The Orphan of Cemetery Hill

by Hester Fox

  Tabby’s heart beat furiously. He was guilty, she was sure of it. But all her intuition would not help her if he decided to kill her, which right now it was looking very much like he wanted to do.

  Her anger was stronger than her fear, though. It bubbled up and overflowed. If she could have spit venom like a snake she would have, but she had only her words and her outrage. “You let them lock up Caleb! He...he thinks you’re his friend.” The sickening injustice of it made her blood run hot. She had to warn Caleb.

  The vein under Mr. Whitby’s eye throbbed, and she knew that whatever reprieve she had just been granted was now gone. She might not be so lucky a second time.

  “Let go of me!” She twisted and flailed, but he pinned her wrists, neatly avoiding her attack. “Let me go this instant!” Surely the house servants would hear her protests. But then, she was the one who had broken in like a common thief. Who would come to her defense?

  He took her by her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You can’t possibly imagine that I can let you run back to young Mr. Bishop with these unfounded accusations now, can you?”

  Her throat tightened as the reality of her situation slowly spread over her, her legs going wobbly. He gave her a mocking look. “Oh, come now, Miss Cooke. Don’t think me a monster. I have no desire kill you.” His assurance brought her no comfort, not when his piercing eyes bore through her as if she were no more than a rabbit caught pillaging the vegetable patch and in need of poisoning.

  He was taller, stronger than her. She darted her gaze around the room, frantically looking for her best chance of escape. How could she have been so foolish to come in here without having an escape route planned?

  As if sensing her plans to flee, one hand went around her neck, tightening just under her chin. “I don’t want to kill you, but you seem determined to smear my good name.”

  The voice inside of her was screaming now, and she didn’t even have to think. Groping blindly behind her, she struggled to find something, anything, with which she might fend him off. Her hand found the inlaid box and closed around it just as he was tightening his grip around her neck. With monumental effort, she brought it up and landed a glancing blow on Mr. Whitby’s temple. He reeled backward, a bead of blood welling up on his hairline. “Goddamn you!” he spat.

  It wasn’t enough to knock him unconscious, but it bought her just enough time to free herself and make a dash for it.

  He took a sidestep at her, his fingers grazing her skirt as she flew past him. She bolted back out into the hallway, practically knocking into a servant with an armful of linens. Running out into the street, she blindly wove around pedestrians and horse carts. She ran until the harbor stopped her, her heart pounding and her throat hoarse from gulping in air.

  She had escaped with her life, but for how long?

  13

  IN WHICH FREEDOM IS SHORT-LIVED.

  CALEB HAD JUST emerged from the smoky interior of his club, five dollars the richer after trouncing Debbenham at cards, when a dark-haired young woman waved him down from across the street. His eyes were still adjusting to the daylight, but she didn’t look familiar. She made a frustrated gesture when he didn’t return her wave, and then began weaving her way toward him. It wasn’t until she was darting across the busy street that he recognized her from the cemetery as Tabby’s friend.

  He frantically searched his memory for her name before landing on it just as she stopped in front of him. “Miss O’Reilly, what a pleasant surprise. I—”

  The young woman stopped him with an impatient flutter of her hand. “Have you seen Tabby?” she asked, still breathless from her dash across the street.

  He finally noticed the frantic look in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, and the disheveled curls coming loose from her straw bonnet. He was just about to tell her that of course he’d seen her, they’d had coffee and buns just the other day, but then he closed his mouth, a feeling of dread creeping over him. He’d told Tabby in no uncertain terms that day not to get involved. If something had happened to her, he would never forgive himself. “Not since Tuesday,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry.

  Miss O’Reilly closed her eyes and nodded, as if he had just confirmed her worst fears. “She was supposed to assist me with a laying out this morning, but she never came. Tabby may be a creature of strange habits, but she always keeps her word.”

  A carriage clipped past them, sending dust and gravel spraying, and Caleb took Miss O’Reilly by the elbow, leading her away from the curb. “Have you checked her home? Spoken with Mr. Cooke?”

  Scowling, Miss O’Reilly removed her elbow from his hold. “Of course I did! That was the first place I looked. Eli said that she went out to make some calls and never returned. He’s sick with worry for her.”

  Caleb leaned back against the brick wall of a building and closed his eyes, letting the sounds of rattling carts and pedestrian chatter wash over him. God, what had Tabby gone and done? He should have known after she had pledged not to get involved the first time when he was in prison that she would do what she wanted regardless of her assurances otherwise.

  When he opened his eyes, he found that Miss O’Reilly was studying him with a suspicious glare. “Yes?”

  “You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”

  “What, that she’s missing? You think I had something to do with it?”

  Miss O’Reilly didn’t answer his question. “What, exactly, are your intentions with Tabby?”

  “My intentions?” He let out a little laugh, sure that Miss O’Reilly was in jest. But one look at her stony expression told him she was anything but. He cleared his throat. “Tabby is a fine girl, but I don’t know that I have any intentions toward her. What do you take me for, a shameless rake?”

  Miss O’Reilly’s expression did not soften at this, if anything, her green eyes grew only stormier. “I see,” she said in clipped tones. “Well, Mr. Bishop, let me tell you something. Tabby is more than just a ‘fine girl.’ Tabby is my heart outside of my body, my sweetest, dearest friend. I’ve heard about your exploits from more than one broken-hearted girl.” At this, she threw a pointed look at the club across the street and Caleb felt like a chastened little boy caught pilfering sweets from the kitchen. “I know you were released from prison, though you are still a suspect in Rose Hammond’s murder. If I hear so much as a whisper of your name in association with Tabby, I promise you I will not hesitate to make sure you end up back in prison, where you belong.”

  With that, Miss O’Reilly turned neatly on her boot heel, and swept down the street, mindless of the children that scattered from her path and the dust that her skirts kicked up.

  Caleb watched her disappear into the busy afternoon foot traffic. How could everyone think him capable of such dark, nefarious deeds? When had he ever shown a disposition for such things?

  The thrill of winning at cards had quickly worn off, and now he was consumed only with thoughts of where Tabby might have gotten to. Miss O’Reilly might have suspected him, but he knew that he had nothing to do with it, and that meant that Tabby was somewhere out there. It was no use going to the cemetery or the boarding house—Miss O’Reilly would have already scoured both places. At least at home he could dash off a few inquiries and make a plan. But he had to admit that Miss O’Reilly was right: he really didn’t have any claim over Tabby Cooke. Hadn’t he told her as much when she had insisted on helping him? He had told Miss O’Reilly that he had no intentions toward Tabby, yet the thought of her with a man—any man—made his chest twist. It was a hot, unpleasant feeling, and he did not care for it. Of course, he hoped she was just with a man and not in any sort of trouble, but that didn’t make the thought any more palatable.

  He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he was almost upon the group of men standing outside his front steps before he even noticed them. At the sound of his footsteps, one of the men turned and Caleb’s
heart sank as he recognized the constable. “Mr. Bishop, we were just talking about you.”

  Behind him, his mother was standing on the steps, wringing her hands, her cap askew as if she had thrown it on in a hurry. Several curious neighbors hovered by their front doors, craning their necks to see what was happening.

  “Is that so?” Caleb jammed his hands in his pockets, feigning a casualness that he did not feel at the sight of so many uniformed men. “And how may I be of service? Have you made some progress in Miss Hammond’s case?”

  “Well, yes, we do have some new information regarding the matter.”

  Caleb let out a breath of relief. “What is it?”

  “Does this look familiar, Mr. Bishop?”

  The earring the constable held out did look familiar. Caleb had given Rose just such a set of earrings and a matching necklace when he had proposed to her. “That’s Rose’s earring,” he said.

  The constable and officers shared a look, and Caleb caught sight of a pair of irons in one of the policeman’s hands. They couldn’t possibly be here for him, could they? Whitby had assured him that he was a free man until his trial, that there probably wouldn’t even be a trial if they continued to investigate other possible suspects. “We found this in your parlor, shoved beneath the cushion of a chair.”

  At this, his mother couldn’t contain herself any longer. She hurried to the bottom of the steps, as fast as her voluminous black skirts would allow, shaking her fist. “These men just forced their way in! I tried to stop them, but they are unmannered beasts!”

  “I...” Caleb trailed off, the blue jewel winking at him in the afternoon sun. “I don’t know how that got there,” he said weakly. “But she was my fiancée, for God’s sake—you can hardly fault me for being in possession of a piece of her jewelry!”

  He racked his brain, trying to think how the earring had found its way into his parlor. He supposed Rose might have dropped it during one of her visits, but Larson or Betty the housemaid would have surely found it before now. Rose had never mentioned having lost it. Glancing down the street, he wondered if he ran fast enough if he’d be able to chase down a passing carriage and catch a ride to freedom.

  As if reading his thoughts, the constable raised his palms in a placating gesture. “Now, Mr. Bishop, no use making it harder than it has to be. Come with us willingly and I’ll even ask Smith here not to use the irons.”

  The man named Smith looked a little disappointed, but Caleb nodded. The last thing he wanted was to further agitate his mother by ending up under a pile of burly policemen. “Lead away, Constable.”

  As the officer’s hand clamped around Caleb’s arm, it was not the prospect of returning to prison that made his heart plummet in dread, but the thought that Tabby was somewhere out there, missing, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

  14

  IN WHICH IT MAY BE TOO LATE.

  “MISS COOKE!” THE guard stationed at the front desk sprang up from his seat as soon as she set foot inside the old prison. “What a pleasure to see you again!”

  Tabby stopped in her tracks. Officer Hodsdon. His boyish enthusiasm at seeing her was at odds with the dreary walls and musty smell of the old building. “I’ve come to see Mr. Bishop,” she said, trying to ignore the heavy staleness in the air, the muffled shouts that came from somewhere deep within the bowels of the prison.

  Was it her imagination, or did Officer Hodsdon look disappointed at this? But then he was clearing his throat, and giving her a genuine smile. “Of course. It’s not visiting hours, but I can let you see him for five minutes. Our secret,” he said, leaning in and tapping a finger to his nose in a conspiratorial gesture.

  It wasn’t nearly enough time, but she knew it wasn’t worth arguing. Nodding, Tabby allowed Officer Hodsdon to lead her through a set of double doors and down a long hallway lined with barred cells. A few men leered as she passed and Officer Hodsdon yelled at them to mind their manners.

  When they finally stopped, it was not in front of the general holding room in which Caleb had been the first time, but a solitary cell with a slit for a window, and a floor covered in musty straw. He was a sorry sight to behold, sitting on a hard bench with his head in his hands, his fine golden curls mussed and wild. Gone was the rebellious spark in his eye, the flippant air that he’d had the last time she’d visited him in this dismal place.

  When he looked up and saw she was his visitor, he leapt to his feet, smoothing out his rumpled shirt. “Tabby? What on earth... You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Shh, there isn’t much time.” She was right at the bars, aware that Officer Hodsdon was standing a polite distance away, but still within earshot.

  Caleb just stood there, gawping at her as if he were seeing a ghost. “Miss O’Reilly told me yesterday that you were missing... No one knew where you were. I thought...” he trailed off, his throat working convulsively.

  “It’s all right, he didn’t hurt me.” She tamped down the memory of Mr. Whitby’s breath on her cheek, the look in his eye that told her he would not only kill her if he could, but would relish doing so.

  Caleb’s brows nearly shot off his face and he rushed toward the bars. “Hurt you? Who? What are you talking about?”

  She shook her head, annoyed at herself that she had let that slip. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t matter! Tabby, I—” He broke off, running his hand through his hair and muttering something to himself that she couldn’t catch. “Look, don’t worry about me. Go home to your father. Mr. Whitby will sort all this—”

  Tabby shot an alarmed glance at Officer Hodsdon, sure that he was listening, and then leaned closer through the bars so that she could lower her voice further. Despite the unsavory surroundings, Caleb still smelled delicious, like soap and peppery spices. She took a deep breath, composing herself. “Mr. Whitby is the one who had you arrested. He’s the reason you’re in here in the first place.”

  Caleb blinked at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. I admit I have no great love for the man, but he’s been with our family for years. He would never cast suspicion on me. Besides, he’s the one who got me out in the first place.”

  Oh, but it was worse than that. Should she tell him the truth? Would he even believe her if she did? She had to, it was the only way to get him to understand the severity of the situation, to make him act. “I am not being ridiculous. I went to his house to—don’t look at me like that—I went to his house to find evidence. Here,” she said, producing the earring and holding it close to her body so that Officer Hodsdon wouldn’t see.

  Caleb’s face drained of all color as his gaze alighted on the sparkling blue jewel, and he reached a tentative finger through the bars to touch it. “That...that’s from a set I gave to Rose on our engagement,” he said in a whisper. “The police claimed they found the other one in my parlor, but on my honor, I don’t know how it got there.”

  Tabby knew how it had. It would have been all too easy for Mr. Whitby to slip the earring into a cushion or drawer in Caleb’s parlor, and then alert the police. Her suspicions about the earring confirmed, she continued. “He killed Rose, Caleb, and he would have killed me if I hadn’t—” She cut herself short, not wanting to alarm him unduly and incur his anger for trespassing in Mr. Whitby’s house. “I don’t know why he killed her, but he’s letting you take the blame while he walks free.”

  When he didn’t say anything, she returned the earring to her pocket. “Caleb,” she said softly. “You’ll hang for this.”

  He was pale as a sheet. “The business,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  “What do you mean?”

  From behind her came Officer Hodsdon’s voice. “One more minute, Miss Cooke.”

  Caleb spoke quickly. “He wants the business. He thought my father would leave everything to him, since Whitby was his business partner, but he left it to me instead. He must want me out of th
e way.” Then color flooded his face and his eyes narrowed and she saw real fury there. “Why would he have killed you, and where did you find that earring? When would he—”

  “Hush!” She darted a furtive glance at Officer Hodsdon who was pretending not to stare at them. “You have to get out of here. You have to escape.”

  “Escape? You can’t be serious.” He looked at her like she had just suggested that he build a ship to the moon. “There’s still the trial.”

  Tabby had no faith in the justice system, not when she had seen Mr. Whitby pervert it so easily for his own gain. Besides, any evidence the jury would hear would be biased against Caleb. They would hear how he was the last person to see Rose Hammond alive, how they had argued that night. They would be shown the earring that was found in his house. She shook her head. “Mr. Whitby would have no problem making sure the court ruled against you. Please,” she said, “you must find a way out of here.”

  Caleb didn’t say anything and the silence stretched between them, growing heavier and tenser. Finally, he gave the smallest nod of his head. “But Tabby—” he gave her a stern look as her face brightened “—I don’t want you getting any more involved in this. If Whitby is half as dangerous as you say, then I want you as far away from him as possible.”

  Tabby opened her mouth, but he stopped her. “No arguments. I can be a crafty dodger when I put my mind to it, and I’ll figure this out. Alone.”

  She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t just for his sake that she was concerned, but for Rose’s, as well. It might have been the urgency of the situation, or how vulnerable he looked in his rumpled suit and unkempt curly hair, but this roguish young man had somehow found the chink in the armor around her heart. If he escaped—which was his only real course of action—she would never see him again. Would it really be so very terrible if she unburdened her secret, just this once?

  These thoughts flitted through her head like an erratic sparrow in flight, and before she could let all the old arguments against it sway her, she was blurting out: “I can speak to the dead. That’s how I knew your father, and Rose. That’s how I know you’re innocent and that Mr. Whitby is responsible for her murder. I’ve never told another living soul, except for my parents and sister, and they’re all gone now.”