Page 61 of The Orphan of Cemetery Hill
Mr. Whitby stopped in his tracks, his fist still raised as if he had only just stopped himself from swinging it.
“That will be Sergeant Hodsdon,” Dr. Jameson said. “Come, Richard. Be reasonable and leave the girl alone.”
She watched as a spectrum of emotions wrestled across Mr. Whitby’s face. At his outburst, all sounds had stopped in the theater. Kidnapping, coercion, and drugging were all acceptable in the name of science, but it seemed that the murder of a young woman was a bridge too far, even for the learned men gathered there.
Mr. Whitby’s expression turned introspective, as if he’d forgotten where he was. His hand trembled as he absently adjusted his crisp neckcloth. “I didn’t go there with the intent to kill her, only to talk. I had to make her understand how I felt about her, and why it was so hurtful, sodisrespectfulthat she would continue her engagement to Caleb, the man who had inherited the business that should have been mine. But she wouldn’t listen, and things grew heated between us. I put my hands around her neck, just enough to make her listen, but she wouldn’t stop struggling. I never meant to kill her,” he repeated dully. “It was pure luck that she and Caleb were heard arguing earlier in the evening. That helped me immensely.”
Tabby somehow found the strength to hoarsely ask: “But what about the stabbing? Why stab her once you had already strangled her?”
Mr. Whitby frowned at her, then gave a little shrug. “I of all people know what can become of a pristine corpse. It was my last act of love, to save her from such men as myself.”
The old man with the cane stood up again. “When I invested in this venture, it was with the understanding that all the bodies used would be those of criminals or the insane. I will not be party to such depravity. I want my money back.” More men stood up, shouting their displeasure and waving hats in the air.
It was then that the gallery door finally gave, and Sergeant Hodsdon came storming in, a half-dozen uniformed officers behind him. Like rats scattering from a sinking ship, the men in the audience fled, no doubt afraid that their own participation would be grounds for arrest.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” Sergeant Hodsdon said, a pair of irons open and ready in his hand. “Richard Whitby, you are hereby placed under arrest for the murder of Rose Hammond.”
Mr. Whitby came back to himself. “You can’t arrest me!” he roared. “We paid you! You are just as complicit as any man here!”
Sergeant Hodsdon was silent as he placed the irons around Mr. Whitby’s wrists. More officers were pouring in now, and Dr. Jameson sadly held his hands in front him, waiting for his own set of irons to be placed around them.
Tabby finally met Alice’s eye from across the floor. A current as strong as electricity passed between them. But what little strength she had found to confront Mr. Whitby had long since dissolved, and when next she closed her eyes, she did not open them again for a long time.
34
“WHEN WE TWO PARTED.”
“SHH, SHE’S WAKING UP!”
She had been floating, her body light and inconsequential. This was not the pressing darkness of the in-between place, and she couldn’t be dead because her head was pounding like the devil, her bladder was full, and there was a sour gnawing in her stomach. But she let herself drift a little longer, clinging to this comfortable nothingness like a dream, afraid to wake up and find herself in that horrid place again.
This time when the world slowly came into focus, it was not the kerosene lamps nor the sterile wood gallery of the operating theater, but the familiar eaves of her small room in the boarding house attic. The dim light coming through the little window was too much, though, and she closed her eyes again. Around her, she could feel the heat and presence of people gathered in the tiny space.
“Tabby, can you hear me?”
The Irish voice was low and sweet, like liquid velvet, and Tabby had never heard anything more welcome in her life. “Mary-Ruth,” she croaked.
“That’s right, dearest. And Alice is here, too.”
“Hello, Tabby.”
It took Tabby a minute to place what she was seeing,whoshe was seeing. Had she slipped back into the ether? Had she finally made contact with the one person who had eluded her after all these years? But no, there was no darkness, no terrible wind, no creeping sense of dread. She was tucked safe in her room and the woman who stood before her was as real as the cold rain that fell in needles against the window.
Tabby gave a little cry and, mindless of her sluggish legs and aching head, was out of bed and across the room in a flash. All resentment, all loneliness was forgotten as she felt her sister’s arms close around her.
“I’ll wait outside,” Mary-Ruth said, closing the door behind her.
“Oh God, Alice,” she said between sobs into her shoulder. She was twelve years old, scared that if she let go she would never see her sister again.
Alice was stroking her hair, then holding her at arm’s length and surveying her with her clear, sharp eyes. “I’m so sorry, Tabby. I never meant to leave you. I only wanted to make sure that you were safe. If...if you can’t forgive me, I would understand.”
All these years she had lived with a hole in her heart, a wound that would not heal. Her sister had not been quite a ghost, but not quite living either, so Tabby had neither body to mourn, nor hope to cling to. As she looked at Alice now, she felt the raw edges of her heart begin to fuse and heal. So this was what those mad resurrection men sought to do. This was the second chance that they strove to bring about. But their reasons were tainted by money and power; Mr. Whitby, Dr. Jameson, and the rest would never understand the tender beating of a heart and what it meant. They would never understand that only love could cross such a divide.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” She allowed herself to hold Alice for as long as she could, before her legs began to tremble and she had to get back into bed. When she was warmly tucked back in, she gazed at her sister, committing to memory the clearness of her sharp, intelligent eyes, the way her lips curved up ever so slightly in the smile that she’d given to Tabby when trying to reassure her as children.
“Where have you been? And why are you back now?”
“I think that may be a conversation for another time,” Alice said. “A time when the dust has settled from the last few days.”
