These Shallow Graves

by Jennifer Donnelly

  The cab moved off and Jo settled herself on the seat. As she did, Bram’s gaze traveled over her, from her dirt-streaked hands to her muddy shoes. She could see the confusion in his eyes and realized how she must look to him. She was wearing an ancient coat. Her dress was filthy. Her hair had straggled out of its knot.

  “Jo, where have you been? What have you been doing?”

  “Bram, you have to trust me,” she said earnestly, taking his hand.

  “Jo, I must know what you were doing with those men,” he insisted.

  “I’ll tell you, but I doubt you’ll believe me,” she said, fervently hoping that he would believe her. That she could confide in him. That he would help her. If he could do those things, it might be the beginning of something between them, something real.

  She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I’ve been at the Darkbriar Asylum digging up a corpse.”

  Bram sank back against his seat, ashen-faced.

  “The corpse belongs to the man I suspected of murdering not only Alvah Beekman, but also Richard Scully and my father,” she continued, talking quickly. “However, a story tattooed on the corpse’s chest has convinced me otherwise.”

  “Oh my God,” Bram said, his voice barely a whisper.

  “I know this must be a terrible shock for you, and I’m sorry,” Jo said, unhappy to have to upset him.

  “If I’d only known,” Bram said. “I didn’t see it. Phillip—”

  “Knows nothing,” said Jo. “Not about this. I plan to tell him tomorrow. He’ll know what to do.”

  “First your father, then Richard, then Alvah. … It’s all been too much for you. My poor girl. We’ve been so worried. … Your uncle, your mother, even Katie.”

  Jo, looking out the window, barely heard him. The cab was now moving along the east side of the square. She didn’t want to go any farther. “Stop here, please,” she said, agitated.

  “But we’re not at your house,” Bram objected.

  “I don’t want the cab to stop in front of it. In case the noise wakes Theakston.”

  “But we must wake the servants. They’ll be needed to help you. Your mother, too.”

  “No!” Jo said. “Bram, I must get to my room unseen. My mother mustn’t find out about tonight. Not yet. Not before I tell my uncle. She won’t understand.”

  “All right, Jo, all right,” Bram said, in a soothing voice. “But you must allow me to see you to your door. I refuse to leave until I know you’re safely inside your house.”

  Bram stopped the carriage. He helped Jo down and walked her to the servants’ door.

  “Promise me you’ll get some rest,” he said, distress in his voice.

  “I will. Thank you for listening to me, Bram. Thank you for believing me.”

  “It’s all right, Jo. Go in the house now.” Jo nodded. She carefully opened the door, slipped inside, and pulled it closed, locking it behind her. Then she tiptoed up the back stairs, hoping not to wake anyone. When she reached her room, she looked out the window.

  Bram was still standing on the sidewalk, motionless. He raised his hand to his eyes and brushed at something. Then he turned and walked back to his carriage.

  Jo barely slept a wink all night.

  She’d taken off her filthy clothing and muddy shoes, rolled them up in a ball, and shoved them into an old carpetbag at the back of her wardrobe. She took a hot bath, scrubbing every inch of herself, then climbed into bed, where she tossed and turned for the rest of the night, haunted by images of Stephen Smith in his coffin.

  At dawn, she was out of bed. After dressing and doing her own hair, she slipped out of the house. Her mother was usually a late riser, but today was a Sunday and there was church to attend. Jo had to get to her uncle’s house and back before breakfast. Her aunt and cousin slept late, too.

  Her uncle, however, did not. He always said that dawn was his favorite time of day, and he usually worked for a few hours in his study before breakfasting with his family. Jo hoped that was the case today.

  She hurried up the steps to her uncle’s front door now and knocked lightly. Seconds later, it was opened.

  “Miss Montfort, good morning. Is Mrs. Montfort expecting you?” Harney asked, ushering her inside.

  “It’s my uncle I’ve come to see, Harney,” Jo explained. “Can you please let him know I’m here?”

  As Jo waited in the foyer, Admiral Montfort gazed at her with his hard eyes. “Fac quod faciendum est,” she whispered, drawing strength once again from the Montfort family motto. She would need it.

  Harney returned. “Right this way, Miss Montfort,” he said, leading Jo to her uncle’s study.

  Phillip was standing in the doorway as she reached it. “Jo? This is a most unusual hour for a visit. Is everything all right?” he asked.

  Jo waited until she was inside the study and Harney had closed the door before she spoke.

  “No, Uncle Phillip, it’s not. I have some very difficult news to share with you, and you are going to be angry with me when you hear it. Very angry. But please hear me out.”

  Jo sat down. She looked at her uncle’s kindly face, now etched with concern, and wished that she didn’t have to tell him what she knew, but she had no choice. She needed his help. He was kind, yes, but he was also strong and shrewd and would do what needed to be done.

  Jo squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, then began. She started with her trip to Child’s Restaurant and ended with her visit to Darkbriar and her carriage ride home with Bram. She came clean about Oscar Edwards, too. She had to. Bram had seen Eddie and Oscar and might mention them to her uncle.

  Phillip turned white as she spoke. He sat as still as death, listening to her every word. When she finished, he silently rose, poured himself a glass of brandy, and downed it in one gulp. Though his back was to her, Jo could tell by his clenched hand and the tremor in his shoulders that he was doing his best to compose himself. He turned, finally, and looked at her.

  “Can this possibly be true?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Phillip. I’m so sorry,” Jo said, hurting for him, regretting all the fresh pain she was causing him.

  Phillip sat down again, heavily. “Kinch was Stephen Smith. … How?” he asked. “Smith was lost at sea. His ship went down in a storm.”

  “I don’t know how, but somehow he survived and returned to New York to look for Eleanor Owens and the manifests he’d sent her.”

  “And he didn’t kill himself at Darkbriar, you say? He was murdered?”

  “Yes. I believe his orderly at Darkbriar did it … Francis Mallon. I think Mallon killed Mr. Beekman, Mr. Scully, and my father, as well.”

  Phillip covered his face with his hands. He shook his head violently, as if trying to clear it. “Have you any proof of the things you’ve just told me?”

  “I’m afraid I have very little proof of anything,” Jo admitted. “Only this.” She dug in her purse and placed Stephen Smith’s pendant on the tea table.

  Phillip stared at it. He picked it up and read the inscription. “Dear God, Jo. Tell me you did not really do what you said you did to get this thing.”

  “I had to, Uncle Phillip,” Jo said. “I want my father’s murderer—his real murderer—brought to justice. I want the truth. And though I may not have hard proof, I’ve heard enough, and seen enough, to think that your life might still be in danger.” She crossed the room, knelt down by his chair and took his hands. “Uncle Phillip, listen to me. You must act. Please. You must go to the police. I’ve lost my father to a murderer. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

  Phillip said nothing for nearly a minute. He just stared straight ahead helplessly. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, Jo. You’re right,” he said decisively.

  Jo felt a rush of relief. He was rallying. His color had improved. He sat up straight, in command of himself once again.
r />   “I’ll go to the authorities immediately,” he said. “I’d like to show them the pendant, if I may.”

  “Of course,” said Jo. “Shall I come with you?”

  “No, not yet. I’m sure the police will wish to speak with you at some point, but you are to do nothing more. Nothing. Do you understand me? You’ve put yourself in enough danger. You said this man Mallon attacked you once—what if he tries to do so again? My God, Jo, I still can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you. The things you’ve seen … No young woman should ever see such things.”

  Jo nodded, looking at her hands.

  “Look at me, Josephine,” Phillip said sternly.

  Jo raised her eyes to his. Here it comes, she thought, wincing.

  “I cannot begin to tell you how angry I am with you. For doing the things you’ve done. For the risks you’ve taken. For deceiving us all—your mother, me, Bram. I only hope he has not told Grandmama. If he has, your engagement may well be in jeopardy.”

  “I would sacrifice my future with Bram to save your life,” Jo said, tears springing to her eyes.

  Phillip, who was about to continue his tirade, faltered. “You are a very foolish girl, Josephine. Very foolish,” he said, his voice breaking. “And very brave.”

  “What about Mama? What do I tell her?”

  Phillip cleared his throat. “Nothing. Not yet. Let me do it. I don’t want your mother, aunt, and cousin scared witless. I won’t go to church this morning. I’ll say I’m unwell. I think you should do the same. You’ve had too great a shock to be out and about this morning.”

  Jo nodded.

  “After Madeleine and Caroline leave, I’ll go to the police and tell them about Mallon,” Phillip continued. “Then I’ll inform the other partners. They should know, too. I’ll tell your aunt everything as soon as we both return home again. She’ll be less upset if I can tell her that the police and the other partners have been alerted. When that’s all done, I’ll have a word with Bram. He’s bound to be worried about you. And then I’ll come to your house and talk to your mother. She’ll be quite distraught when she hears about your activities, but I think she’ll take it better coming from me than from you.”

  Jo agreed, grateful to her uncle for dealing with her mother.

  “There’s one more thing, Uncle Phillip,” she said. “No matter how angry you are at me, you are not to be angry with Eddie Gallagher or Oscar Rubin. This was all my idea, not theirs.” She paused, then said, “If I am to go on with my life and become Bram’s wife, I must know that they’ll be allowed to go on with theirs, without suffering any consequences for helping me.” Her meaning was veiled, but she was sure her uncle would understand it.

  And he did. “You have my assurances that Mr. Gallagher and Mr. Rubin are safe from my wrath,” he said. “But I must have your promise that you won’t see either of them again. This is out of your hands now, Jo. It’s a matter for the authorities.”

  “I give you my word,” Jo said.

  Phillip rose. “I think you should go home now. You look very tired, and I have much to do.”

  Jo stood, too. “I feel like I could sleep for ten years,” she said.

  Phillip embraced her. She hugged him back tightly.

  “I was so afraid to tell you, but I’m glad I did,” she said.

  “I’m glad, too,” he said, releasing her. “You’re not to worry about it anymore, my dear Jo. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of everything.”

  There was no sneaking into the house unobserved by the time Jo returned from her uncle’s.

  It was nearly eight-thirty. The household staff were up, and preparations for breakfast were under way.

  “I felt a headache coming on and went out for some air, but it hasn’t helped,” she fibbed to Mrs. Nelson. “Would you send some tea and toast to my room and let my mother know I’m under the weather and won’t be attending church?”

  Jo went up to her room and changed into her nightgown. Her mother, having gotten Jo’s message, came in about fifteen minutes later to check on her, followed by Katie, who had Jo’s tea tray. When Anna had satisfied herself that Jo was not feverish, she left her to rest. Jo ate a bit of breakfast, then closed her eyes. She only meant to nap for an hour or so, but it was four-thirty in the afternoon by the time she woke. She immediately rang for her maid.

  “Katie, has my uncle been here?” she asked.

  “No, Miss Jo, but he sent word that he intends to at seven this evening.”

  Jo was relieved she hadn’t missed him. She thanked Katie, then asked her to draw a bath and lay out her clothing. She’d only had a quick bath very early that morning and wanted a long hot soak now. Her muscles ached from the digging she’d done at Darkbriar, and her heart ached from the sorrow of saying her last goodbye to Eddie.

  By six-thirty, she was scrubbed, dressed, and neatly coiffed. At precisely seven, the doorbell rang. She walked downstairs when she heard it, summoning the strength she knew she would need to get through the next hour. Her mother would not take what Phillip was about to tell her well.

  “Good evening, Uncle,” she said as she entered the foyer.

  Theakston was already reaching for Phillip’s coat, but he said he wished to keep it on. Jo thought that odd but said nothing, as Theakston was still hovering

  Phillip gave Jo a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll go in to your mother now,” he told her in a low voice. “After I’ve said what I’ve come to say, I’ll call you in. I assume she’s in the drawing room?”

  “She is,” Jo said.

  Theakston ushered Phillip into the drawing room, and Jo decided to wait for her uncle’s summons in her father’s study. She left the study door open, and distracted herself from her anxiousness by looking out the bay windows. In the glow of a gas lamp, she saw a figure, slight and hunched, near the servants’ entrance to the Cavendishes’ house, which was kitty-corner to her own. It was Mad Mary. The door opened and Mrs. Perkins, the Cavendishes’ cook, handed her a small bundle. Mary dipped her head, then hurried to their stoop. She sat down, opened the bundle, and greedily started to eat.

  “Jo? Are you there?” Her uncle’s voice carried up the stairs.

  Jo hurried to the drawing room. Phillip held the door open, then closed it behind her. Her mother was sitting on a divan clutching a handkerchief. Her eyes were red and swollen. She was trembling.

  “Oh, Mama,” Jo said, her voice breaking. She sat down next to her.

  Her mother took her hand. She looked at her searchingly, then at Phillip. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “I can’t believe it. It’s not true!”

  “Jo, your mother is having a bit of difficulty with what I’ve told her. Would you repeat the story for her? Start at the very beginning.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” Jo said. She sat down next to her mother and told her everything, starting with her trip to the Standard to give Mr. Stoatman her father’s bequest.

  Anna listened, shaking her head at times, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes, murmuring the word no. It was dead silent in the room when Jo finished. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock.

  Phillip was the first to speak. He turned to Anna and said, “Do you see now? It’s just as I told you.”

  Jo was so glad he was here. She was grateful for his calmness and his strength. She could not have done this alone.

  “It’s dreadful,” he continued, looking at Jo’s mother. “A shattering thing to face, especially after all you’ve been through. But I told you, Anna. All along, I told you. You wouldn’t believe me. Do you now? Do you finally see? Our poor, dear Jo has lost her mind.”

  “What?” Jo said, laughing in disbelief. “For goodness’ sake, Uncle Phillip, what are you saying? I haven’t lost my mind!”

  “Josephine, please,” said Anna tearfully. “Think about the horrible things you just told us you’ve done
… walking the streets at night with strange men, going to morgues and houses of ill repute, digging up a corpse—” Her voice broke. She struggled to regain her composure. “It’s obscene!”

  Jo felt the first pricklings of fear run up her spine. “But, Mama, it was all to find out the truth about Papa’s death,” she said.

  “And when, exactly, did you do these things? When?” her mother asked.

  “At night, mostly. Sometimes during the day.”

  “At night? That is a lie, Josephine,” her mother said. “I check on you at night. I have since you were a tiny girl. And every night since you came home from school for your father’s funeral, you have been in bed. Sound asleep.”

  “You saw Katie. I traded places with her. Several times,” Jo said, becoming more nervous. “Mama, these things are true!” She turned to her uncle. “Tell her, Uncle Phillip! Tell her the truth!”

  “My darling Jo,” Phillip said, his faced creased with pity, “I told her what I know—that this morning you came to me very upset with a wild and sordid story. And that it was not the first time you’d done so. I foolishly took no action before today, hoping this mania was born of grief and would pass. I was wrong. You’ve grown worse, not better. Last night, instead of imagining you’d left your house, you actually did leave it.”

  “But you … you believed me!” Jo said.

  “I played along hoping to keep you calm.”

  “You lied to me. You said you were going to the authorities,” Jo said, her voice rising.

  Phillip shook his head sorrowfully. “Please don’t say that, Jo. I didn’t mean to. I needed time.”

  “Time? For what?”

  “To find you the care you need.”

  “But I don’t need any care!” Jo shouted, her fear growing. Anna and Phillip traded glances, and Jo realized she was only confirming their suspicions by becoming hysterical.

  In a quieter, calmer voice, she said, “I assure you that I am perfectly fine.”