Page 48 of The Orphan of Cemetery Hill
“Regretfully, yes.”
Hugh fumbled for a match and relit his pipe. “I had a feeling this was coming.” Caleb’s surprise must have shown, because Hugh gave an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t hire ye because I’m kind, I hired ye because I know raw talent when I see it. I knew when I hired ye that you had aspirations higher than a clerk. Your sketches showed promise, and I was planning on promoting you to partner after ye’d proven yourself first. Well, you’ve proven yourself and then some. So I’d like to offer ye partner now.”
Caleb sat, stunned. “Partner?” he managed to croak out.
Hugh nodded. “I was planning on waiting ’til the new year, but I don’t want to lose ye, so there it is.”
Everything Caleb had ever wanted was being laid at his feet, and all he had to do was pluck it up and claim it for his own. The cozy, cluttered office could be his. Buildings that had been born in his mind would become reality and bear his name.
Hugh gave him one of his rare grins. “You’re speechless. Say yes, for God’s sake. Jenny is with pup and I’m going to need a man I can rely on in the coming months before the bairn comes and I never sleep a wink again.”
“I...” Caleb opened his mouth to decline it. He had to decline it. If he didn’t, the temptation would be too great. But he couldn’t find the words or the will to give up everything he had ever wanted.
“I’ve taken ye by surprise. Why don’t ye take the afternoon to think about it?”
Before he could respond, Hugh was clapping him on the back and ushering him out of the office.
By the time Caleb emerged back out into the street, it was nearing dusk. Hugh’s offer and what it would mean for him should have made him feel light as air, but instead it felt as if he had been burdened with a mantle of lead. He could have not just a new life, but a better life. By returning to Boston now he wouldn’t just be giving up his freedom, but the future of which he had always dreamed.
As he walked through the now-familiar streets of Edinburgh, he cataloged each and every building and landmark as he passed. The Nelson Monument, designed by Alexander Nasmyth, 1807. Charlotte Square, designed by Robert Adam, 1792. The Scott Monument, George Kemp, 1844. Pausing at an empty lot, he envisioned a fountain of beautiful nymphs with long curling hair and marbled eyes, pouring bottomless basins of water. Bishop, 1860. What good could he really do in Boston anyway? Alice would still go back, and she would reunite with Tabby and make sure that she was safe. Who better to protect Tabby than her own sister? Tabby had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t think very highly of him, so he would be going back to nothing but a warrant for his arrest. Perhaps it was better if he did stay.
He found himself walking well out of the city, and ended up back at the port. The ship that he had booked passage on for himself and Alice was bobbing gently in the water as the crew loaded it with trunks and barrels in preparation for its departure the next morning.
As he watched, his situation weighed only the heavier on him. By going back to Boston, he was giving up his freedom, not only to follow his own path, but to live his life at all. When he landed on the far shore, all that would be waiting for him was a noose. He shivered at the thought. Did they still hang people? Perhaps not a noose, then, but certainly a firing squad. If he was lucky they would kill him in one shot. And after his father’s fate, he’d had the misfortune of learning what became of the bodies of convicts.
Someone touched his shoulder and he jumped.
Alice was standing behind him, dressed smartly in men’s riding breeches and a nipped-waist frock coat.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. The port was a good distance from the city center, and he’d already assured her that he’d taken care of all their arrangements.
“I could ask the same of you.”
He shrugged. A cold, brackish mist was rolling in off the water. “Just thinking.”
Alice did him the courtesy of not probing any further into his thoughts. They stood together in comfortable silence, watching the crew move about the ship, a well-choreographed routine, as hopeful gulls circled looking for dropped food. He slid a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. What would she be leaving behind? What sacrifices of her own was she making to return to Boston? A sharp stab of guilt ran through him; if he stayed, he would be laying all the responsibility on her shoulders. But she at least would be free in Boston. She would have Tabby.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“I’ve packed and made all my arrangements, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly.
She kept her gaze trained on the ship, nodding. “I know. No, I’m not ready. I’m not ready to go back and face the consequences of leaving my only sister to fend for herself, even if it was the right thing to do at the time. I’m not ready to leave behind the life I struggled to build for myself here. I’m not ready to go back to my old demons. But it’s time. I can continue looking over my shoulder in Edinburgh, or I can do it in Boston where at least I have my sister. And if she’s in some kind of trouble, I can do a lot more to help her there than I can here. It’s time,” she repeated.
Caleb swallowed, horrified to find that tears were welling up in his eyes. He hadn’t cried when his father had beat him black and blue as a child, nor when he’d learned of Rose’s death, or was imprisoned for it. He certainly hadn’t cried when his father died. But as he stared out over the harbor lights winking in the dusk and the ship that would bear him back to Boston, he finally allowed the tears to fall. It was time.
26
IN WHICH NIGHTMARES BECOME REAL.
SHE COULDN’T FEELher body. Cold darkness pressed in around her, and Rose’s sweet, mournful voice echoed through the void.
She was dead. Oh God, she had to be dead. This had always been her fate—it was everyone’s fate—but she simply wasn’t ready. She would never feel fresh spring grass under her feet again, or Eli’s warm hand squeezing hers. She would never smell the crisp scent of autumn mingling with the salty harbor breeze, or taste warm licorice melting on her tongue. She would never know what it was like to make love to a man, nor to be someone’s one and only beloved. How lonely it was, and how much she suddenly realized why spirits were always so eager to be heard by her.
But just when she thought that ether would swallow her up completely, the fog dissipated, leaving her somewhere with the sharp scent of antiseptic, and a dull light behind her eyelids. Voices echoed as if coming through a tunnel, and she could feel the air shift as a person, or people, moved about her. She was alive, but the not knowing where she was or why was almost worse.
Gradually, the voices sharpened and became vaguely familiar. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt her!”
