Page 52 of The Orphan of Cemetery Hill

The man’s cheeks went red. “Miss Cooke, it would behoove you to cooperate. I don’t need to tell you that Mr. Whitby has something of a temper, and I would hate to see it turned against you.”

He was right; it wouldn’t do to go against Mr. Whitby. She had learned that the hard way over the past months.

“Well?” he prompted.

She snatched the gown back. “Well, I can’t very well change with you in the room.”

When he had gone and locked the door behind him, Tabby slumped onto the bed, the dress growing damp in her grasped hands. The silk was smooth and cool, blue as a sapphire. It was a dress meant to be worn to a ball, where its full skirts could billow out as the wearer twirled in carefree circles. It was a dress meant to be enjoyed. But instead, she would wear it to a dreary theater, surrounded only by the morbidly curious.

She sat there for what might have been minutes or hours, the light from the window gradually growing dimmer and dimmer. “Miss Cooke, are you decent?” came a voice from the other side of the door.

“A moment,” she managed to make herself say.

She knew what would happen tonight; Mr. Whitby had been promising it for weeks now. For her part, it wouldn’t be anything she hadn’t done before. All he would ask her to do was open her mind and make contact. But there was one very important difference; tonight, there would be a corpse beside her. Tonight, she would see the body of the person with whom she must speak.

Stepping into the skirt and attaching the bodice, Tabby felt like Anne Boleyn dressing before her execution. There was a cloudy mirror hanging from a nail on the wall, and she studied her reflection, feeling as far away from her body as the spirits to which she spoke. Then, she took down the mirror, and smashed it against the corner of the washbasin, sending a cascade of slivers onto the floor.

“Are you all right? Miss Cooke?”

No, she was not all right. She was alive, but she was not living. She missed her sister. There was no one for her on this side of the veil save for Eli and Mary-Ruth, and she couldn’t see either of them without endangering them. Why had it taken her so long to realize what must be done? Bending down, she selected a long, jagged shard and slipped it into her stocking garter. The rest she kicked under the bed. She might be leaving this spectral plane, but she would not go alone. She would not go without a fight.

“Miss Cooke, I’m coming in there.”

The key turned in the lock, and when the man opened the door, he found her perched demurely on the edge of the bed, hands clasped on her lap.

He narrowed his eyes. “I thought I heard something break.”

“Did you?” She cast a serene gaze about her. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Well, never mind that now. We’re going to be late. Are you ready?”

Taking one last cursory glance around the room, she stood and smoothed down her silk skirt, taking comfort in the cool weight of the mirror shard against her leg. Escape was not an option, not corporeally speaking, in any case. But what could they do to her if she was dead? What could they do to Eli? Would they betray him and send him back to the south? It was a risk, but so long as she was alive, she posed infinitely more of a risk to him.

“I am ready as I will ever be.”

29

IN WHICH A SEARCH PARTY IS FORMED.

ELI MUST HAVEbeen coming back from church when the hack came to a stop on the steep hill in front of the boarding house. He looked older than Caleb remembered, much older, his gray hair thinner, his gait stiffer. More than that, though, he looked tired. Dressed in a dark wool suit, he was escorting an older black woman, smiling down at her as they spoke, but as soon as he looked up and saw Caleb, his expression turned sour.

“Miss Suze, you’ll have to excuse me,” he said, tipping his hat to the woman.

The woman gave Caleb a wary look. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Eli said without taking his stony gaze from Caleb. “I know this boy. He’s trouble, but he wouldn’t be so stupid as to try anything with me.”

When she had gone, he turned back to Caleb. “Oh, but you have some nerve coming here, boy,” he said. “Your face is on every broadsheet between the harbor and the river for your jail break...where you were being held formurder,” he added in a hiss.

Caleb hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but he had at least hoped that the old caretaker would give him a chance to explain. He raised his palms in a gesture of peace and nodded toward Alice. “I’m not here to make trouble. I can explain everything later but there’s no time right now. This is Alice, Tabby’s sister.”

At the introduction, Alice stepped forward, and Eli seemed to notice her for the first time. His face went gray. “You...you look just like her. Tabby never said anything about a sister.”

“Is she here?” Alice demanded, without reciprocating the introduction.

Mr. Cooke dragged his gaze away from Alice, before turning to Caleb and giving him a long, hard look. Caleb took an involuntary step back. “I haven’t seen Tabby for over a month. She just up and disappeared one day. The police are no help, and no one has seen neither hide nor hair of her.”

Caleb felt as if someone had kicked his legs out from under him and he was free-falling. “A month,” he repeated. Tabby had been gone for a month. How could he have ever even considered not returning? How could he have thought he could live carefree in Edinburgh while Tabby was in danger?

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