Tess Gerritsen - The Bone Garden - A Novel

— You tried to do the honorable thing. Take comfort in that. You engaged Mr. Wilson to find the child, and you were ready to provide for her. —

— Honorable? — Grenville shook his head. — The honorable thing would have been to provide for Aurnia months ago, instead of handing her a pretty necklace and walking away. — He looked up, torment in his eyes. — I swear to you, I didn't know she was carrying my child. Not until the day I saw her laid open on the dissection table. When Erastus pointed out that she'd recently given birth, that's when I realized I had a child. —

— But you never told Eliza? —

— No one but Mr. Wilson. I fully intended to see to the child's welfare, but I knew Eliza would feel threatened. Her late husband was unlucky with his finances. She has been living here on my charity. —

And this new child could claim it all, thought Wendell. He thought of all the slurs against the Irish that he'd heard from the lips of the Welliver sisters and Edward Kingston's mother; indeed, from almost every society matron in the best parlors of Boston. That her own darling son, who had no talent for earning a livelihood, would now have his future threatened by the spawn of a chambermaid would be the ultimate outrage for Eliza.

Yet it was an Irish girl who had, in the end, outwitted her. Rose Connolly had kept the child alive, and Wendell could imagine Eliza's mounting fury as the girl managed to elude her, day after day. He thought of the savage slashes on Agnes Poole's body, the torture of Mary Robinson, and he understood that the real target of Eliza's rage was Rose and every girl like her, every ragged foreigner who crowded the streets of Boston.

Lyons took Grenville's glass, refilled it, and handed it back to him. — I am sorry, Aldous, that I did not take control of the investigation sooner. By the time I stepped in, that idiot Pratt already had the public in a blood frenzy. — Lyons shook his head. — I'm afraid young Mr. Marshall was the unfortunate victim of that hysteria. —

— Pratt must be made to pay for that. —

— Oh, he will pay. I'll see to it. By the time I'm finished, his reputation will be dirt. I won't rest until he's hounded out of Boston. —

— Not that it matters now, — said Grenville softly. — Norris is gone. —

— Which offers us a possibility here. A way to limit the damage. —

— What do you mean? —

— Mr. Marshall is beyond our help now, and beyond further harm. He cannot suffer any more than he already has. We could allow this scandal to simply die quietly. —

— And not clear his name? —

— At the expense of your family's? —

Wendell had been silent up to this point. But now he was so appalled, he could not hold his tongue. — You'd let Norris go to his grave as the West End Reaper? When you know he's innocent? —

Constable Lyons looked at him. — There are other innocents to consider, Mr. Holmes. Young Charles, for example. It's painful enough for him that his mother chose to end her own life, and so publicly. Would you also force him to live with the stigma of having a murderess as a mother? —

— It's the truth, isn't it? —

— The public is not owed the truth. —

— But we owe it to Norris. To his memory. —

— He's not here to benefit from any such redemption. We'll lay no accusations at his feet. We'll simply remain silent, and allow the public to draw its own conclusions. —

— Even if those conclusions are false? —

— Whom does it harm? No one who still breathes. — Lyons sighed. — At any rate, there's still a trial to come. Mr. Jack Burke will almost certainly hang for the murder of Billy Piggott, at the very least. The truth may well be revealed then, and we can't suppress it. But we need not advertise it, either. —

Wendell looked at Dr. Grenville, who had remained silent. — Sir, you would allow such an injustice against Norris? He deserved better. —

Grenville said, softly: — I know. —

— It's a false honor your family clings to, if it requires you to blacken the memory of an innocent man. —

— There is Charles to think of. —

— And that's all that matters to you? —

— He is my nephew! —

A voice suddenly cut in: — And what of your son, Dr. Grenville? —

Startled, Wendell turned to stare at Rose, now standing in the parlor doorway. Grief had drained her face of all color, and what he saw bore little resemblance to the vibrant young girl she once was. In her place he saw a stranger, no longer a girl but a stone-faced woman who stood straight and unyielding, her gaze fixed on Grenville.

— Surely you knew you fathered another child, — she said. — He was your son. —

Grenville gave an anguished groan and dropped his head in his hands.

— He never realized, — she said. — But I saw it. And you must have, too, Doctor. The first time you laid eyes on him. How many women have you taken advantage of, sir? How many other children have you fathered out of wedlock, children you don't even know about? Children who are even now struggling just to stay alive? —

— There are no others. —

— How could you know? —

— I d o know! — He looked up. — What happened between Sophia and me was a long time ago, and it was something we both regretted. We betrayed my dear wife. Never again did I do so, not while Abigail lived. —

— You turned your back on your own son. —

— Sophia never told me the boy was mine! All those years he was growing up in Belmont, I didn't know. Until the day he arrived at the college, and I saw him. Then I realized… —

Wendell looked back and forth between Rose and Grenville. — You can't be speaking of Norris ? —

Rose's gaze was still fixed on Grenville. — While you lived in this grand house, Doctor, while you rode in your fine carriage to your country home in Weston, he was tilling fields and slopping pigs. —

— I tell you, I didn't know! Sophia never said a word to me. —

— And if she had, would you have acknowledged him? I don't think so. And poor Sophia had no choice but to marry the first man who'd have her. —

— I would have helped the boy. I would have seen to his needs. —

— But you didn't. Everything he accomplished was by his efforts alone. Does it not make you proud, that you fathered such a remarkable son? That in his short life, he rose so far above his station? —

— I am proud, — said Grenville softly. — If only Sophia had come to me years ago. —

— She tried to. —

— What do you mean? —

— Ask Charles. He heard what his mother said. Mrs. Lackaway told him she didn't want another one of your bastards suddenly showing up in the family. She said that ten years ago, she was forced to clean up your mess. —

— Ten years ago? — said Wendell. — Isn't that when— —

— When Norris's mother vanished, — said Rose. She drew in a shaky breath, the first hint of tears breaking her voice. — If only Norris had known! It would have meant everything to him, to know that his mother loved him. That she didn't abandon him, but was instead murdered. —

— I have no words in my own defense, Miss Connolly, — said Grenville. — I have a lifetime of sins to atone for, and I intend to. — He looked straight at Rose. — Now it seems there is a little girl somewhere in need of a home. A girl whom I swear to you will be given every comfort, every advantage. —

— I'll hold you to that promise, — said Rose.

— Where is she? Will you take me to my daughter? —

Rose met his gaze. — When the time is right. —

In the hearth, the fire had guttered out. The first light of dawn was brightening the sky.