The Bone Garden: A Novel

two young men ran by, anxious to join the spectacle. She did not follow them; instead she made her way up the quiet slope of Beacon Hill, toward the neighborhood known as the West End.

Twenty minutes later, she slipped into a stable yard and eased open the barn door. In the darkness, she heard the soft clucking of chickens and smelled horses and sweet hay.

— Billy? — she called softly.

The boy did not answer. But somewhere above, in the hayloft, a dog whined.

She made her way through the shadows to the narrow staircase and crept up the steps. Billy's spindly silhouette was framed in the window. He stood staring at the red glow to the east.

— Billy? — she whispered.

He turned to her. — Miss Rose, look! There's a fire! —

— I know. — She climbed into the loft, and the dog trotted up to lick her hand.

— It's getting bigger. Do you think it could jump all the way here? Should I get a bucket of water? —

— Billy, I need to ask you something. —

But he paid no attention to her; his gaze was fixed on the fire's glow. She touched his arm and felt him trembling.

— It's over on the wharves, — she said. — It can't come this far. —

— Yes it can. I saw a fire jump onto my da, all the way from the roof. If I'd had a bucket, I could've saved him. If only I'd had a bucket. —

— Your father? —

— Burned him black, Miss Rose, like cooked meat. When you light a candle, you should always keep a bucket. —

In the east, the glow brightened and a flame leaped up, clawing the sky like an orange pitchfork. The boy backed away from the window as though ready to flee.

— Billy, I need you to remember something. This is important. —

He kept his gaze on the window, as though afraid to turn his back on the enemy.

— The night Meggie was born, a horse and phaeton came to the hospital to take her away. Nurse Poole said it was someone from the infant asylum, but she was lying. I think she sent word to Meggie's father. Meggie's real father. —

He still wasn't paying attention.

— Billy, I saw your dog at the hospital that night, so I know you were there, too. You must have seen the phaeton in the courtyard. — She grasped his arm. — Who came to get the baby? —

At last he looked at her, and by the glow through the window she saw his bewildered face. — I don't know. It was Nurse Poole wrote the note. —

— What note? —

— The one she told me to give him. —

— She told you to deliver a note? —

— Told me there'd be half a dollar if I was quick about it. —

She stared at the lad? a lad who could not read. What better messenger than Dim Billy, who'd happily run any errand for a few coins and a pat on the back?

— Where did she send you with the note? — Rose asked.

His gaze was back on the flames. — It's growing. It's coming this way. —

— Billy. — She shook him hard. — Show me where you took the note. —

He nodded, retreating from the window. — It's away from the fire. We'll be safer there. —

He led the way down the steps and out of the barn. The dog followed them, tail wagging, as they headed up the north slope of Beacon Hill. Every so often, Billy stopped to look east, to see if the flames were following them.

— Are you sure you remember the house? — she asked.

— 'Course I remember it. Nurse Poole said there'd be a half dollar in it for me, but there wasn't. Came all this way, and the gentleman wasn't even at home. But I wanted my half dollar, so I gave the note to the maid. And she shut the door in my face, just like that. Stupid girl! I never got my half dollar. I went back to Nurse Poole, and she didn't give me no half dollar either. —

— Where are we going? —

— This way. You know. —

— I don't know. —

— Yes, you do. —

They came down the hill onto Beacon Street. Again, he glanced east. The sky was an ugly orange, and smoke was blowing toward them, carrying the smell of catastrophe in the air. — Hurry, — he said. — Fire can't cross the river. — He began to trot up Beacon Street, moving steadily toward the Mill Dam.

— Billy, show me where you delivered the note. Take me right to the door! —

— Here it is. — He pushed through a gate and stepped into a yard. The dog trotted in after him.

She halted on the street and stared up in shock at Dr. Grenville's house.

— I took it to the back door, — he said. He headed around the corner of the house and vanished into shadows. — Here's where I brought it, Miss Rose! —

She remained frozen in place. So this was the secret Aurnia told in the birthing room that night.

She heard the dog growl.

— Billy? — she said. She followed him into the side yard. The shadows were so thick, she could not see him. For a moment she hesitated, her heart thudding as she peered into the darkness. She took a few steps forward then halted as the dog came creeping toward her, growling, the ruff of his neck standing up.

What was wrong with him? Why was he afraid of her?

She stopped dead in her tracks as a chill screamed up her spine. The dog was not growling at her, but at something behind her.

— Billy? — she said, and turned.

— I want no more blood spilled. And see that you keep my carriage clean. There's already a mess here, and I'll have to mop up this path before daylight. —

— I'm not doing this alone. You want it done, ma'am, you'll take an equal part in it. —

Through the hammering pain in her head, Rose heard their muffled voices, but she could not see them, could not see anything. She opened her eyes and confronted a darkness as black as the grave. Something pressed down upon her, so heavy that she could not move, could barely draw in a breath. The two voices continued arguing, near enough for her to hear every agitated whisper.

— What if I'm stopped on the road? — the man said. — What if someone spots me with this carriage? I have no reason to be driving it. But if you're with me? —

— I've paid you quite enough to take care of this. —

— Not enough for me to risk the gallows. — The man paused at the growl of Billy's dog. — Bloody mutt, — he said, and the dog's yelp of pain faded to retreating whimpers.

Rose fought to take in a breath, and she inhaled the scent of dirty wool and an unwashed body, alarmingly familiar smells. She worked one arm free and groped at what was lying on top of her. She touched buttons and woolen fabric. Her hands moved past a frayed collar and suddenly touched skin. She felt a jaw, slack and lifeless, a chin with the first pitiful bristles of an immature beard. And then something slimy, something that coated her fingers with the rich smell of rust.

Billy.

She pinched his cheek, but he didn't move. Only then did she realize he was not breathing.

— ?either you come with me, or I won't do it. I won't risk my neck for this. —

— You forget, Mr. Burke, what I know about you. —

— Then I'd say we're even. After tonight. —

— How dare you. — The woman's voice had risen, and Rose suddenly recognized it. Eliza Lackaway.