The Bone Garden: A Novel

The man reached for a chair and dragged it over to Rose's. — Now, Miss Connolly, — he said, sitting down to face her. — You know it's only a matter of time until we find her. Save us all the trouble and you'll be well rewarded. —

— Why is she so important to you? —

— Not to me. To my client. —

— Who is this client? —

— Someone who cares about the child's welfare. Who wants her to stay alive and healthy. —

— Are you saying Meggie's in danger? —

— Our concern is that you may be. And if something happens to you, we'll never find the child. —

— Now you're threatening me? — She forced a laugh, displaying a recklessness she did not really feel. — You've given up on the carrot, and you're back to the stick. —

— You mistake my meaning. — He leaned forward, his face deadly serious. — Both Agnes Poole and Mary Robinson are dead. You do know that? —

She swallowed. — Yes. —

— You were a witness the night Agnes Poole died. You saw the killer. And he certainly knows that. —

— Everyone knows who the killer is, — she said. — I heard it yesterday, on the streets. Dr. Berry has fled town. —

— Yes, that's what the newspapers have reported. Dr. Nathaniel Berry lived in the West End. He knew the two victims. He tried to kill a third? a prostitute, who claims she had to flee for her life. Now Dr. Berry's gone missing, so of course he must be the Reaper. —

— Isn't he? —

— Do you believe everything you hear on the street? —

— But if he isn't the killer? —

— Then the West End Reaper may still be in Boston, and he could very well know your identity. After what happened to Mary Robinson, I'd be looking over my shoulder if I were you. We were able to find you, and so could anyone else. Which is why I'm so concerned about your niece's welfare. You're the only one who knows the baby's whereabouts. If anything happened to you? — He paused. — A thousand dollars, Miss Connolly. It would help you leave Boston. Help you find a comfortable new home. Give us the child, and the money's yours. —

She said nothing. Mary Robinson's last words to her kept echoing in her head: Keep her hidden. Keep her safe.

Weary of her silence, the man finally stood. — Should you change your mind, you can find me here. — He placed a calling card in her hand, and she stared down at the printed name.

Mr. Gareth Wilson

5 Park Street, Boston

— You'd do well to consider my offer, — he said. — And to consider, too, the welfare of the child. In the meantime, Miss Connolly, do be careful. You never know what monster might be searching for you. — He walked out, leaving her alone in that cold and dusty room, her gaze still fixed on the card.

— Are you insane, Rose? —

She looked up at the sound of Eben's voice, and saw him standing in the doorway.

— That's more money than you'll ever see! How dare you refuse it? —

Staring into his eyes, she suddenly understood why he cared. Why he was involved. — He promised you money, too, didn't he? — she said. — How much? —

— Enough to make it worth it. —

— Worth giving up your child? —

— Haven't you figured it out? She's not my child. —

— Aurnia would never? —

— Aurnia did. I thought it was mine, and that's the only reason I married her. But time tells the truth, Rose. It told me what kind of woman I really married. —

She shook her head, still not willing to believe it.

— Whoever the father is, — said Eben, — he wants that child. And he has enough to pay whatever it takes. —

Money enough for a lawyer, she thought. Money enough to buy his mistress a fine necklace. Maybe even enough to buy silence. For what fine gentleman wants it known that he's fathered a child with a poor seamstress only a year out of Ireland?

— Take the money, — said Eben.

She stood. — I'd starve before I give her up. —

He followed her out of the room, to the front door. — You don't have much choice! How're you going to feed yourself? Keep a roof over your head? —

As she stepped outside, he yelled: — This time they were gentle with you, but next time you won't be so lucky! —

To her relief, Eben didn't follow her. The night had grown even colder, and she shivered as she retraced her steps to Fishery Alley. The streets were deserted, and invisible fingers of wind swept the snow in swirling furrows before her feet. Suddenly she halted and looked back. Had she just heard footsteps? She peered into the stinging mist, but saw no one behind her. Don't go near Meggie, not tonight. They may be watching you. Quickening her pace, she continued toward Fishery Alley, eager to escape the wind. What a fool she'd been to let Eben lure her from the relative comfort, poor though it was, of her lodging house. Poor Dim Billy was a better man, a truer friend, than Eben would ever be.

She made her way into the maze of South Boston. The cold had swept all sensible people off the streets, and as she passed a tavern, she heard the voices of men who'd gathered inside to escape the cold. Through the steamed windows she saw their silhouettes against the firelight. She did not linger, but walked on, hoping that old Porteous and his daughter had not already barred the door. Even her poor pile of straw, her patch of floor among the unwashed bodies, seemed a luxury this night, and she should not have so easily surrendered it. The sounds of the tavern faded behind her and she heard only the whistle of the wind through the narrow passage and the rush of her own breath. Fishery Alley was just around the next corner, and like a horse who has sighted its stable and knows that shelter lies ahead, she quickened her pace and almost skidded across the stones. She caught herself against a wall, and was just straightening when she heard the sound.

It was the rattle of a man clearing his throat.

Slowly, she approached the corner and peered around the building, into Fishery Alley. At first, all she saw were shadows and the dim glow of candlelight through a window. Then a man's silhouette emerged from the shelter of a doorway. He paced the alley, clapping his shoulders to stay warm. Clearing his throat again, he spat on the stones, then returned to the doorway and vanished back into shadow.

Silently she backed away from the corner. Perhaps the man's had too much to drink, she thought. Perhaps he'll soon be on his way home.

Or perhaps he's watching for me.

She waited, her heart thumping, as the minutes went by, as the wind flapped at her skirt. Again she heard him cough and spit, then there was a pounding on a door, and she heard Porteous's voice: — I told you, she's not likely to come back tonight. —

— When she does, you send me word. No delay. —

— I told you I would. —

— You'll get your fee then. Only then. —

— I'd better, — said Porteous, and the door slammed shut.

Rose quickly ducked between buildings and watched from the shadows as the man emerged from Fishery Alley and walked right past her. She could not make out his face, but she could see his hulking silhouette and heard him wheeze in the cold. She waited long enough for him to be well away; only then did she emerge from her hiding place.

I do not have even a pitiful pile of straw to return to.

She stood shivering in the road, staring in desolation at the darkness into which the man had just vanished.