The Bone Garden: A Novel

— 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.

There was a long pause. Then Burke gave a dismissive laugh. — Go on, go ahead and shoot me. I don't think you'd dare. Then you'll have three bodies to dispose of. — He gave a snort and his footsteps moved away.

— All right, — said Eliza. — I'll come with you. —

Burke gave a grunt. — Climb in back with 'em. Anyone stops us, I'll let you talk us out of it. —

Rose heard the carriage door open and felt the vehicle sag with the new weight. Eliza pulled the door shut. — Go, Mr. Burke. —

But the carriage did not move. Burke said, softly: — We have a problem, Mrs. Lackaway. A witness. —

— What? — Eliza suddenly took in a startled breath. — Charles, — she whispered, and scrambled out of the carriage. — You shouldn't be out of bed! Go back into the house at once. —

— Why are you doing this, Mother? — asked Charles.

— There's a fire on the docks, darling. We're bringing the carriage around, in case they need to transport the injured. —

— That's not true. I saw you, Mother, from my window. I saw what you put in the carriage. —

— Charles, you don't understand. —

— Who are they? —

— They're not important. —

— Then why did you kill them? —

There was a long silence.

Burke said, — He's a witness. —

— He's my son! — Eliza took a deep breath, and when she spoke again she sounded calmer and in control. — Charles, I'm doing this for you. For your future. —

— What does killing two people have to do with my future? —

— I will not tolerate another one of his bastards turning up! I cleaned up my brother's mess ten years ago, and now I'll do it again. —

— What are you talking about? —

— It's your inheritance I'm protecting, Charles. It came from my father, and it belongs to you. I won't see one penny of it go to the brat of a chambermaid! —

There was a long silence. Then a stunned-sounding Charles said, — The baby is Uncle's? —

— That shocks you? — She laughed. — A saint my brother is not, yet every accolade goes to him. I was just the daughter, to be married off. You are my accomplishment, darling. I won't see your future destroyed. — Eliza climbed back into the carriage. — Now go back to bed. —

— And the child? You would kill a baby? —

— Only the girl knew where it was hidden. The secret died with her. — Eliza pulled the carriage door shut. — Now let me finish this. Let's go, Mr. Burke. —

— Which way? — asked Burke.

— Away from the fire. There'll be too many people there. Go west. It'll be quietest on Prison Point Bridge. —

— Mother, — said Charles, his voice breaking in despair. — If you do this, it's not in my name. None of this is in my name! —

— But you'll accept it. And one day, you will appreciate it. —

The carriage rolled away. Trapped beneath Billy's body, Rose lay perfectly still, knowing that if she moved, if Eliza discovered she was still alive, it would take only a blow on the head to finish the job. Let them think she was dead. It might be her only hope of escape.

Through the rattle of the carriage wheels, she heard the voices of people on the street, the clatter of another vehicle racing past. The fire was pulling crowds east, toward the burning wharves. No one would notice this lone carriage moving leisurely west. She heard a dog's insistent barking— Billy's dog, running after his dead master.

She'd told him to go west. Toward the river.

Rose thought of a body she'd once seen fished out of the harbor. It had been in the summertime, and when the body had bobbed to the surface, a fisherman dragged it out and brought it back to the pier. Rose had joined the crowd that gathered to stare at the corpse, and what she'd seen that day bore little resemblance to anything human. Fish and crabs had nibbled away at the flesh, turning eyes to empty sockets, and the belly had bloated, the skin stretched taut as a drum.

That's what happens to a drowned body.

With every rumble of the carriage wheels, Rose was being carried closer to the bridge, closer to the final plummet. Now she heard the horse's hooves clopping against wood, and knew they had started across busy Canal Bridge, toward Lechmere Point. Their final destination was the far quieter Prison Point Bridge. There two bodies could be rolled into the water, and no one would witness it. Panic made Rose's heart pound like a wild animal trying to beat its way free. Already she felt as if she were drowning, her lungs desperate for air.

Rose could not swim.

Thirty-four

— AURNIA CONNOLLY, — said Wendell, — was a chambermaid in the Welliver household in Providence. After only three months in their employ, she abruptly left that position. That was in May. —

— May? — said Norris, comprehending the significance.

— By then she would have been aware of her condition. Soon thereafter, she married a tailor with whom she was already acquainted. Mr. Eben Tate. —

Norris stared anxiously at the dark road ahead. He was at the reins of Wendell's two-man shay, and for the past two hours they had driven the horse hard. Now they were approaching the village of Cambridge, and Boston was just a bridge crossing away.

— Kitty and Gwen told me their chambermaid had flame-colored hair, — said Wendell. — She was nineteen years old and said to be quite fetching. —

— Fetching enough to catch the eye of a most distinguished houseguest? —

— Dr. Grenville visited the Wellivers back in March. That's what the sisters told me. He stayed there for two weeks, during which time they noticed he would often sit up quite late, reading in the parlor. After the rest of the household had retired for the night. —