Page 64 of The Orphan of Cemetery Hill
“Tabby,” he said quietly.
“You could bribe the police!” she continued, heedless of his protest.
“Tabby.”
She finally stopped.
“Listen to me. There’s something else I need to tell you. Something I did, that, ah, I am not proud of. If you knew, then you would understand why I deserve my sentence.”
She frowned. “I know that you have a certain...colorful history,” she said diplomatically.
“It’s not that,” he said. “I know I was a bit of a cad. I kissed you when I was engaged, I left you alone when you were most vulnerable. And...”
She did not like where this was going. “Go on.”
“The thing is...” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I may have told Billy—that is, Sergeant Hodsdon—about your...your ability. I may have leveraged it to help me escape.”
She could see sweat gathering at his temples despite the damp prison air. She waited for him to finish.
“I think... I think it was my fault that they found out about you and that you landed in Whitby’s hands.”
So Officer Hodsdon had found out about her from Caleb, not the séance. Tabby didn’t say anything, didn’t move a muscle. Not only had he not believed her when she’d told him, he betrayed her trust. How high her heart had soared, and now how quickly it plummeted.
“Please, say something,” he pleaded.
“What would you have me say?” She struggled to retain her composure, but her voice rose, her face growing hot. “You broke my trust, you sealed my fate by offering me up right to Mr. Whitby. I lost all hope. Do you know how close I was to taking my—” She cut herself short, biting down on her tongue and swiftly looking away.
Caleb took a step closer, but was stopped by the bars. His face was deadly serious. “How close you were to what, Tabby?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled, crossing her arms. “It doesn’t matter.”
He reached out a hand as if he would touch her, but then dropped it again with a heavy sigh. “It does matter, Tabby.Youmatter. What I did was terrible, unforgivable. I know that. If you can’t forgive me, I understand. But please know that what I did was out of my own miserable nature, and was not a reflection of you. You are a hundred times the person I could ever be, strong and loyal and loving. I—”
“Stop,” she said, cutting his pitiful speech short. “I don’t want to hear it anymore.”
She called for the warden. Her eyes stung with tears as she hurried away, heedless of Caleb calling after her.
Stupid man. Stupid, stupid man.
As soon as the prison expelled her onto the gray, slushy street, she began walking across the city to Beacon Hill. The sky was low and moody, a cold sting in the air that had men bundled up to their noses in thick mufflers, mothers holding their bundled children by mittened hands. Tabby had still not grown accustomed to walking without fear through the streets. Did the people she pass sense that she was different? Were her aunt and uncle still out there, looking for her?
One thing had not changed, though: Caleb still possessed the unique ability to drive her mad while simultaneously making her want to crawl into his arms and never let go. If he wanted to keep company with rats and drunkards as some sort of misplaced penance for the rest of his days in prison, that was his prerogative. But if he thought that Tabby was going to sit idly by, then he was mistaken. Him sitting in prison did Tabby no good. It didn’t bring Rose back. It didn’t erase the memories of the medical theater and the men leering at her. It didn’t erase the loneliness and crushing desperation of the past months. If he wanted to be a martyr, then he could do it out in the real world like everybody else.
Larson let Tabby in and showed her to the parlor. Mrs. Bishop sat in her chair, plucking listlessly at a loose thread on the arm of her chair. Her hair was thin and greasy, her coiffure unkempt.
“Hello, Mrs. Bishop,” Tabby said softly. “How are you?”
The older woman looked up at Tabby with glassy eyes, a vacant smile touching her lips. “You’ve come to see Caleb, haven’t you? I’m afraid he’s gone away and not likely to come back this time. He found his way back home, only to be arrested for his flight.”
“It’s you I’ve come to see, actually. About Caleb.”
Mrs. Bishop gestured vaguely to the sofa. Tabby had to push aside a pile of Caleb’s drawings to make room to sit. Measuring her words before she spoke, Tabby leaned forward. “You must know that I think rather highly of your son.”
At this, Mrs. Bishop looked up, some of the glassiness leaving her eyes. “I’ve always liked you, Tabby Cooke. My Caleb would be a fool if he didn’t, too.”
Tabby managed a small smile before continuing. “I tell you this because I think it’s possible for Caleb to be freed. He is innocent, after all, but he refuses to press his case, or even try for that matter.”
Mrs. Bishop had returned to picking at the thread, gazing sightlessly out the window. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t know what to do. Thomas was the one who would know what to do in this situation, and that wretched Mr. Whitby was always the one to look after our legal affairs.”
