The Bone Garden: A Novel

Thirty-four

— AURNIA CONNOLLY, — said Wendell, — was a chambermaid in the Welliver household in Providence. After only three months in their employ, she abruptly left that position. That was in May. —

— May? — said Norris, comprehending the significance.

— By then she would have been aware of her condition. Soon thereafter, she married a tailor with whom she was already acquainted. Mr. Eben Tate. —

Norris stared anxiously at the dark road ahead. He was at the reins of Wendell's two-man shay, and for the past two hours they had driven the horse hard. Now they were approaching the village of Cambridge, and Boston was just a bridge crossing away.

— Kitty and Gwen told me their chambermaid had flame-colored hair, — said Wendell. — She was nineteen years old and said to be quite fetching. —

— Fetching enough to catch the eye of a most distinguished houseguest? —

— Dr. Grenville visited the Wellivers back in March. That's what the sisters told me. He stayed there for two weeks, during which time they noticed he would often sit up quite late, reading in the parlor. After the rest of the household had retired for the night. —

In March. The month that Aurnia's child would have been conceived.

Their fast-moving shay suddenly bounced hard over a rut in the road, and both men scrambled to hold on.

— Slow down, for God's sake! — said Wendell. — This isn't the place to break an axle. This close to Boston, someone might recognize you. —

But Norris did not rein in the horse, even though the animal was already heaving hard, and it still had a long journey ahead of it tonight.

— This is madness for you to go back to the city, — said Wendell. — You should be as far away as you can get. —

— I won't leave Rose with him. — Norris leaned forward as if by sheer will he could force their little shay to move more quickly. — I thought she would be safe there. I thought I was protecting her. Instead, I've delivered her straight to the killer's house. —

The bridge was ahead. One short ride across the Charles River, and Norris would be back in the city that he'd fled only yesterday. But tonight, that city had changed. He slowed their exhausted horse to a walk and gazed across the water, at the orange glow in the night sky. Along the west bank of the Charles, a small but excited crowd had gathered to watch as distant flames lit up the horizon. Even this far from the blaze, the air was heavy with the smell of smoke.

A boy ran past their shay, and Wendell called out: — What's burning? —

— They say it's Hancock's Wharf! They're calling for volunteers to help fight it! —

Which means there'll be fewer eyes elsewhere in town, thought Norris. Fewer chances I'll be recognized. Nevertheless, he pulled up the collar of his greatcoat and lowered the brim of his hat as they started across the West Boston Bridge.

— I'll go to the door to fetch her, — said Wendell. — You stay with the horse. —

Norris stared ahead, his hands tightening around the reins. — Nothing must go wrong. Just get her out of that house. —

Wendell grasped his friend's arm. — Before you know it, she'll be sitting right here beside you, and you'll be on your way together. — He added ruefully: — With my horse. —

— Somehow, I'll return him to you. I swear, Wendell. —

— Well, Rose certainly believes in you. That should be good enough for me. —

And I believe in her.

Their horse clopped off the bridge, onto Cambridge Street. The glow of the wharf fire was dead ahead, and the road seemed eerily empty, the air thicker with smoke and black motes of ash. Once he and Rose were out of this city, they'd head west to collect Meggie. By sunrise, they'd be well away from Boston.

He turned the horse south, toward Beacon Street. Even here the road was eerily empty, and the night even more ominous with the smell of smoke. The air itself seemed to close in around Norris like an ever-tightening noose. Grenville's house was now just ahead, and as they neared the front gate, the horse suddenly reared, startled by a moving shadow. Norris hauled on the reins as the shay lurched and tilted, and finally managed to regain control. Only then did he see what had panicked the animal.

Charles Lackaway, dressed only in his nightshirt, stood in the front yard, staring at Norris with dazed eyes. — You came back, — he murmured.

Wendell jumped out of the shay. — Just let him take Rose and say nothing. Please, Charlie. Let her go with him. —

— I can't. —

— For God's sake, you were my friend. All he wants is to take Rose. —

— I think… — Charles's voice broke into a sob. — I think she has killed her. —

Norris scrambled out of the shay. Grabbing Charles by the collar of his nightshirt, he pinned him to the fence. — Where is Rose? —

— My mother— she and that man took her— —

— Where? —

— To Prison Point Bridge, — Charles whispered. — I think it's too late. —

In an instant Norris was back in the shay. He did not wait for Wendell; the horse could move faster with only one man in tow. He cracked the whip and the horse broke into a gallop.

— Wait! — Wendell called, running after him.

But Norris only swung the whip harder.

The carriage stopped.

Wedged into the floor of the carriage, trapped under the weight of Billy's body, Rose could no longer feel her own legs. They were numb and useless to her, dead limbs that might as well belong to Billy's corpse. She heard the door open, felt the carriage sway as Eliza stepped out onto the bridge.

— Wait, — Burke cautioned. — There's someone coming. —

Rose heard the steady clip-clop of a horse crossing the bridge. And what would the rider think as he passed the carriage parked at the side? Would he glance at the man and woman who stood at the railing, looking at the water? Did he think Eliza and Burke were lovers, meeting furtively on this lonely span? Billy's dog began to bark, and she could hear it scratching at the carriage, trying to reach its dead master. Would the passing horseman mark that odd detail? The dog barking and clawing at the carriage, the couple nonchalantly ignoring it as they stood with backs turned, facing the water?

She tried to shout for help, but she could not draw in a deep breath and her voice was muffled beneath the heavy oilcloth draped over her and Billy. And the dog, that noisy dog, kept barking and scratching, drowning out what meager cries she could produce. She heard the horse trot past, and then the sound of the hooves faded as the rider moved on, never realizing that his inattention had just condemned a woman to death.

The carriage door swung open.

— Damn it, I thought I heard something. One of them is still alive! — Eliza said.

The oilcloth flew off. The man grabbed Billy's body and rolled it out of the carriage. Rose sucked in a deep breath and screamed. Her cry was immediately cut off by a thick hand over her mouth.

— Hand me my knife, — Burke said to Eliza. — I'll shut her up. —

— No blood in the carriage! Just throw her in the water now, before someone else comes! —

— What if she can swim? —

His question was answered by the sudden rip of cloth as Eliza tore Rose's petticoat into strips. With brutal efficiency she tied Rose's ankles together. A wad of cloth was stuffed into Rose's mouth, then the man bound her wrists.

The dog's barking became frenzied. It circled the carriage now, howling, but it stayed just beyond the reach of their kicks.

— Throw her in, — Eliza said. — Before that bloody dog draws any more— — She paused. — Someone else is coming. —

— Where? —

— Do it now, before they see us! —

Rose gave a sob as the man hauled her out of the carriage. She squirmed in his arms, her hair whipping his face as she tried to thrash her way free. But his arms were too powerful, and it was too late for him to entertain any second thoughts about what he was going to do. As he carried her to the railing, Rose caught a glimpse of Billy, lying dead beside the carriage, his dog crouched beside him. She saw Eliza, her hair wild and windblown. And she caught a view of the sky, the stars muted by a haze of smoke.

Then she fell.