The Bone Garden: A Novel

advocated bleeding her. Do you remember? —

— What of it? —

— You challenged him. You said you'd experimented on cows. That bleeding them had shown no benefit. —

— And for that I was soundly ridiculed. —

— You must've known you would be. Yet you said it anyway. —

— Because it was true. It's what the cows taught me. —

— And you're not too proud to take your lessons from cows. —

— I'm a farmer. Where else should I take my lessons? —

— And I'm a minister's son. Do you think the lessons I heard from my father's pulpit were nearly as useful? A farmer knows more about birth and death than you'll ever learn while sitting in a church pew. —

With a snort, Norris turned and reached for his topcoat, the one item of clothing that had been spared from Mary Robinson's blood, only because he had left it behind last night. — You have some odd notions about the nobility of farmers. —

— I recognize a man of science when I see one. And I've seen your generosity as well. —

— My generosity? —

— In the anatomy room, when Charles made such a bloody mess of old Paddy. We both know Charlie's just one slip away from being booted out of school. But you stepped forward and covered for him when Edward and I didn't. —

— That was hardly generosity. I just couldn't stand the thought of seeing a grown man cry. —

— Norris, you're not like most of the others in our class. You have the calling. Do you think Charlie Lackaway cares about anatomy, about materia medica? He's here only because his uncle expects it of him. Because his late father was a doctor, and his grandfather, too, and he hasn't the spine to resist his family. And Edward, he doesn't even bother to hide his disinterest. Half the students are here to please their parents, and most of the others just want to learn a trade, something that will earn them a comfortable living. —

— And why are you here? Because you have the calling? —

— I admit, medicine was not my first choice. But one can hardly make a living as a poet. Though I have been published in the Daily Advertiser. —

Norris had to suppress a laugh. Now, there was a useless profession, reserved for lucky men with means, men who could afford to waste precious hours scribbling verse. He said, diplomatically, — I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your work. —

Wendell gave a sigh. — Then you can see why I did not pursue poetry as a career. And I was most unsuited to the study of law as well. —

— So medicine is merely a third choice. That hardly sounds like a calling. —

— But it has become my calling. I know it's what I'm meant to do. —

Norris reached for his greatcoat and paused for a heartbeat, his gaze on the bloodstains. He pulled it on anyway. A glimpse outside, at the frost on the grass, told him that today he would need every layer of warmth he could recruit from his meager wardrobe. — If you'll excuse me, I need to salvage what I can of this day. I need to explain my absence to Dr. Crouch. Is he still at the hospital? —

— Norris, if you go to the hospital, I must warn you what to expect. —

Norris turned to face him. — What? —

— There's talk, you see, among the patients and staff. People are wondering about you. They're afraid. —

— They think I killed her? —

— The trustees have been speaking with Mr. Pratt. —

— They aren't listening to his rubbish? —

— They have no choice but to listen. They're responsible for enforcing order in the hospital. They can discipline any doctor on the staff. Certainly they can banish a lowly medical student from the wards. —

— Then how would I learn? How would I pursue my studies? —

— Dr. Crouch is trying to reason with them. And Dr. Grenville has argued against the ban as well. But there are others? —

— Others? —

— Rumors, among the patients' families. And on the streets as well. —

— What are they saying? —

— The fact that her tongue was removed has convinced some that the killer is a medical student. —

— Or someone who's butchered animals, — said Norris. — And I am both. —

— I just came to tell you how things stood. That people are?well, afraid of you. —

— And why aren't you afraid of me? Why do you assume I'm innocent? —

— I don't assume anything. —

Norris gave a bitter laugh. — Oh, there's a loyal friend. —

— Damn it, this is exactly what a friend would do! He'd tell you the truth. That your future's in jeopardy. — Wendell turned toward the door. There he paused and looked at Norris. — You have more bull-headed pride than any son of wealth I've ever met, and you use it to paint the whole world black. I don't need a friend like you. I don't even want a friend like you. — He yanked open the door.

— Wendell. —

— You'd be wise to speak to Dr. Crouch. And give him credit for defending you. Because he, at least, deserves it. —

— Wendell, I'm sorry, — said Norris. And he sighed. — I'm not accustomed to assuming the best of people. —

— So you assume the worst? —

— I'm seldom disappointed. —

— Then you need a better circle of acquaintances. —

At that, Norris laughed. He sat down on the bed and rubbed his face. — I daresay you're right. —

Wendell closed the door and came toward him. — What are you going to do? —

— Against rumors? What can I do? The more I insist I'm innocent, the more guilty I look. —

— You have to do something. This is your future. —

And it hung by a thread. All it took was a few doubts, a few whispers, and the hospital trustees would ban him permanently from the wards. How easily a reputation is soiled, thought Norris. Suspicion would cling to him like a bloodstained cloak, frightening away all prospects, all opportunities, until the only path left to him was back to his father's farm. To a home shared with a cold and joyless man.

— Until this killer is caught, — said Wendell, — everyone's eyes will be on you. —

Norris looked down at his stained greatcoat, and with a chill, he remembered the creature standing above the riverbank, staring down at him. I did not imagine him.

Rose Connolly saw him, too.

Fifteen

ANOTHER WEEK of this bitter cold, thought Wall-eyed Jack, and the soil will be too frozen to dig. Soon they'd be storing the corpses in vaults above the ground, awaiting the spring thaw. There'd be heavy locks to get past, groundskeepers to bribe, a whole new set of complications to match the change in the weather. For Jack, it wasn't