The Bone Garden: A Novel

man in Boston. But there are plenty of papists. —

— One could just as likely conclude the killer wants you to blame the papists! —

— Mr. Holmes, — said Crouch, — perhaps you should refrain from telling the Night Watch how to do its job. —

— Its job is to learn the truth, not make unfounded assumptions based on religious bigotry. —

Pratt's eyes suddenly narrowed. — Mr. Holmes, you are related, are you not, to the Reverend Abiel Holmes? Of Cambridge? —

There was a pause, during which Norris glimpsed a shadow of discomfort pass across Wendell's face.

— Yes, — Wendell finally answered. — He is my father. —

— A fine, upstanding Calvinist. Yet his son? —

Wendell retorted: — His son can think for himself, thank you. —

— Mr. Holmes, — cautioned Dr. Crouch. — Your attitude is not particularly helpful. —

— But it is certainly noted, — said Pratt. And not forgotten, his gaze clearly added. He turned to Dr. Crouch. — How well acquainted were you with Miss Poole, Doctor? —

— She administered to many of my patients. —

— And your opinion of her? —

— She was competent and efficient. And most respectful. —

— Had she any enemies that you're aware of? —

— Absolutely not. She was a nurse. Her role here was to ease pain and suffering. —

— But surely there was the occasional dissatisfied patient or family member? Someone who might turn his anger on the hospital and its staff? —

— It's possible. But I can think of no one who? —

— What about Rose Connolly? —

— The young lady who found the body? —

— Yes. Had she any disagreements with Nurse Poole? —

— There may have been. The girl is headstrong. Nurse Poole did complain to me that she was demanding. —

— She was concerned about her sister's care, — said Norris.

— But that is no excuse for disrespect, Mr. Marshall, — said Dr. Crouch. — On anyone's part. —

Pratt looked at Norris. — You defend the girl. —

— She and her sister appear to be quite close, and Miss Connolly has reason to be upset. That's all I'm saying. —

— Upset enough to commit violence? —

— I didn't say that. —

— How, exactly, did you happen to find her tonight? She was outside, in the courtyard, was she not? —

— Dr. Crouch asked us to meet him in the lying-in ward, for a fresh crisis. I was on my way here, from my lodgings. —

— Where are your lodgings? —

— I rent an attic room, sir, at the end of Bridge Street. It's on the far side of the hospital common. —

— So to reach the hospital, you cross the common? —

— Yes. And that's the way I came tonight, across the lawn. I was almost to the hospital when I heard screams. —

— Miss Connolly's? Or the victim's? —

— It was a woman. That's all I know. I followed the sound, and discovered Miss Connolly in the courtyard. —

— Did you see this creature she so imaginatively describes? — Pratt glanced at his notes. — ?A caped monster like the Grim Reaper, with a black cape that flapped like the wings of a giant bird.' — He looked up.

Norris shook his head. — I saw no such creature. I found only the girl. —

Pratt looked at Wendell. — And where were you? —

— I was inside, assisting Dr. Crouch. I heard the screams as well, and ventured outside with a lantern. I found Mr. Marshall in the courtyard, along with Miss Connolly, who was cowering there. —

— Cowering? —

— She was clearly frightened. I'm sure she thought one of us was the killer. —

— Did you notice anything unusual about her? Other than the fact she appeared frightened? —

— She was frightened, — said Norris.

— Her clothing, for instance. The condition of her dress. Did you not notice it was badly ripped? —

— She'd just fled a killer, Mr. Pratt, — said Norris. — She had every right to be disheveled. —

— Her dress was torn, as though she'd been viciously grappling with someone. Not one of you? —

— No, — said Wendell.

— Why don't you just ask her how it happened? — suggested Norris.

— I have. —

— And what did she say? —

— She claimed it happened earlier in the evening. When her sister's husband attempted to molest her. — He shook his head in disgust. — These people are like animals, breeding in the tenements. —

Norris heard the ugly note of prejudice in the man's voice. Animals. Oh, yes, he'd heard that name used for the Irish, those immoral beasts who were always whoring, always procreating. To Pratt, Rose was just another Bridget, a filthy immigrant like the thousands who crammed the tenements of South Boston and Charlestown, whose unclean habits and snot-nosed offspring had touched off citywide epidemics of smallpox and cholera.

Norris said, — Miss Connolly is hardly an animal. —

— You know her well enough to say that? —

— I don't believe that any human being deserves such an insult. —

— For a man who scarcely knows her, you rise quickly to her defense. —

— I feel sorry for her. Sorry that her sister is dying. —

— Oh, that. That is over with. —

— What do you mean? —

— It happened earlier this evening, — said Pratt, and he closed his notebook. — Rose Connolly's sister is dead. —

Eight

WE HAD NO CHANCE to say goodbye.

Rose washed Aurnia's body with a damp cloth, gently wiping away the smudges of dirt and dried sweat and tears from a face that was now strangely smooth of all worry lines. If there was a heaven, she thought, surely Aurnia was already there, and could see the trouble Rose was in. I am afraid, Aurnia. And Meggie and I have nowhere to go.

Aurnia's neatly brushed hair gleamed in the lamplight, like coppery silk draped across the pillow. Though she was now bathed, the stench remained, a fetid odor clinging to the body that had once embraced Rose, once had shared a girlhood bed with her.

You are still beautiful to me. You will always be beautiful.

In a little basket beside the bed, baby Meggie slept soundly, unaware of her mother's passing, of her own