Hide Me Among the Graves

identifying which of the similar steps and doors were hers.

This evening she was able to tell immediately. “I think you can ask him right now,” she said, suddenly very tired.

Four people stood in the lamplight on her doorstep. Though they were shapeless bulks of winter clothing, the white-bearded one was clearly Trelawny himself, and she was pretty sure that two of the others were Adelaide McKee and her husband.

The cab slithered to a stop on icy cobblestones, and William climbed out and helped Christina step down; and he kept hold of her elbow as they nodded to the visitors and made their way carefully up to the lamplit door.

After unlocking it, Christina turned to McKee and said, “I’m afraid I’m not up to guests at the moment, Adelaide. If you would write to me tomorrow—”

“Actually, Miss Rossetti,” interrupted Trelawny, “it’s William we came to see.”

William glanced at his sister, and she sighed and nodded. “Do come in. William can be your host.”

“Just for a couple of minutes,” said William. “I’ve got to be getting home myself.”

They all trooped up the steps and into the entry hall, where there was another little snowstorm as everyone unwound scarves and took off hats and shrugged out of overcoats, and then William had fetched in another chair from the dining room so that they could all sit in the parlor. Trelawny made quick introductions.

“I’ll just join you all in a cup of tea,” said Christina, “and then I’ll have to ask you all to excuse me.” She smiled at Johanna, who now looked very much like her mother did when Christina had first met her at the Magdalen Penitentiary, nineteen years ago. “It’s so good to see you again, Johanna!” she said. “You were still a child when I saw you last.”

Johanna, sitting between her mother and father on a sofa by the fireplace, nodded and returned the smile. “I remember that you fired two shots from a revolver in my father’s surgery.”

William, sitting closer to the fire, had clearly been about to ask Trelawny what his business was, but at this he turned to stare at Christina.

She shrugged. “It was a stressful afternoon. And the second shot was just because I dropped the pistol.”

Trelawny stood up. “We’ve come,” he said bluntly to William, “to ask you for that piece of Shelley’s jawbone that I gave you three years ago.”

William blinked up at him, his mouth open. “But — but Edward, surely you know why I can’t give it back!”

“We were just talking about it,” exclaimed Christina. “Did you know William’s wife gave birth to a son two days ago?”

Trelawny bared his teeth in a pained grimace, but he went on, “It was a loan. I’m calling it back now.”

William’s eyes were wide, and his beard was shaking along with his chin. “I’d be killing my children — and my wife — if I gave it up! Just as I killed our first child, and my wife’s brother, when I refused it at first, foolishly!”

“You’ve had benefit of it,” said Trelawny. “Now my grandchild has been taken by your uncle!  — the uncle you,” he said, turning on Christina, “quickened!”

Christina’s face was hot, and she took a breath but then couldn’t think of anything to say.

McKee and her husband were looking away, but Johanna — who must be twenty now! — was listening avidly, her blue eyes bright in the glow of the gas-jet chandelier overhead.

“I thought,” began Christina. William and Trelawny both swung to face her, so she went on weakly, “I thought we had reached a working truce. William had the fragment of jawbone to protect his family; you,” she said, nodding at Trelawny, “were in a favored position; and Adelaide, I thought you three had fled overseas!”

“My idiot daughter moved back to England,” said Trelawny, “and now her daughter is a captive of your damnable relative.”

“As I was,” murmured Johanna.

“As you’re likely to be again,” snapped McKee, “if we don’t get you into a foreign-bound boat damn quick!”

“I can’t leave,” said Johanna, “while a fourteen-year-old girl is in the trap I was in.” She gave Christina a look that was almost merry. “You’re the one who saved me, with your mirror trick.”

To Trelawny, Christina said in a whisper, “She’s fourteen?”

The old man nodded grimly.

“I was fourteen too,” Christina said softly, “when I fell into his trap.”

“My son is two days old,” said William, standing up.

“We’ve been friends, William,” said Trelawny, “but I will have that bit of bone.” He drew a revolver from under his coat, hesitated, then stepped to Christina’s chair and pointed it diagonally down, straight at her face.

She found herself looking up the barrel, which was only inches in front of her nose — she noticed spiral grooves in the bore, and in that tense moment the only thing in her mind was remote curiosity about whether all guns had that feature.

Trelawny glared sideways at William. “The first incentive I offer,” he said, “is the life of your sister. Forfeiting that, you’ll find I can bring further incentives to bear.”

“I have another idea,” Christina said.

CRAWFORD HOPED SHE DID. The Rossettis’ mother was in some nearby room preparing tea, and Trelawny might very well be capable of blowing Christina Rossetti’s head off right here in the parlor.

Crawford’s ears were ringing as if in anticipation of the shot, and Trelawny was too far away across the carpet for Crawford to hope to spring up from the sofa and catch the old man’s arm before he could shoot, and William’s chair was on the other side of the sofa from Trelawny.

“My sister, Maria,” said Christina evenly, “died three months ago. Two months ago a friend acquired her ghost for me. It’s in my room upstairs.”

“And your idea is…?” grated Trelawny, not lowering the gun barrel.

“Maria always claimed — that is, she never denied — that she had found a way, in her studies, to stop our uncle. She would never tell us what it was, because it apparently involved us committing some mortal sin, and she didn’t want to be a party to us damning our souls.”

William, almost as pale as his shirt, nodded jerkily. “That’s right.”

Christina’s face had somehow darkened and sagged since Crawford had last seen her, but when she smiled, it was the face he remembered. “She had scruples, do you see?” she said. “While she was living. But ghosts don’t have scruples.”

For several seconds the clock on the mantel ticked and no one spoke. Then Trelawny lowered the pistol and tucked it back under his coat.

“Three months? Not too diminished, then. We’ll bank on that, God help us, and I can certainly commit one more mortal sin.” He frowned at Christina. “I could not have shot you, Diamonds. I abjectly apologize for pretending that I would.”

The couch and chairs creaked as the Crawfords and Rossettis began hesitantly to relax.

Christina closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “You pretend very well,” she said; then she opened her eyes and gave him a frail smile. “But I can respect your concern for your grandchild.”

She got unsteadily to her feet. “I’ll fetch the bottle,” she said, and she made her way to the hall; soon they could hear her shoes bumping on stairs. Crawford reflected that she looked much older and gaunter than the intervening seven years could justify.

Johanna nodded. “A drink first would be a splendid idea.”

“The bottle contains the ghost,” said William, slumped back in his chair and rubbing his face. “Edward,” he burst out, “all this will make further literary consultations between us mightily awkward.”

“I don’t see that as necessarily so,” said Trelawny, who seemed shaky now himself. “Friends do have disagreements.”