Tess Gerritsen - The Bone Garden - A Novel

At last he looked at her, and by the glow through the window she saw his bewildered face. — I don't know. It was Nurse Poole wrote the note. —

— What note? —

— The one she told me to give him. —

— She told you to deliver a note? —

— Told me there'd be half a dollar if I was quick about it. —

She stared at the lad— a lad who could not read. What better messenger than Dim Billy, who'd happily run any errand for a few coins and a pat on the back?

— Where did she send you with the note? — Rose asked.

His gaze was back on the flames. — It's growing. It's coming this way. —

— Billy. — She shook him hard. — Show me where you took the note. —

He nodded, retreating from the window. — It's away from the fire. We'll be safer there. —

He led the way down the steps and out of the barn. The dog followed them, tail wagging, as they headed up the north slope of Beacon Hill. Every so often, Billy stopped to look east, to see if the flames were following them.

— Are you sure you remember the house? — she asked.

— 'Course I remember it. Nurse Poole said there'd be a half dollar in it for me, but there wasn't. Came all this way, and the gentleman wasn't even at home. But I wanted my half dollar, so I gave the note to the maid. And she shut the door in my face, just like that. Stupid girl! I never got my half dollar. I went back to Nurse Poole, and she didn't give me no half dollar either. —

— Where are we going? —

— This way. You know. —

— I don't know. —

— Yes, you do. —

They came down the hill onto Beacon Street. Again, he glanced east. The sky was an ugly orange, and smoke was blowing toward them, carrying the smell of catastrophe in the air. — Hurry, — he said. — Fire can't cross the river. — He began to trot up Beacon Street, moving steadily toward the Mill Dam.

— Billy, show me where you delivered the note. Take me right to the door! —

— Here it is. — He pushed through a gate and stepped into a yard. The dog trotted in after him.

She halted on the street and stared up in shock at Dr. Grenville's house.

— I took it to the back door, — he said. He headed around the corner of the house and vanished into shadows. — Here's where I brought it, Miss Rose! —

She remained frozen in place. So this was the secret Aurnia told in the birthing room that night.

She heard the dog growl.

— Billy? — she said. She followed him into the side yard. The shadows were so thick, she could not see him. For a moment she hesitated, her heart thudding as she peered into the darkness. She took a few steps forward then halted as the dog came creeping toward her, growling, the ruff of his neck standing up.

What was wrong with him? Why was he afraid of her?

She stopped dead in her tracks as a chill screamed up her spine. The dog was not growling at her, but at something behind her.

— Billy? — she said, and turned.

— I want no more blood spilled. And see that you keep my carriage clean. There's already a mess here, and I'll have to mop up this path before daylight. —

— I'm not doing this alone. You want it done, ma'am, you'll take an equal part in it. —

Through the hammering pain in her head, Rose heard their muffled voices, but she could not see them, could not see anything. She opened her eyes and confronted a darkness as black as the grave. Something pressed down upon her, so heavy that she could not move, could barely draw in a breath. The two voices continued arguing, near enough for her to hear every agitated whisper.

— What if I'm stopped on the road? — the man said. — What if someone spots me with this carriage? I have no reason to be driving it. But if you're with me— —

— I've paid you quite enough to take care of this. —

— Not enough for me to risk the gallows. — The man paused at the growl of Billy's dog. — Bloody mutt, — he said, and the dog's yelp of pain faded to retreating whimpers.

Rose fought to take in a breath, and she inhaled the scent of dirty wool and an unwashed body, alarmingly familiar smells. She worked one arm free and groped at what was lying on top of her. She touched buttons and woolen fabric. Her hands moved past a frayed collar and suddenly touched skin. She felt a jaw, slack and lifeless, a chin with the first pitiful bristles of an immature beard. And then something slimy, something that coated her fingers with the rich smell of rust.

Billy .

She pinched his cheek, but he didn't move. Only then did she realize he was not breathing.

— …either you come with me, or I won't do it. I won't risk my neck for this. —

— You forget, Mr. Burke, what I know about you. —

— Then I'd say we're even. After tonight. —

— How dare you. — The woman's voice had risen, and Rose suddenly recognized it. Eliza Lackaway.

There was a long pause. Then Burke gave a dismissive laugh. — Go on, go ahead and shoot me. I don't think you'd dare. Then you'll have three bodies to dispose of. — He gave a snort and his footsteps moved away.

— All right, — said Eliza. — I'll come with you. —

Burke gave a grunt. — Climb in back with 'em. Anyone stops us, I'll let you talk us out of it. —

Rose heard the carriage door open and felt the vehicle sag with the new weight. Eliza pulled the door shut. — Go, Mr. Burke. —

But the carriage did not move. Burke said, softly: — We have a problem, Mrs. Lackaway. A witness. —

— What? — Eliza suddenly took in a startled breath. — Charles, — she whispered, and scrambled out of the carriage. — You shouldn't be out of bed! Go back into the house at once. —

— Why are you doing this, Mother? — asked Charles.

— There's a fire on the docks, darling. We're bringing the carriage around, in case they need to transport the injured. —

— That's not true. I saw you, Mother, from my window. I saw what you put in the carriage. —

— Charles, you don't understand. —

— Who are they? —

— They're not important. —

— Then why did you kill them? —

There was a long silence.

Burke said, — He's a witness. —

— He's my son ! — Eliza took a deep breath, and when she spoke again she sounded calmer and in control. — Charles, I'm doing this for you. For your future. —

— What does killing two people have to do with my future? —

— I will not tolerate another one of his bastards turning up! I cleaned up my brother's mess ten years ago, and now I'll do it again. —

— What are you talking about? —

— It's your inheritance I'm protecting, Charles. It came from my father, and it belongs to you. I won't see one penny of it go to the brat of a chambermaid ! —

There was a long silence. Then a stunned-sounding Charles said, — The baby is Uncle's ? —

— That shocks you? — She laughed. — A saint my brother is not, yet every accolade goes to him . I was just the daughter, to be married off. You are my accomplishment, darling. I won't see your future destroyed. — Eliza climbed back into the carriage. — Now go back to bed. —

— And the child? You would kill a baby? —

— Only the girl knew where it was hidden. The secret died with her. — Eliza pulled the carriage door shut. — Now let me finish this. Let's go, Mr. Burke. —

— Which way? — asked Burke.

— Away from the fire. There'll be too many people there. Go west. It'll be quietest on Prison Point Bridge. —

— Mother, — said Charles, his voice breaking in despair. — If you do this, it's not in my name. None of this is in my name! —