Page 50 of The Orphan of Cemetery Hill

What could he possibly know about her that she didn’t know herself? “You’re bluffing,” she said.

He paused. “What do you know about the early life of your beloved adoptive father?”

Tabby’s body went rigid.No nono. She had been so careful, but he had found Eli, and was prepared to do some terrible thing to him to force her hand.

“I can see by your face that you weren’t aware that your father has secrets of his own. Just as I thought,” he said. “Well, it might interest you to know that Eli Cooke is actually one Cato Walker, a fugitive slave from Virginia. Apparently, he was quite a favorite of his master. Unfortunately, the good Mr. Thorndike passed away six years ago. His son inherited his holdings and is quite determined that his father’s property be returned to its rightful owner.”

Tabby didn’t need to hear any more, didn’twantto hear any more. Eli had been a slave, and had somehow escaped hell and made his way to Boston, where he’d forged a new life for himself. She burned with fury at the unfairness of it all, that a gentle, kind man like Eli had to live in fear, while the Mr. Whitbys of the world were exempt from responsibility for their heinous actions.

She opened her mouth to tell him as much, but all that came out was a torrent of curses.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked. “Despite your assumptions about me, I’m a reasonable man. Your father has made a life here for himself, and has had the luck to thus far evade capture. I’m prepared to hold my peace, but you must cooperate.”

At some point Officer Hodsdon had been removed from the room, and Mr. Whitby’s silent presence radiated cold and menacing beside her. Dr. Jameson was hovering just beyond her field of vision, but she could hear the delicate clinking of silver medical tools.

So, it had come to this: her worst fear since she was a child. They had said they wouldn’t hurt her, but they could poke and prod at her, try to find something in her that explained her powers, perhaps even harness them. Mr. Whitby had said he hadn’t intended to kill Rose, and yet she had still ended up dead. Would the same thing happen to Tabby? And in the end, did it really matter? What had she to lose? Mostly she was sorry for Eli, that he would never know just how much he meant to her, and that he would think she had run away and left him. But she could not risk what Mr. Whitby said to be true, and so her fate was sealed.

27

IN WHICH THE FUGITIVES RETURN.

THE LAST TIMECaleb had been in Boston, he’d been stealing through the streets under the cover of darkness, his clothes filthy, his heart pounding, and a flight instinct propelling him toward the docks. Now he sat in a rather nice hack, the damp, ancient city of Edinburgh but a distant dream. They passed his club where Debbenham still owed him for cards, and then the theater where Caleb used to watch the pretty actresses from his box, waiting to catch their eye and secure an invitation to their dressing room after the play. How petty and small his old life seemed now. How much time he had wasted on a desperate and frivolous pursuit of what he had thought was happiness, and now knew to be only distraction.

Across from him sat Alice Bellefonte. She had been withdrawn and stayed below deck for most of the six-week journey, but now she sat on the edge of her seat, darting glances out the window and twining her fingers together over and over. The small hack vibrated with expectation, anxiety, and hope.

In the end, he had boarded the ship with Alice early in the morning, and watched the port disappear back into the Scottish fog. Fulfilling his dreams at the expense of abandoning Tabby in her hour of need would have been a hollow victory.

As they pulled up to his old home on Beacon Hill, his heart lurched. The flower boxes his mother took such delight in were empty in preparation for the winter, the windows dark and cold. The only sign of occupation was a thread of smoke coming from the chimney. Alice had wanted to go directly to the cemetery, had wanted to see Tabby for herself and make sure that she was all right. And though he ached to see Tabby like a marooned man aches to see land, he had reasoned that it had taken them nearly two months to reach home, and another hour or so wasn’t going to change anything. His mother, on the other hand, would be wasting away from nerves.

He had been right. As soon as his mother saw him enter the parlor, she was on her feet, rushing to him with outstretched arms. She had lost weight, and the clothes in which she had always taken so much pride hung from her, like they were no more than rags tossed over the skeletal figure of a scarecrow. She folded him into her embrace, her arms thin and fragile, and enveloped him in her familiar scent.

But then she pulled back and delivered him a stinging wallop across his cheek.

“Ow! For Chrissake, what was that for?”

“That,” she said, sniffing indignantly, “was for giving me the fright of my life. I thought you were dead!”

“Dead? Whatever would have given you that idea?” Word of his escape would have been in the papers, and he hadn’t thought that his mother would think him so weak that he had immediately perished outside the prison walls.

Her lip quivered, but she drew her head up, defensive. “A medium told me.”

“Oh, Mother,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Itoldyou not to waste a minute nor a nickel on those people.”

“Yes, well, a widow with no children left has little recourse and I was desperate. If it wasn’t for Miss Cooke setting me right, I would have lost all hope. But you will never believe this...” She leaned in conspiratorially. “The medium was none other than Miss Cooke’s long-lost aunt!”

For the first time since they’d arrived, Alice made a noise. She took a hesitant step farther into the parlor, suddenly very pale. “Minerva Bellefonte? She was here?”

Mrs. Bishop’s gaze finally landed on Alice. “And who might this be?”

“Mother, may I present Miss Alice Bellefonte. Tabby’s sister,” he added.

Alice gave an abbreviated bow of her head.

“I see,” his mother murmured. “A pleasure. Yes, Minerva Bellefonte was here. She is supposed to be the best medium in Massachusetts. I didn’t realize she was Tabby’s aunt when I made the arrangements for the séance, but everything came to light in the most extraordinary manner.”

Caleb’s mouth went dry. “What happened?”

“Well, there was an awful row. Tabby exposed her in front of the entire assembly of ladies as a fraud. She said her piece, and before I had a chance to bring the room to order, she was gone.”

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