Page 30 of The Orphan of Cemetery Hill

After four days and no sign that Billy would take Caleb up on his offer, Caleb’s hope began to wane. Was it imperative that Billy did? No, but it would certainly make Caleb’s plan easier. He needed Billy to let his guard down, so to speak, in more ways than one.

So it took Caleb by surprise when bringing him his tray one morning, Billy slid him a curious, almost sheepish look.

“Is she really a medium?” he asked. “She can speak with the dead?”

Caleb chose his words carefully. “That’s right. She’s not like some of the charlatans peddling false promises and nonsense around Boston. I’ve witnessed her gift for myself.” How anyone could believe such tripe was beyond him, but Billy seemed intrigued.

Leaning against the wall, Billy folded his arms in consideration. “I’d like to see her again. If you’re still willing to arrange something, that is.”

Caleb’s pulse beat faster but he kept his voice steady. “Of course. I’m afraid that we left on rather poor terms the last time I saw her, but fetch me paper and pen and I’ll write to her.”

“Well, I’d wager you will have more luck with her than I would. She would hardly look at me when she came last time, even though she was nothing but courteous when I called on her at home.”

When had Billy met with Tabby outside the prison? But he couldn’t very well ask without sounding suspicious, so he kept his questions to himself.

If the weak shaft of light coming from his sliver of a window was any indication, then it was still daytime. It wasn’t ideal timing, but an opportunity was an opportunity. He would have to be fast and take extra care not to be seen.

When Billy returned, he was carrying a sheaf of paper and some lead. “I’m afraid I couldn’t commandeer a pen, but hopefully this will do.”

Caleb accepted them through the bars, and after making a show of trying to write with the paper braced on his thigh, he turned a sheepish look at Billy. “Say, you don’t think I could write this at your desk, could I? I’m afraid the light in here is rather poor. You could watch as I write and make sure the letter is to your satisfaction.”

“I can’t let you out, Caleb. You know that.”

“Of course, what was I thinking,” he said, pausing for effect. “Would you come in here with a lamp, then? You can still look over the letter, and we’ll have it off in no time.”

He could see indecision warring on Billy’s face, not wanting to be impolite, but clearly uncomfortable with the request. Caleb pushed away the guilt of lying to the man who had been nothing but kind to him during his time here.

Sweat trickled down Caleb’s neck as he waited for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, Billy unclipped the heavy ring of keys he kept at his belt and then he was opening the door and breaching the boundary between freedom and confinement.

Caleb kept his breathing even as Billy set down a lamp and then settled next to him on the creaking bench.

“Better be quick about it,” Billy said as he craned his head to peer out the door. “The captain or warden could walk by anytime and I can’t be caught.”

“Of course.” Caleb began writing, flicking one quick glance at Billy before he fumbled with the lead, dropping it and sending it skittering across the floor. “Damn. Can you see where that went?”

Billy dropped to his knees, reaching for the lead, which had rolled across the cell and come to rest against a clump of straw.

Taking a deep breath, Caleb reached for the lamp beside him. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

Billy didn’t even look up. “Hmm? For what?”

“For this.” And with that, Caleb brought the lamp down on the back of his head, hard.

The butter on the johnnycakes was starting to congeal.

Usually when Eli made the special breakfast, Tabby was already wolfing down second helpings before the butter had a chance to so much as soften. But today she sat poking at the cooling cakes, lost in a heavy fog. She had slept poorly the night before, waking every time a stray dog barked outside or a branch rustled in the wind. She’d stolen to the window more than once, peeking out from behind the curtain at the cemetery across the street, certain that she saw a shadowy figure watching her. Dawn had found her with dry red eyes, but there had been no knock at the door from Mr. Whitby, no one come to find her and drag her back to him.

Her last day at home had stretched into a week, then two, as the cooler winds of autumn swept away the sweet, grassy summer evenings. Every morning she awoke from her fitful sleep, determined that it would be the day she finally left and disappeared into some anonymous city. But where would she go? She’d had the lie about a cousin in Rockport at the ready, but hadn’t actually thought about where she would go. Eli hadn’t said anything as each day she sat inside, tense and withdrawn.

Tabby poked at her johnnycakes. For all the thoughts swirling in her head about Mr. Whitby, there was something about his motive for killing Rose that didn’t sit right with her. How did he know that Rose and Caleb would have argued that night? And why would a rich man like him get his hands dirty? If Caleb were to be hanged, would the shipping business actually revert to Mr. Whitby? It was a convoluted and precarious plan, and Mr. Whitby struck her as anything but.

Eli set down his fork with a sigh and leaned his elbows on the table. “You’re not eating. You need to eat.”

Tabby gave a weak smile and skewered some of the cake on her fork and made an effort to lift it to her mouth. “Just tired,” she said.

He gave her a long look. “There was a prison break last night,” he said finally. “Mrs. Hodge told me when I paid the rent this morning.”

Tabby stopped chewing, the johnnycake turning to ash in her mouth. “Oh?”

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