The Bone Garden: A Novel

close to shattering.

Edward said, too eagerly: — Mr. Lackaway was trying to resect the small bowel, sir, and? —

— It's my fault, — Norris cut in.

Sewall looked at him in disbelief. — Mr. Marshall? —

— It was? it was a bit of horseplay. Charles and I? well, it got out of hand, and we sincerely apologize. Don't we, Charles? —

Sewall regarded Norris for a moment. — In light of your obvious skill as a dissector, this poor conduct is doubly disappointing. Do not let it happen again. —

— It won't, sir. —

— I'm told that Dr. Grenville wishes to see you, Mr. Marshall. He waits in his office. —

— Now? On what matter? —

— I suggest you find out. Well, go. — Sewall turned to the class. — As for the rest of you, there will be no more tomfoolery. Proceed, gentlemen! —

Norris wiped his hands on his apron and said to his companions, — I'll have to leave you three to finish old Paddy. —

— What's this about you and Dr. Grenville? — asked Wendell.

— I have no idea, — said Norris.

— Professor Grenville? —

The dean of the medical college looked up from his desk. Backlit by the gloomy daylight through the window behind him, his silhouette resembled a lion's head, with its mane of wiry gray hair. As Norris paused on the threshold, he felt Aldous Grenville studying him, and he wondered what blunder on his part could have precipitated this summons. During his long walk down the hallway, he had searched his memory for some incident that might have called his name to Dr. Grenville's attention. Surely there'd been something, since Norris could think of no reason why the man would even notice, among the several dozen new students, a mere farmer's son from Belmont.

— Do come in, Mr. Marshall. And please close the door. —

Uneasy, Norris took a seat. Grenville lit a lamp and the flame caught, casting its warm glow across the gleaming desk, the cherry bookshelves. The silhouette transformed to an arresting face with bushy side-whiskers. Though his hair was as thick as a young man's, it had gone silver, lending distinguished authority to his already striking features. He sank back into his chair, and his dark eyes were two strange orbs, reflecting the lamplight.

— You were there, at the hospital, — said Grenville. — The night Agnes Poole died. —

Norris was taken aback by the abrupt introduction of this grim subject, and he could only nod. The murder had been six days ago, and since then there had been wild gossip in town about who? or what? could have killed her. The Daily Advertiser had described a winged demon. Whispers about papists had been inevitable, no doubt launched from the lips of Watchman Pratt. But there had been other rumors as well. A preacher in Salem had spoken of evil afoot, of foul creatures and devil-worshiping foreigners who could only be combated by the righteous hand of God. Last night, the outrageous tales had inspired a drunken mob to chase a hapless Italian man down Hanover Street, forcing him to seek refuge in a tavern.

— You were the first to find the witness. The Irish girl, — said Grenville.

— Yes. —

— Have you seen her since that night? —

— No, sir. —

— You are aware that the Night Watch is looking for her? —

— Mr. Pratt told me. I know nothing about Miss Connolly. —

— Mr. Pratt led me to believe otherwise. —

So this was why he'd been called here. The Night Watch wanted Grenville to press him for information.

— The girl hasn't been seen at her lodging house since that night, — said Grenville.

— Surely she has family in Boston. —

— Only her sister's husband, a tailor named Mr. Tate. He told the Night Watch that she was unstable, and prone to outrageous claims. She'd even accused him of base acts against her. —

Norris remembered how Rose Connolly had dared to question the opinion of the eminent Dr. Crouch, an astonishingly bold act by a girl who should have known her place. But unstable? No, what Norris had seen on the ward that afternoon was a girl who'd merely stood her ground, a girl protecting her dying sister.

— I saw nothing unsound about her, — he said.

— She made some rather startling claims. About that creature in the cape. —

— She called it a figure, sir. She never said that it was in any way supernatural. It was the Daily Advertiser that called it the West End Reaper. She may have been frightened, but she was not hysterical. —

— You can't tell Mr. Pratt where she might be? —

— Why does he think I can? —

— He suggested that you might be better acquainted with her?people. —

— I see. — Norris felt his face tighten. So they think that a farm boy in a suit is still just a farm boy. — May I ask why it's suddenly so urgent that he find her? —

— She's a witness, and she's only seventeen years old. There's her safety to consider. And the safety of her sister's child. —

— I hardly imagine that Mr. Pratt cares one whit about their welfare. Is there another reason he seeks her? —

Grenville paused. After a moment, he admitted, — There is a matter, which Mr. Pratt would prefer not to see in the press. —

— Which matter? —

— Concerning an item of jewelry. A locket that was briefly in the possession of Miss Connolly, before it found its way to a pawnshop. —

— What's the significance of this locket? —

— It did not belong to her. By all rights, it should have gone to her sister's husband. —

— You are saying that Miss Connolly is a thief? —

— I'm not saying it. Mr. Pratt is. —

Norris thought about the girl and her fierce loyalty toward her sister. — I cannot imagine her to be such a criminal. —

— How did she strike you? —

— A clever girl. And forthright. But not a thief. —

Grenville nodded. — I'll pass along that opinion to Mr. Pratt. —

Norris, believing the interview to be over, started to rise, but Grenville said, — A moment more, Mr. Marshall. Unless you have another engagement? —

— No, sir. — Norris settled back into the chair. Sat, uncomfortably, as the other man quietly regarded him.

— You are satisfied thus far with your course of study? — asked Grenville.

— Yes, sir. Quite. —

— And with Dr. Crouch? —

— He's an excellent preceptor. I'm grateful he took me on. I've learned a great deal about midwifery at his side. —

— Although I understand you have strong opinions of your own on the subject. —

Suddenly Norris was uneasy. Had Dr. Crouch complained about him? Was he now to face the consequences? — I did not mean to question his methods, — he said. — I only wished to contribute? —

— Shouldn't methods be questioned if they do not work? —

— I should not have challenged him. I certainly don't have Dr. Crouch's experience. —

— No. You have a farmer's experience. — Norris flushed, and Grenville added, — You think I have just insulted you. —