The Bone Garden: A Novel

— It's me, — said Rose.

— Come in here, girl. —

— I'm on my way upstairs. —

Porteous's daughter appeared in the doorway. — There's a gentleman here to see you. Says he knows you. —

Norris Marshall has come back was her first reaction. But when she stepped into the room and saw the visitor standing by the fireplace, bitter disappointment silenced any greeting from her lips.

— Hello, Rose, — said Eben. — I've had a hard time tracking you down. —

She owed her brother-in-law no pleasantries. Bluntly she asked, — What are you doing here? —

— I've come to make amends. —

— The person you should make amends to is no longer here to forgive you. —

— You have every right to reject my apologies. I'm ashamed of how I behaved, and every night I lie awake thinking of all the ways I could have been a better husband to your sister. I did not deserve her. —

— No, you did not. —

He came toward her, arms outstretched, but she did not trust his eyes; she never had. — This is the only way I know how to make it up to Aurnia, — he said. — By being a good brother to you, a good father to my daughter. By taking care of you both. Go, fetch the baby, Rose. Let's go home. —

Old Porteous and his daughter both watched with rapt expressions. They spent most of their lives confined to this gloomy front room, and this was probably the best entertainment they'd been treated to in weeks.

— Your old bed is waiting for you, — said Eben. — And a crib, for the baby. —

— I'm paid up here for the month, — said Rose.

— Here? — Eben gave a laugh. — You can't possibly prefer this place! —

— Now then, Mr. Tate, — cut in Porteous, suddenly realizing he'd just been insulted.

— How are your accommodations here, Rose? — asked Eben. — Have you your own room, with a fine feather bed? —

— I give them fresh straw, sir, — said Porteous's daughter. — Every month. —

— Oh! Fresh straw! Now there's something to commend this establishment. —

The woman looked uneasily at her father. It had managed to penetrate even her thick skull that Eben's comments were not complimentary.

Eben took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was calmer. Reasonable. — Rose, please consider what I'm offering. If you're not happy, you can always return here. —

She thought of the room upstairs, where fourteen lodgers lay wedged together, where the air smelled of piss and unwashed bodies, and your neighbor's breath reeked of rotting teeth. The boardinghouse where Eben lived was not grand, but it was clean, and she would not be sleeping on straw.

And he was her family. He was all she had left.

— Go up and fetch her. Let's go. —

— She's not here. —

He frowned. — Then where is she? —

— She stays with a wet nurse. But my bag is upstairs. — She turned toward the steps.

— Unless it has something of value, leave it! Let's not waste time. —

She thought of the fetid room upstairs, and suddenly had no desire to return to it. Not now, not ever. Still, she was sorry to leave without telling Billy.

She looked at Porteous. — Please tell Billy to bring my bag 'round tomorrow. I'll pay him for it. —

— The idiot boy? Does he know where to go? — asked Porteous.

— The tailor shop. He knows where it is. —

Eben took her arm. — The night gets colder by the hour. —

Outside, snowflakes had begun to swirl down from the darkness, fine, stinging flakes that settled treacherously onto cobblestones already slick with ice.

— Which way to this wet nurse? — Eben asked.

— 'Tis a few streets over. — She pointed. — Not far. —

Eben picked up the pace, urging her far too quickly on such precarious ground, and she had to cling to his arm as her shoes slipped and skated. Why such haste, she wondered, when a warm room assuredly waited for them? Why, after that impassioned appeal for her forgiveness, had he suddenly fallen silent? He'd called Meggie the baby, she thought. What kind of father doesn't even know his own daughter's name? As they drew closer to Hepzibah's door, she grew more and more uneasy. She'd never trusted Eben before; why should she trust him now?

She did not stop at Hepzibah's building, but walked straight past it and turned down another street. Kept leading Eben away from Meggie as she considered why he had really come for her tonight. His grasp offered no warmth, no reassurance, only the cold grip of control.

— Where is this place? — he demanded.

— A distance, still. —

— You said it was close by. —

— It's so late, Eben! Must we fetch her now? We'll wake the household. —

— She's my daughter. She belongs with me. —

— And how will you feed her? —

— It's all arranged. —

— What do you mean, all arranged? —

He gave her a hard shake. — Just take me to her! —

Rose had no intention of doing so. Not now, not until she knew what he really wanted. Instead, she continued to lead him away, leaving Meggie far behind them.

Abruptly Eben jerked her to a stop. — What game are you playing with me, Rose? We've gone twice past this very street! —

— 'Tis dark, and these alleys confuse me. If we could wait until morning? —

— Don't lie to me! —

She yanked away from him. — A few weeks ago, you cared nothing about your daughter. Now suddenly you can't wait to get your hands on her. Well, I won't give her up now, not to you. And there's nothing you can do to make me. —

— Maybe nothing I can do, — he says. — But there's someone else who might convince you. —

— Who? —

In answer, he grabbed her arm and pulled her up the street. With Rose stumbling behind him, he headed toward the harbor. — Stop struggling! I'm not going to hurt you. —

— Where are we going? —

— To a man who could change your life. If you're nice to him. — He led her to a building she did not know and knocked on the door.

It opened, and a middle-aged gentleman with gold-rimmed spectacles peered out at them over a flickering lamp. — I was about to give up and leave, Mr. Tate, — he said.

Eben gave Rose a shove, forcing her ahead of him over the threshold. She heard the bolt slide home behind her.

— Where is the child? — the man asked.

— She won't tell me. I thought you could convince her. —

— So this is Rose Connolly, — the man said, and she heard London in his voice. An Englishman. He set down the lamp and looked her over with a thoroughness that alarmed her, though he himself was not a particularly alarming sort of man. He was shorter than Eben, and his thick side-whiskers were mostly gray. His topcoat was fashionably cut and well fitted, of fine fabric. Though not physically intimidating, his gaze was coolly formidable and penetrating.

— So much fuss over this mere girl. —