Page 45 of The Orphan of Cemetery Hill
“Tabby has been in danger since she was born, just by virtue of her gift. Our mother taught us never to share our gift with anyone, for fear that it would be exploited.” She leveled a long look at Caleb and he felt his stomach drop even further. “But she shared it with you. I hope you guarded that secret like the treasure it is.”
But he hadn’t. He had traded it for his freedom, and now she was vulnerable, alone. He let out a groan and cradled his head.
Alice narrowed her eyes. “What.”
“I—I may have told someone.”
It was a moment before Alice responded. “And is this someone trustworthy?”
Billy was a policeman, and he had only wanted to contact his dead mother. Where was the harm in that? But what if he told others about her?
His silence must have been all the answer she needed, and Alice sighed. “I see.”
In the din of the pub, a plan began to crystalize in Caleb’s mind. He had managed to make the beginnings of a life here in Edinburgh for himself, but he could not enjoy it with the yoke of guilt on his shoulders. Clerking for Hugh in the firm wasn’t the most fulfilling work, but it certainly was better than prison and a death sentence hanging over his head.
He had wasted his chance of love with Rose, and he wouldn’t do the same with Tabby. And so long as he was considered a suspect in Rose’s murder, there would be no justice. Rose deserved justice.
He studied the woman across the table, a vision of her sister, and knew what had to be done.
“What if we go back together?”
24
IN WHICH A LIBRARY YIELDS AN OPPORTUNITY.
THE LIBRARY WELCOMEDTabby with the warm smell of books and leather. The door had been unlocked, just as Mr. Dwight had said, and then it was up two flights of stairs from the basement to the library. A small plaque informed her that the medical theater was next door. God willing, Tabby would not have to look there.
There was a hushed reverence about the great wood-paneled hall. A handful of students sat at desks with thick volumes spread before them, glancing up at her as she passed. If any of them were concerned with a young woman in their midst, they didn’t say anything. She was used to being invisible, and nothing was more invisible than a lone woman in a shabby dress.
Tabby wandered the shelves of books. So much knowledge kept locked away for the privileged few, out of reach to those who were not born a man with white skin. She ached to pull the volumes down and learn all their secrets, but there was no time. She had learned her lesson the hard way at Mr. Whitby’s house.
The floorboards creaked under her feet as she studied the shelves, the only other noise the soft rustle of pages as students read. She fidgeted with a loose button on her bodice, her skin starting to feel hot and prickly the longer she aimlessly wandered about. What was she looking for, exactly? There had to be books on anatomical study, some sort of chronicle of the history of dissection at Harvard. She had never been in a library before, and didn’t know what kind of books might be available, let alone how to find them. Regardless, she could not simply take a book off the shelf and sit down with it like the men around her. Acting like a lost woman was one thing, but pretending to be a student was another altogether.
If only Caleb were there, he would have known what she was looking for. She was exhausted from nights of watching, weak from too little food and being cold all the time. What would she even do if she were to find out who the grave robbers were and what they were doing with the bodies? Who would listen to her? Tears of frustration started to build in her throat.
“Excuse me. Excuse me!”
Tabby looked up to see a barrel-chested man walking briskly toward her. She froze.
“Just what do you think you’re doing here?”
“I—I’m sorry. I was just—” She moved to slip past him, but the man took her by the arm.
His tobacco-yellowed mustache curled downward as he frowned. “There are no women permitted in the library.”
“I was just leaving. I’m sorry. I was only looking for—”
The man’s grip on her arm relaxed. “I know what this is about,” he said sternly.
“You do?”
“You’ve come looking for a position, haven’t you,” he said with a pitying, knowing smile.
She hesitated only a moment. “Yes, sir.”
He nodded as if this confirmed his suspicions. “You’d have done well to come during business hours, but you’re here now. My name is Mr. Quinn, and I manage the building. You look like a young woman in need of Christian kindness, and good, honest work. Can you carry a pail?”
She nodded. Though Tabby had never met Mr. Quinn before, she knew him all too well. He went to church every Sunday, puffing his chest as he belted out the hymns, thinking that it all but made him a saint on the days in between. When he looked at her, he saw not a person, but an act of charity.
