Page 17 of The Orphan of Cemetery Hill
To her surprise, he quirked a shadow of his crooked smile at her. “I’m honored they have taken such an interest in me, but it’s a waste of their time. Meanwhile, whoever did this to Rose walks free.”
Of course he would never admit his guilt if he had indeed done it, but she couldn’t help but be reassured by this. Growing bolder, she asked, “What happened?”
Before he could answer, there was a ripple of murmuring, and the crowd of mourners parted as if for passing royalty.
“Lord have mercy,” Caleb murmured. “Rose’s parents.”
“You have some nerve coming here.” The woman who addressed Caleb was tall and straight, laced into her black silk mourning with all the precision and tension of a wound clock. Beside her, her much shorter husband stood on his toes to hold an umbrella over her head.
“Mrs. Hammond, Mr. Hammond,” Caleb said, bowing deeply. “My deepest sympathies. You have no idea how sorry—”
But Mrs. Hammond had no intention of letting him finish. Tabby watched as the mourners around them broke off in their conversations, aware that something of interest was happening. The soft patter of rain on umbrellas intensified, a charged silence falling over the cemetery.
“Sorry indeed!” Her voice was growing shrill, her eyes unnaturally bright.
“Shouting at Mr. Bishop will not bring her back,” her husband murmured. “Come along, my dear.”
Caleb swallowed, his gaze flitting nervously around at the onlookers. “You must believe me. I—”
“I am not inclined to believe anything you say,” she hissed. “We let you into our home, our lives, and you were nothing more than a...a...butcher, amurdererthis whole time. You will pay for what you have done.” And with that, Mrs. Hammond drew her head up high and swept toward her carriage with her husband slowly trudging in her wake.
Caleb’s face had gone green, and rain rolled off the rim of his hat, slicking his cheeks. He looked so stricken, so utterly lost, and Tabby wanted nothing more than to take him by the hand and lead him somewhere dry and safe. But he was a grown man, and it was not her place to offer him comfort, and before she could even say anything anyway, there was a fresh ripple of excitement in the crowd.
“Caleb Bishop?”
He hardly had time to respond before two police officers were taking him roughly by the arms while a stony-faced constable supervised. Tabby immediately recognized the younger officer of the two: Officer Hodsdon. A terrible thought ran through her mind: What if something she had said the other night had led him to Mr. Bishop?
Mrs. Bishop, who had fought her way through the crowd, was swatting at the officers with her reticule. “Unhand him, you brutes!”
“Can’t do that, ma’am,” the constable said. “Your son is under arrest for the murder of Rose Hammond, and he needs to come with us.”
In the midst of the ensuing clamor, Caleb was the only one who looked calm and resigned, and now he closed his eyes as if for patience. “Really, Mother. I’ll be fine. Go home and I’ll be along shortly after this misunderstanding has been cleared up.”
“I am not going home, not without you,” she said, glaring at the officers.
Caleb sighed. “Miss Cooke, would you please escort my mother home?”
Mrs. Bishop did not look like she intended to go meekly, but Tabby gently took the older woman’s arm. “Mrs. Bishop, will you let me take you home?”
“But...but, my boy! What will they do with him?”
Tabby bit her lip. She didn’t know what they would do with him. She could only hope that Officer Hodsdon would be as kind to him as he had been to her and Eli the other night.
Just as the constable was ordering his officers to escort the accused from the cemetery, Caleb twisted around, looking frantically about. “Tabby,” he hissed as his gaze found hers once again. He briefly wrenched his arm free from Officer Hodsdon, taking Tabby by the wrist and looking her directly in the eye. “Whatever is said, I am innocent. You must believe me.”
Before she could even do so much as nod, he was being wrenched back and led away, the great black sea of mourners swallowing him up.
After Tabby had finished her embroidery and said goodnight to Eli that night, she went to her room and latched the door behind her. With the image of Rose’s parents and her funeral still fresh in her mind, Tabby took a deep breath and prepared to summon her.
After what seemed like an eternity, the smallest of breezes kicked up in her mind, carrying with it the cloying scent of decomposing flowers.
She forced down the dry lump in her throat. “Rose?”
Rose Hammond peered at Tabby from sunken eyes behind a stringy veil of dark hair, her shoulders slumped. Despite her fear, Tabby’s heart ached for her. How terrible to be bound to that in-between place, with no justice and no peace, unable to move on.
“What can I do, Rose? How can I help you?”
If the spirit understood her, she gave no indication. She stared through Tabby with unseeing eyes and when she opened the black hole that was her mouth, it was not words that came out, but a thin, sickly string of minor notes.
