Page 32 of The Orphan of Cemetery Hill
Mary-Ruth’s eyes lit up, any lingering sourness about Tabby’s lies evaporating. “Oh, that’s such good news! You’ll be wonderful at it, and I’ll get to see more of you.”
Tabby wasn’t as enthusiastic, but she managed a smile. The hours would be long and fraught, giving her mind time to wander to all those places she tried to avoid: spirits, death, and now Caleb. But at least she would always have a place at night, so long as she had a patient to watch.
“You know,” Mary-Ruth said without looking up, “I saw that Caleb Bishop the other week.”
Tabby’s chest went tight. “You saw him?”
“I have to say, Tabs, I don’t know that I trust him.” Mary-Ruth slid her a sideways look.
Tabby worried at her lip. “When did you see him exactly? What did he say?”
“During my search of the city for you, after you never came for the laying out. When I informed him that you were missing, he acted surprised.”
So, before he had escaped. Tabby desperately wanted an account of every word Caleb had uttered, but something in Mary-Ruth’s closed expression told her that she would only get half the story.
“Now he’s the one missing,” Tabby said gloomily.
Mary-Ruth shot her a look. “What do you mean?”
“He escaped from prison.”
“Escaped from prison!” Mary-Ruth straightened from her washing and wrung out the sponge in the basin. “I knew it. They must be convinced of his guilt in the Hammond case. I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that. I only hope that they catch him quickly.”
“He didn’t have anything to do with it!” Tabby’s words came out more forcefully than she intended. She took a deep breath. “It was his father’s business partner, a Mr. Whitby. That’s where I was... I found evidence that implicated him in the murder, and he caught me. I only just managed to escape with my skin.”
“Tabby, you didn’t!” Mary-Ruth looked over her shoulder as if worried that the corpse might hear. “Is it safe for you to be out around the city? Do you think he’ll come after you, looking for Mr. Bishop?”
Tabby closed her eyes. She was so weary of running and hiding her entire life, of being afraid. “I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s likely, so don’t tell anyone.”
She stood and threw one last glance at the corpse on the table. “Next time there’s need for a watcher, send for me. And whatever you do, don’t go near Eli. The last thing I want is for him to know anything about this.”
17
IN WHICH AN OLD FOE IS FACED AND A FRAUD EXPOSED.
TABBY SLUNK THROUGHthe city, hating that she felt like a rat, clinging to the shadows and scurrying with her head down. She despised Mr. Whitby for everything he had done, and what he had reduced her to. It was risky to go to the Bishop house, when she knew Mr. Whitby to be a visitor there on occasion, but as with Eli, she just needed to see Mrs. Bishop once more before disappearing.
As she neared the house, a line of carriages with stomping horses at the curb greeted her. Mrs. Bishop often had other callers, but this looked as if she was hosting a party or one of those fashionable charitable events. So long as Mr. Whitby wasn’t in attendance, she would go and give her regards to Mrs. Bishop and then be on her way.
Larson, the butler, greeted her at the door and took her cloak and bonnet.
“What’s all this?” she asked. “Is Mrs. Bishop having a party?”
Larson shook his head and glanced over his shoulder into the house before he leaned down to whisper to her. “Not a party—a séance.”
“A séance?” A heavy, sour pit formed in Tabby’s stomach. “Why?”
The butler shrugged. “I believe it’s a fashionable pastime for ladies these days.”
Her heart began to beat a dreadful alarm ofRun. Run. Run.But Tabby forced herself to ask, “Do...do you know the name of the medium?”
“It’s a Mrs. Bellefonte.”
All the air went out of Tabby’s lungs, and vivid memories that she thought had disappeared long ago flashed through her mind: sharp backhanded slaps that sent her stumbling to the ground; dark, airtight cupboards where she was forced to spend hours until she would submit to opening her mind; meager meals of porridge and sour milk.
She should go, turn around and flee. But what could they do to her here? She had to see them, or she would never be able to breathe easy again. “Do you know,” she said to Larson, “I think I will keep my bonnet after all. Is Mr. Whitby in attendance?”
“No, miss. Ladies only today.”
