He stopped. Reluctantly he turned to look at her. — I'm afraid to say there's little cause for optimism. The evidence is damning. —
— The evidence is false. —
— The court must determine that. But in court, innocence is determined by strangers who'll know nothing about him. What they know is what they've read in the newspaper or heard in the tavern. That Norris Marshall lives in proximity to all four murders. That he was found bending over the body of Mary Robinson. That the excised face of Eben Tate was discovered in his quarters. That he is a skillful anatomist as well as a butcher. Taken separately, these points might be defended against. But when presented in a court of law, his guilt will seem undeniable. —
She stared at him in despair. — Is there no defense we can offer? —
— I'm afraid men have gone to the gallows for less. —
In desperation she recklessly grasped his sleeve. — I cannot see him hanged! —
— Miss Connolly, not all hope is lost. There may be a way to save him. — He took her hand and held it as he looked straight into her eyes. — But I will need your help. —
Thirty-one
— BILLY. Over here, Billy! —
The boy looked around in confusion, searching the shadows for whoever had just whispered his name. A black dog capered at his feet. Suddenly it gave an excited bark and came trotting toward Norris, who was crouched behind a stack of barrels. The mutt, at least, thought no ill of him, and was wagging its tail, delighted to play a friendly game of hide-and-seek with a man it did not even know.
Dim Billy was more cautious. — Who is it, Spot? — he asked, as if fully expecting the dog to answer him.
Norris stepped out from behind the barrels. — It's me, Billy, — he said, and saw the boy begin to back away. — I won't hurt you. You remember me, don't you? —
The boy looked at his dog, who was now licking Norris's hand, clearly unconcerned. — You're Miss Rose's friend, — he said.
— I need you to take her a message. —
— The Night Watch says you're the Reaper. —
— I'm not. I swear I'm not. —
— They're searching for you, all up and down the river. —
— Billy, if you're her friend, you'll do this for me. —
The boy looked at his dog again. Spot had sat down at Norris's feet and was wagging its tail as it watched the conversation. While the boy might be a dimwit, he knew enough to trust a dog when it came to judging a man's intentions.
— I want you to go to Dr. Grenville's house, — said Norris.
— The big one, on Beacon? —
— Yes. Find out if she's there. And give her this. — Norris handed him a folded scrap of paper. — Put it into her hands.
— What's it say? —
— Just give it to her. —
— Is it a love note? —
— Yes, — Norris answered too quickly, impatient for the boy to be off.
— But I'm the one who loves her, — Billy whined. — And I'm goin' to marry her. — He threw the note down. — I ain't bringing her your love note. —
Swallowing his frustration, Norris picked up the scrap of paper. — I want to tell her she's free to go on with her life. — He placed the note back in Billy's hand. — Take it to her, so she knows. Please. — He added. — She'll be angry with you if you don't. —
That did it; Billy's biggest fear was of displeasing Rose. The boy stuffed the note into his pocket. — I'd do anything for her, — he said.
— Don't tell anyone you saw me. —
— I'm not a half-wit, y'know, — Billy retorted. He walked off into the night, the dog trotting at his heels.
Norris did not linger, but quickly moved on, striding down the dark street in the direction of Beacon Hill. As well meaning as Billy might be, Norris did not trust him to keep a secret, and he had no intention of waiting for the Night Watch to come looking.
Assuming they believed he was still alive and still in Boston these three days later.
The clothes he'd stolen were ill fitting, the trousers too large, the shirt too tight, but the heavy cloak concealed all, and with a Quaker hat shoved down low over his brow, he walked purposefully down the street, neither skulking nor hesitating. I may not be a murderer, he thought. But now I'm most certainly a thief. Already he faced the gallows; the commission of a few more crimes scarcely mattered. Survival was all he cared about, and if it meant lifting a cloak from a tavern hook or snatching trousers and shirt from a drying line, then that's what a freezing man had to do. If he was going to be hanged anyway, he might as well be guilty of a real crime.
He turned a corner, into narrow Acorn Street. It was the same alley where Gareth Wilson and Dr. Sewall had met, in the home with the pelicans carved on the lintel. Norris chose a dark doorway in which to wait and huddled on the stoop, hidden in shadow. By now, Billy would have reached Grenville's home; by now, the note should be in Rose's hand, a note on which he'd written only one line:
If it fell into the hands of the Night Watch, they'd have no idea what it meant. But Rose would know. Rose would come.
He settled down to wait.
The night deepened. One by one, lamps inside houses were extinguished and the windows on tiny Acorn Street fell dark. Occasionally, he heard the clip-clop of a horse and carriage passing by on much busier Cedar Street, but soon even that traffic faded to silence.
He hugged the cloak more tightly and watched his breath cloud in the darkness. He'd wait here all night, if he had to. If by dawn she had not come, then he'd return tomorrow night. He had enough faith in her to believe that once she knew he waited for her, nothing would keep her away.
His legs grew stiff, his fingers numb. The last of the windows on Acorn Street fell dark.
Then, emerging from around the corner, a figure appeared. A woman, framed from behind by lamplight. She paused in the middle of the alley, as though struggling to see into the darkness.
— Norrie? — she called softly.
At once he stepped from the doorway. — Rose, — he said, and she ran toward him. He swept her into his embrace and felt like laughing as he swung her around, so happy to finally see her again. She felt weightless in his arms, lighter than air, and in that moment he knew they were forever bound to each other. The plunge into the Charles River had been both a death and a rebirth, and this was his new life, with this girl who had no fortune to offer him, no family name, nothing except love.
— I knew you'd come, — he murmured. — I knew. —
— You must listen to me. —
— I can't stay in Boston. But I can't live without you. —
— This is important, Norris. Listen! —
He fell still. It was not her command that caused him to freeze; it was the silhouette of a burly figure moving toward them, from the other end of Acorn Street.
The clatter of hooves behind Norris made him swing around, just as a carriage and two horses pulled to a stop, blocking his other escape route. The door swung open.
— Norris, you have to trust them, — said Rose. — You have to trust
