At the other end of the cemetery, where the child was being laid to rest, a loud wail rose from the mourners, a woman's cry so ragged with pain that Rose turned and looked toward the other grave. Only then did she see the ghostly silhouette approaching them through the fog. The figure emerged from its veil of mist, and Rose recognized the face peering out from beneath the hood of the cape. It was Mary Robinson, the young nurse from the hospital. Mary paused and looked over her shoulder, as though sensing that someone was behind her, but Rose saw no one except the other mourners, who stood like a circle of statues around the child's grave.
— I didn't know where else to find you, — said Mary. — I'm sorry for your sister. God rest her soul. —
Rose wiped her eyes, smearing tears and mist across her cheek. — You were kind to her, Miss Robinson. Far kinder than — She stopped, not wanting to invoke Nurse Poole's name. Not wanting to speak ill of the dead.
Mary moved closer. As Rose blinked away tears, she focused on the young nurse's tense face, her pinched eyes. Mary leaned in, and her voice dropped to a whisper, her words almost lost in the scrape of the gravediggers' shovels.
— There are people inquiring about the child. —
Rose gave a weary sigh and looked down at her niece, who lay serene in her arms. Little Meggie had inherited Aurnia's sweet temperament, and she was content to lie quietly and study the world with her wide eyes. — I've given them my answer. She stays with her own people. With me. —
— Rose, they're not from the infant asylum. I promised Miss Poole that I'd say nothing, but now I cannot remain silent. The night the baby was born, after you left the room, your sister told us — Suddenly Mary fell still, her gaze riveted not on Rose, but on something in the distance.
— Miss Robinson? —
— Keep the child safe, — Mary said. — Keep her hidden. —
Rose turned to see what Mary was looking at, and when she saw Eben stride out of the fog, her throat went dry. Though her hands were shaking, she stood her ground, resolved not to be bullied. Not today, not here, beside her sister's grave. As he drew closer, she saw that he was carrying her satchel, the same bag she'd brought with her to Boston four months ago. Contemptuously, he threw it at her feet.
— I took the liberty of packing your belongings, — he said. — Since you are no longer welcome at Mrs. O'Keefe's establishment. —
She picked up the bag from the mud, her face flushing with outrage at the thought of Eben pawing through her clothes, her private possessions.
— And don't come begging for my charity, — he added.
— Was that what you forced on me last night? Charity? —
Straightening, she met his gaze, and felt a thrill of satisfaction at the sight of his bruised lip. Did I do that? Good for me. Her cold retort clearly enraged him, and he took a step closer, then glanced at the two gravediggers still at work filling in the hole. He halted, his hand balled in a fist. Go ahead, she thought. Hit me, while I hold your daughter in my arms. Let the world see what kind of coward you are.
His lips peeled back, like an animal baring its teeth, and his words came out in a whisper, tight and dangerous. — You had no right to talk to the Night Watch. They came this morning, during breakfast. All the other lodgers are gossiping about it. —
— I only told them the God's truth. What you did to me. —
— As if anyone believes you. You know what I told Mr. Pratt? I told him what you really are. A little cock-tease. I told him how I took you in, fed you, housed you, just to please my wife. And this is how you repay my generosity! —
— Do you not even care that she's gone? — Rose looked down at the grave. — You didn't come here to say goodbye. 'Tis only to bully me, that's why you're here. While your own wife —
— My own dear wife couldn't abide you, either. —
Rose's gaze snapped up to his. — You're lying. —
— Don't believe me? — He gave a snort. — You should have heard the things she whispered to me while you slept. What a burden you were, just a millstone she had to drag around, because she knew you'd starve without our charity. —
— I worked for my keep! Every day, I did. —
— As if I couldn't find a dozen other girls, cheaper girls, just as handy with a needle and thread? Go on, go out there, see what kind of position you land. See how long it takes before you're starving. You'll come back to me begging. —
— For you? — It was Rose's turn to laugh, and she did, though hunger had clenched her stomach into a knot. She had hoped that Eben would awaken sober this morning, to feel at least a twinge of regret for what he'd done last night. That with Aurnia's death, he'd suddenly appreciate the treasure he'd lost, and would be a better man for his grief. But she'd been as foolishly trusting as Aurnia, to believe that he could ever rise above his petty pride. Last night, Rose had humiliated him, and in the light of day he stood stripped of all pretense. She saw no grief in his eyes, only wounded vanity, and now she took pleasure from slicing the wound even deeper.
— Yes, maybe I'll go hungry, — she added. — But at least I look after my own. I see to my sister's burial. I'll raise her child. What kind of a man do you think people will call you when they hear you gave up your own daughter? That you didn't pay a penny to bury your own wife? —
His face flushed scarlet, and he glanced at the two diggers, who had finished their task and now stood listening, rapt with attention. Tight-lipped, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of coins. — Here! — he snapped, and held them out to the diggers. — Take it! —
The older man glanced uneasily at Rose. — The lady here paid us already, sir. —
— Goddamn it, take the bloody money! — Eben grabbed the man's dirt-stained hand and slapped the coins into his palm. Then he looked at Rose. — Consider my obligation fulfilled. And now you have something that belongs to me. —
— You don't care a whit about Meggie. Why would you want her? —
— It's not the brat I want. It's the other things. Aurnia's things. I'm her husband, so by all rights her possessions come to me. —
— There is nothing. —
— The hospital told me they gave you her belongings last night. —
— Is that all you want? — She removed the small bundle she'd tied around her waist and handed it to him. — It's yours, then. —
He opened the bundle, and the soiled night frock and hair ribbon fell to the ground. — Where's the rest? —
— Her ring is there. —
— This piece of tin? — He held up Aurnia's good-luck ring with the stones of colored glass. He snorted and tossed it at Rose's feet. — Worthless. You'll find one just like it on the finger of every cheap girl in Boston. —
— She left her wedding ring at home. You know that. —
— I'm talking about the necklace. A gold locket. Never told me how she got it, and all these months she refused to sell it, even though I could've used the money for the shop. For all that I've put up with, I deserve at least that much in return. —
— You don't deserve one fine hair from her head. —
— Where is it? —