These Shallow Graves

by Jennifer Donnelly

  “You are a sensitive girl, Josephine, and you have sadly fallen prey to all manner of delusions,” said Phillip. “I, your aunt, your mother, we all tried. We asked you to stop dwelling on dark thoughts. We allowed you to bend the rules of mourning. Encouraged you to see friends. We desperately hoped your engagement would pull you out of your moroseness, but even that has failed to turn you around.”

  “You’ve been acting so strange,” her mother said. “In the carriage on the way to the Scullys’. At the dressmaker’s, too. Like your uncle, I didn’t want to face what I was seeing. Now I have no choice.”

  Jo remembered being at the dressmaker’s. She remembered the fearful look on her mother’s face when she’d tried to tell her she didn’t want to go through with the wedding. And the look that had passed between her mother and her aunt on the way to the Scullys’. It seemed everything she’d said or done fed her uncle’s conviction that she’d gone mad.

  “This is all a terrible misunderstanding,” she insisted, trying to keep her voice level, “but I know how to clear it up. Send for Eddie Gallagher and Oscar Rubin. They’ll confirm everything I’ve told you.”

  “I spoke with them both this afternoon, Jo,” Phillip said. “They both said they’d never met you until last night when you approached them on the street, covered in dirt. They also told me they were relieved when Bram appeared and took you home.”

  Jo felt as if she’d been struck. “What? That’s preposterous! It’s a lie! I’ve been to Eddie’s room several times. Of course he knows me!” she said without thinking.

  Anna’s eyes widened with alarm. “If this gets out, Phillip … if people hear that she’s saying such things …”

  “I also looked up your private detective—Oscar Edwards,” Phillip said. “There’s no investigator by that name in the city.”

  “I told you, I—I made him up. I had to. To protect Eddie,” she stammered.

  “You made it all up, didn’t you, Jo?” Phillip said gently.

  “Fetch Katie! She’ll tell you that what I said is true,” Jo said, relieved to have hit on the idea. Katie’s account of Jo’s recent activities would certainly corroborate Jo’s.

  “I’ve given Katie and the other maids the night off. Mrs. Nelson, too,” her mother said. “Only Theakston’s still here, and I’m hoping he’s gone downstairs to polish the silver.”

  “Why have the servants been sent away?” Jo asked warily.

  “Because they listen at doors and then they tell tales. I do not want this all over the city. It’s bad enough that Bram knows,” said Anna. Emotion choked her words off. When she could speak again, she said, “God only knows what he makes of all this.”

  He found you on the street at one in the morning with two strange men! It’s a testimony to his kind nature and good character that he didn’t immediately break off your engagement. He may yet. If Grandmama finds out, he’ll have no choice.”

  “We hope to prevent this, Jo,” Phillip said “We plan to say that all the excitement of the past few months has led to nervous exhaustion and that we’ve sent you on a trip to regain your strength.”

  Jo felt as if a net was closing around her. “A trip? To where?” she asked.

  “Consider it a brief respite,” Anna said. “We’ll say you’ve gone to visit my sister in Winnetka. And when you recover, which I hope will be very soon, you’ll come home.”

  “But where am I going?” Jo asked, genuinely afraid now.

  “Don’t worry, Josephine,” Phillip said. “Your mother had Katie pack a few things. Enough to see you through the first few days. We’ll send the rest on later.” He stood then, and pulled a small traveling case from behind a chair. Her coat had been folded over it. “Come along now. Put your coat on.”

  Jo turned to her mother. “Mama, please,” she cried. “Stop this!”

  “My poor, darling girl, it’s for the best,” Anna said. She turned away and wept into her handkerchief.

  Phillip handed Jo her coat. “Please, Jo. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

  Jo’s head was spinning. Everything felt completely unreal. How can this be happening? she wondered.

  When she’d buttoned her coat, Phillip took her by the arm and led her to the front door. As he opened it, she saw his shiny black carriage waiting on the street. Panic overwhelmed her. She tried to break free, but her uncle’s grip only tightened.

  “Please, Uncle Phillip, please don’t do this,” she begged.

  But Phillip was adamant. He led her across the sidewalk to the carriage. Mad Mary was walking by as Jo was pleading with her uncle. The woman stopped to stare.

  “Move on,” Phillip barked at her.

  Mary flinched. She backed away, onto Jo’s stoop. Phillip handed Jo’s suitcase to his driver, then bundled her into the cab. Jo looked out the window as her uncle settled himself across from her, hoping to see her mother appear on the stoop, hoping she’d changed her mind. But her mother wasn’t there, only Mary was. Jo caught the beggar woman’s eyes and saw her fear reflected in them.

  “Where to, Mr. Montfort?” Phillip’s driver asked.

  “East, please, Thomas,” Phillip replied. “To the Darkbriar Insane Asylum.”

  I’m not here, Jo thought, squeezing her eyes closed. This isn’t happening.

  But it was. She opened her eyes and saw that nothing had changed. She was seated next to her uncle. They were in his carriage, heading to Darkbriar. She was going to be committed. The feeling of unreality became so strong, so dizzying, she thought she might be sick.

  Maybe my mother and uncle are right, she thought. Maybe I am insane. Isn’t that how it is with crazy people? They think everyone else is crazy. She covered her face with her hands, moaning softly.

  Phillip, noticing her agitation, said, “It will be all right, Josephine. I promise you.”

  “Will it?” Jo asked.

  “Yes, it’s only for a short while. Take the time at Darkbriar to heal your nerves and restore your mind. I know you’re angry with me, but what else could I do after what Bram told me? After what you yourself told me? That you’d been in morgues and brothels. That you’d dug up a dead man. That Stephen Smith came back from the Amirantes. …”

  Jo froze.

  But I didn’t tell you that, Uncle Phillip, she thought. Because I didn’t know.

  Until now.

  The part of Smith’s tattoo that named the place where he’d been abandoned had been blotted out by decay. As had the name of the one who’d abandoned him.

  Jo knew that the Amirantes, a small cluster of islands in the Indian Ocean, were part of the much larger Seychelles chain. She’d heard Stephen Smith’s death referred to occasionally when she was a child, but no one had ever mentioned the Amirantes in connection with it.

  How could her uncle know where Smith had been abandoned?

  Unless he was the one who’d abandoned him?

  Jo’s heart was slamming. Terror, pure and blinding, coursed through her. She understood now. She saw it all.

  Eddie was right. His words, spoken at the waterfront, came back to her. You better get used to the idea that maybe someone at Van Houten isn’t so upstanding. … He’d tried again to get her to open her eyes, just last night at Stephen Smith’s grave. If only she’d listened to him!

  Her uncle, her own beloved uncle, was the one behind the wrongdoing Smith had uncovered. Smith must’ve threatened him with exposure, so he arranged for him to disappear. Maybe her uncle suggested the scouting trip and paid the ship’s captain to somehow get rid of Smith. But Smith had come back. And this time, it was Mallon who’d gotten rid of him—undoubtedly at her uncle’s behest.

  Jo realized something else, too—her uncle didn’t really think she was crazy. He was only pretending to, so he could have her committed. Because she’d become a threat to him.

  She glanced at him now.
He was looking out the window, still talking. Fear, anger, and revulsion filled her heart. Instinctively, she shrank away from him.

  “… Why, the story grows more outlandish with each telling,” he was saying. “You must see that. And you must also see the necessity of our getting you help, Jo. Jo?”

  He turned to her. His gaze sharpened as he saw that she’d moved away from him, and suddenly there was another expression under his mask of concern—one that was much darker.

  Play along, a voice inside Jo said. You mustn’t let him know you know.

  She quickly forced a smile. “I do see, Uncle Phillip. It’s just that I’m … I’m so frightened,” she said.

  “You don’t need to be,” he said. “The sooner you admit your illness and cooperate with the doctors, the sooner they can cure you.”

  “Yes. Of course,” Jo said docilely.

  Only they won’t cure me, she thought. They won’t get the chance. You’ll hand me over to Darkbriar tonight and then he’ll come—Mallon. Maybe he’ll come tomorrow night. Maybe next week. But he’ll come. He’ll strangle me and make it look like I hanged myself. Just like he did with Stephen Smith.

  The voice inside Jo went silent for a moment, and then it said one last thing.

  If you want to live, Jo, you’ve got to run.

  Jo saw the high stone wall first, then the tall black gates. darkbriar asylum for the insane, the sign on them read.

  Jo knew the carriage door to her right was locked. She’d seen her uncle lock it after his driver closed it. Had he, by some miracle, forgotten to lock the one to her left? She glanced at it. Phillip saw her.

  “Do not be difficult, Josephine. Both doors are locked. And even if you could get out of the carriage, Thomas and I would come after you,” he said.

  A moment later, they were passing through the gates. Jo had been here just last night, and she knew that once the watchman locked the gates behind the carriage, she wouldn’t be able to get out. There was no other exit from Darkbriar except the river, and its cold temperature and fast currents, would guarantee a quick death. Witless with fear, Jo made a desperate lunge at the door on her left, but her uncle pushed her back.

  “I’m not going to tell you again,” he said coldly.

  Thomas drove on. The watchman locked the gates. Jo had lost her chance. As the carriage stopped in front of the main building—a gothic monstrosity with towers and turrets and bars on every window—a wave of despair engulfed Jo.

  “Don’t try to escape again,” Phillip warned, “or you’ll be very sorry.” His soothing smile and kindly tone of voice were gone. She had never seen this side of him before.

  Thomas opened the door. Phillip stepped out, then helped Jo down, keeping a firm grip on her arm. A flight of stone steps led from the drive to the main building’s front doors. A matron in uniform was waiting at the bottom of them.

  “Welcome, Miss Montfort. We’ve been expecting you,” she said briskly. “I’m Nurse Williams, and I’ll be looking after you.”

  Jo looked around wildly, still hoping to find a way out. Phillip tightened his grip on her arm. “Miss Montfort is very agitated,” he told the matron.

  “That sometimes happens,” the matron said. She gave Jo a fake smile. “There’s no need to fret, dear. We’ll take good care of you.” She turned and beckoned to someone behind her. “Would you help Mr. Montfort settle his niece, please, Mr. Mallon?”

  Jo gasped. Her head snapped up. Standing at the top of the stairs was the scar-faced man. He was here. Now. Her uncle wasn’t going to wait; he was going to have her killed tonight.

  “No! Let me go!” she shouted, struggling to break free. “He’s a murderer!”

  “Mr. Mallon, if you would?” the matron said sternly.

  Jo realized that arguing was futile. She remembered Ten Days in a Mad-House, and how none of the staff listened to patients who insisted they were sane. She knew the matron wouldn’t listen to her, either.

  Mallon trotted down the stairs. “I’ll take her, sir,” he said as his hand closed around Jo’s wrist.

  Phillip released her and started up the steps, walking next to the matron.

  Jo fought to break free, but Mallon twisted her arm behind her back, his grip as hard as iron. “Stop,” he hissed in her ear. “Or I’ll break it.”

  Jo had no choice but to walk up the steps.

  “See? He calmed her already. He’s wonderful with the patients. So soothing. He has a great deal of experience, you know. He’s one of our longest-serving orderlies,” the matron said. “Your niece will be seen to by a female nurse, of course, but we have male orderlies escort new patients to their rooms. They’re better able to restrain anyone who becomes violent.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be in excellent hands,” Phillip said. “I would like her to have a sedative tonight to ease her mind and help her sleep. I do not want restraints used on her.”

  “Of course, Mr. Montfort.”

  Jo saw how the scenario would play out: Mallon would drug her. Later, he’d come back and strangle her. Then he’d tie something—maybe her own bedsheet—to a bar on her window. The other end would be tied around her neck.

  The next day, the matron will recall how upset I was, she thought. She’ll say that the sedative wore off and I hanged myself and that it would not have happened if only my too-kind uncle had let them use restraints.

  Fear shrieked in Jo’s head now. She was halfway up the steps. If she didn’t run this very instant, she never would. But she couldn’t; Mallon had her in a death grip. I’m going to die here, she thought. The door loomed ahead of her. Mallon forced her on and she stumbled, nearly losing her shoe.

  Which gave her one last, desperate idea.

  As she took the next step, she wiggled her foot all the way out of her shoe and kicked it behind her.

  “My shoe!” she cried out. “It fell off!”

  Nurse Williams turned around. Phillip did, too, an expression of annoyance on his face. “Fetch it for her,” he barked at Mallon.

  Mallon, not wanting the matron to see how he was twisting Jo’s arm, released it, but he still had her by the wrist as he bent down to get her shoe.

  Jo was no match for him physically, but she had the element of surprise on her side and she used it. As Mallon straightened, she grabbed the back of his head with her free hand and brought her right knee up—directly into his face.

  It was a move she’d seen used at Mick Walsh’s, and one that Fay had taught her how to execute, and by some miracle, it worked.

  There was a sickening crack as her knee smashed Mallon’s nose. He reared up, roaring in pain. His hands went to his face. The instant Jo felt him let go of her wrist, she ran.

  Down the steps she fled and into the dark grounds of the asylum. She heard Mallon bellowing behind her. She risked a glance over her shoulder as she made for a grove of trees. He wasn’t chasing her. He was doubled over by the steps, his hands cupping his nose, blood dripping between his fingers.

  It was Phillip who was coming after her. And from the look in his eyes, Jo could see that he wouldn’t settle for catching her and dragging her back up the asylum stairs.

  He would kill her where she stood.

  Jo ran for her life.

  Through the grove of trees, through a meadow, through the darkness.

  Her breath sounded like a howling wind in her ears, her heart like thunder. Surely they would give her away.

  She heard her uncle and Mallon in the distance, shouting. And then they were closer. She couldn’t keep running. She would have to hide and hope they ran past. The asylum gates were behind her. They were the only way out. She would have to double back through the grounds to get to them.

  A thicket of boxwood loomed ahead, green even in December. She pulled her remaining shoe off, placed it on the path to the left of the bushes, and crawled inside the thicket, gratefu
l to be wearing a black coat. It would help her blend in. She looked through the branches so she could see the path she’d run down.

  Jo held herself perfectly still, trying to quiet her breathing and slow her thumping heart. As she did, she saw her uncle appear on the path, panting and swearing. The shoe immediately caught his eye.

  “Mallon! Over here!” he shouted, continuing down the path. Just as she’d hoped.

  As soon as he was gone, Jo broke from the bushes and ran in the opposite direction, heading for the shelter of some birch trees. She assumed that Mallon was behind her uncle and would run down the same path he had.

  It was a mistake. As she neared the birches, Mallon burst from them and lumbered toward her, blood still streaming down his face. Screaming, Jo wheeled around, saw a building in the distance, and raced toward it.

  “I’ve got her!” Mallon yelled.

  Jo’s stockinged feet flew over the ground. She was lighter and faster than Mallon and quickly put distance between them. When she reached the building, she launched herself at the door, but it was locked. She shot around to the side, hoping to find another way in, and spotted a basement window that was slightly ajar. It was a casement window, hinged at the top. She wriggled through it backward, held on to the sill with her fingers, and let go. The drop wasn’t far, only two feet. She stepped back out of the moonlight that was shining in through the glass—praying that Mallon hadn’t seen her. Seconds passed, and then a minute, and then she saw a pair of legs stop by the window. They were joined by another pair.

  “Out here? How? They’ll know we did it!” a voice said. It was Mallon’s. The window was still ajar and Jo could hear him. “We’ll say she fell and hit her head on a rock.” That was her uncle.

  “We’ve got to find her first,” said Mallon.

  “You head that way. I’ll double back,” her uncle said.

  They left and Jo sat down heavily on the dirt floor, exhausted. Her uncle was trying to kill her—a man she’d loved and trusted her entire life. A sob burst out of her. She bit her fist to stifle the rest, knowing that if she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop. Crying wouldn’t get her out of this; thinking would. She calmed herself and tried to figure out her next step.