor alone?”
“I suspect she could,” Molly said, heart hammering at her boldness.
The doctor laughed. “Ava is a very special woman. But the fact remains she needs me, and I, her. We each fulfill our roles.”
Molly let it go. Trying to get information out of this man made as much sense as asking a dead man his name.
At the end of their meal, a large dessert was set between them. A three-tiered cake covered with caramel sauce.
Molly placed a small bite in her mouth, but the sugar was so cloying she had to spit it covertly into her napkin.
The doctor grinned. “We’re still catching up on our cuisine in America, I’m afraid. Most food is a dreadful imitation of the French. Thankfully, our anatomy schools are now second to none.” He finished his drink and gestured to the waiter. “Or will be. Soon.”
Molly j
ust wanted the meal to be over. She didn’t dislike the man, but she didn’t like him either. He made her uncomfortable, his eyes crawling over her bare skin like a snake.
“Now. Let us get down to business. If your aunt insists on your working for us, I want to be sure for myself that you can handle all of our work’s necessary unpleasantness. That I can trust you.”
“What do you mean?” Molly sat back, surprised. “I can assure you I’ve done everything she’s asked. It’s been hard at times, but I’ve never left a body—never.”
She’d whispered the last sentence, her voice dropping so that it was barely audible on the word body.
“Of course not.” The doctor smiled kindly.
“What more do you need me to do?” Molly asked.
“Your aunt may have told you that we sometimes deal in anomalies.”
“Yes. I was at your lecture the other night.”
He looked intrigued. “Were you? How delightful. But I don’t mean that.” He waved his hand as if sweeping away the idea. “No.” He leaned closer. “I mean miracles. Real ones.”
Miracles. The same word James had used.
“You mean people,” Molly said, thinking of Kitty.
His eyes danced in the candlelight. “Special ones, yes. They hold the link to everything we are . . . everything we could be.”
“And they’re worth more,” Molly dared to say.
Dr. LaValle grinned. “They’re worth everything.”
Her heart sped. “There’s a man . . . the Tooth Fairy. I’ve heard he collects things like that too. Sells them.”
LaValle’s expression darkened. “Stay away from him.”
“Is he the Knifeman?”
LaValle studied her, then his eyes darted away. “He’s dangerous. That’s all you need to know.”
She realized he had neatly evaded her question.
The doctor took another sip of his newly filled glass, then leaned forward suddenly, a threatening lilt in his voice. “What exactly has your aunt told you?”
Molly stiffened. “What do you mean?”
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