The Bone Garden: A Novel (20 page)

“Dig in. She’s part of your family, Tom.”

“You think those were her bones in your garden?”

“I just know that her name keeps popping up in those letters from Oliver Wendell Holmes. For a poor Irish girl, she left quite an impression on him.”

He sat back to read. Outside, the wind had risen, and waves were breaking on the rocks. In the fireplace, a downdraft made the flames shudder.

Tom’s chair gave a sudden creak as he rocked forward. “Julia?”

“Yes?”

“Did Oliver Wendell Holmes sign his letters with just his initials?”

She stared at the page that he’d slid across to her. “Oh, my God,” she said. “We have to tell Henry.”

Twenty-two

1830

T
ONIGHT,
it did not seem to matter that he was a farmer’s son.

Norris handed his hat and greatcoat to the parlor maid and felt a twinge of self-consciousness about the missing button on his waistcoat. But the girl gave him the same curtsy, the same deferential dip of the head that she’d given to the well-dressed couple ahead of him. And just as warm a welcome awaited him when he stepped forward to be greeted by Dr. Grenville.

“Mr. Marshall, we’re delighted you could join us this evening,” said Grenville. “May I present you to my sister, Eliza Lackaway.”

That the woman was Charles’s mother was immediately apparent. She had his blue eyes and pale skin, flawless as alabaster even in middle age. But her gaze was far more direct than her son’s.

“You’re the young man my Charles speaks so highly of,” she said.

“I wouldn’t know why, Mrs. Lackaway,” Norris answered modestly.

“He said you’re the most skilled dissector in his class. He said your work stands out for its neatness, and that no one else had teased out the facial nerves with such clarity.”

It was an inappropriate topic for genteel company, and Norris glanced at Dr. Grenville for guidance.

Grenville merely smiled. “Eliza’s late husband was a physician. Our father was a physician. And now she has the great misfortune of putting up with me, so she’s quite accustomed to the most grotesque conversations around our supper table.”

“I find it all quite fascinating,” said Eliza. “When we were growing up, our father often invited us into the dissecting room. If I were a man, I, too, would have pursued the study of medicine.”

“And you would have been splendid, dear,” said Grenville, patting his sister’s arm.

“So would any number of women, if we had only the opportunity.”

Dr. Grenville gave a resigned sigh. “A topic that you will no doubt raise again and again tonight.”

“Don’t you think it’s a tragic waste, Mr. Marshall? To ignore the talents and abilities of half the human race?”

“Please, Eliza, let the poor boy at least have a glass of sherry before you start into your pet subject.”

Norris said, “I don’t mind addressing the question, Dr. Grenville.” He looked Eliza in the eye and saw fierce intelligence there. “I was raised on a farm, Mrs. Lackaway, so my experience is with livestock. I hope you don’t find the comparison demeaning. But I have never observed a stallion to be cleverer than a mare, or a ram cleverer than a ewe. And if the welfare of offspring is threatened, it’s the female of the species who’s far more formidable. Even dangerous.”

Dr. Grenville laughed. “Spoken like a Philadelphia lawyer!”

Eliza gave an approving nod. “I shall remember that answer. In fact, I shall borrow it the next time I’m drawn into debate on the issue. Where is this farm you grew up on, Mr. Marshall?”

“In Belmont, ma’am.”

“Your mother must be proud of having raised such a forward-thinking son. I certainly would be.”

The mention of his mother was an unwelcome stab to an old wound, but Norris managed to maintain his smile. “I’m sure she is.”

“Eliza, you remember Sophia, don’t you?” said Grenville. “Abigail’s dear friend.”

“Of course. She used to visit us often in Weston.”

“Mr. Marshall is her son.”

Eliza’s gaze swung back to Norris with sudden intensity, and she seemed to recognize something in his face. “You’re Sophia’s boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why, your mother hasn’t visited us in years, not since poor Abigail died. I do hope she is well?”

“She’s very well, Mrs. Lackaway,” he said, but even he could hear the lack of conviction in his own voice.

Grenville gave him a clap on the back. “Go enjoy yourself. Most of your classmates are already here and well into the champagne.”

Norris walked into the ballroom and paused, dazzled by what he saw. Young ladies glided by in butterfly-bright gowns. A massive chandelier glittered overhead, and everywhere, crystal sparkled. Against the wall was a long table with a lavish display of food. So many oysters, so many cakes! He’d never set foot in a room so grand, with its finely inlaid floor and carved pillars. Standing there in his tired evening coat and cracked shoes, he felt he’d wandered into someone else’s fantasy, certainly not his own, for he had never even imagined an evening like this.

“Finally you’re here! I was wondering if you would come at all.” Wendell held two glasses of champagne. He handed one to Norris. “Is it as excruciating as you feared? Have you been snubbed, insulted, or otherwise abused yet?”

“After all that’s happened, I didn’t know how I’d be received.”

“The latest issue of the
Gazette
should put you safely in the clear. Did you read the latest? Dr. Berry was spotted in Providence.”

Indeed, if one was to believe the rumors flying around town, the fugitive Dr. Nathaniel Berry was hiding in a dozen places at once, from Philadelphia to Savannah.

“I still can’t believe he could be the one,” said Norris. “I never saw it in him.”

“Isn’t that often the case? Murderers rarely have horns and fangs. They look like everyone else.”

“I saw only a fine physician.”

“That prostitute claims otherwise. According to the
Gazette,
the girl’s said to be so traumatized, they’re calling for donations on her behalf. Even I have to agree with the ridiculous Mr. Pratt on this one. Dr. Berry must be the Reaper. And if it’s not Dr. Berry, I’m afraid there’s only one alternative suspect.” Wendell eyed him over his champagne glass. “That would be you.”

Uneasy under Wendell’s gaze, Norris turned to survey the room. How many people were, at that moment, whispering about him? Despite Dr. Berry’s disappearance, doubts about Norris surely lingered.

“Why the face?” said Wendell. “Are you trying to look guilty?”

“I wonder how many here still think that I am.”

“Grenville wouldn’t have invited you if he had any doubts.”

Norris shrugged. “The invitation went out to all the students.”

“You know why, don’t you? Look around.”

“At what?”

“All these young ladies searching for husbands. Not to mention all their desperate mamas. You can see there aren’t enough medical students to go around.”

At this, Norris laughed. “You must be in heaven.”

“If this were really heaven, there wouldn’t be so many girls who are taller than me.” He noticed that Norris’s gaze was not on the girls, but on the buffet table. “I think that at the moment, ladies are not your first priority.”

“That juicy-looking ham over there definitely is.”

“Then shall we make its acquaintance?”

Near the oysters, they met up with Charles and Edward. “There’s more news about Dr. Berry,” said Edward. “He was spotted in Lexington yesterday evening. The Night Watch is searching there now.”

“Three days ago, he was in Philadelphia,” said Charles. “Two days ago in Portland.”

“And now he’s in Lexington?” Wendell snorted. “The man really
does
have wings.”

“That is how some
have
described him,” said Edward, glancing at Norris.

“I never said he had wings,” said Norris.

“But that girl did. That silly Bridget.” Edward handed off his plate of empty oyster shells to a maid and now considered the wide array of choices to sample next. There were puddings in the shape of a fan and fresh cod dressed in salad.

“Try some of our cook’s splendid honey cakes,” suggested Charles. “They’ve always been my favorite.”

“Aren’t you eating?”

Charles took out a kerchief and dabbed his brow. His face was a bright pink, as if he’d been dancing, but the musicians had not yet started to play. “I’m afraid I have no appetite tonight. It was freezing in here just a while ago. Mother had them build up the fire, and now I think they’ve quite overdone it.”

“It feels perfectly comfortable to me.” Edward turned and beamed at a slender brunette in a pink gown as she glided past. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I think my appetite has moved on to other things. Wendell, you know that girl, don’t you? Won’t you introduce me?”

As Edward and Wendell drifted away in pursuit of the brunette, Norris frowned at Charles. “Are you unwell? You look feverish.”

“I don’t really feel up to being here tonight. But Mother insisted.”

“I’m quite impressed by your mother.”

Charles sighed. “Yes, she has that effect on everyone. I hope you didn’t have to suffer through her
women should be doctors
speech.”

“A bit of it.”

“We have to hear it all the time, poor Uncle most of all. He says there’d be riots if he ever dared admit a woman to the college.”

The musicians were now tuning their instruments, and already couples were pairing up or searching out likely dance partners.

“I think it’s time for me to retire,” said Charles, and once again dabbed his brow. “I’m really not feeling well at all.”

“What’s wrong with your hand?”

Charles looked down at the bandage. “Oh. It’s that cut from the dissection. It’s swollen up a bit.”

“Has your uncle seen it?”

“If it gets any worse, I’ll show it to him.” Charles turned to leave, but his path was blocked by a pair of smiling young ladies. The taller one, dark-haired and wearing a gown of lime-green silk, said: “We’re quite annoyed with you, Charles. When
will
you visit us again? Or are you snubbing us for a reason?”

Charles stood gawking at them. “I’m sorry, I haven’t the foggiest—”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” the shorter girl said. “You promised to come this past March, remember? We were
so
disappointed when your uncle showed up in Providence without you.”

“I had to study for exams.”

“You could have come anyway. It was only for two weeks. We’d planned a party for you and you missed it.”

“Next time, I promise!” said Charles, impatient to retreat. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’m afraid I have a touch of fever.”

“Aren’t you going to dance?”

“I’m feeling rather clumsy tonight.” He looked desperately at Norris. “But let me introduce you to one of my most brilliant classmates, Mr. Norris Marshall from Belmont. These are the Welliver sisters from Providence. Their father is Dr. Sherwood Welliver, one of my uncle’s friends.”

“One of his
dearest
friends,” the taller girl amended. “We’re visiting Boston for the month. I’m Gwendolyn. She’s Kitty.”

“So you’re going to be a doctor, too?” said Kitty, her gaze beaming up at Norris. “All the gentlemen we meet these days seem to be doctors or about-to-be doctors.”

The musicians had begun to play their first set. Norris caught a glimpse of the diminutive Wendell leading a far taller blonde across the floor.

“Do you dance, Mr. Marshall?”

He looked at Gwendolyn. And realized, suddenly, that Charles had managed to slip away and was at that moment making his escape, leaving him alone to face the Welliver sisters.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” he admitted.

The girls both smiled at him, undeterred.

Kitty said, “We are
splendid
instructors.”

The Welliver sisters were, indeed, fine instructors, patient through his missteps, his wrong turns, his brief befuddlement during the cotillion while other couples skillfully twirled around him. Wendell, dancing past, leaned in to offer him a whispered warning: “Take care around the sisters, Norrie. They’ll consume alive any eligible bachelor!” But Norris was delighted just to be in their company. Tonight, he was a sought-after young man with prospects. He danced every dance, drank too much champagne, and ate too many cakes. And he allowed himself, just for this one night, to imagine a future of many such evenings.

He was one of the last guests to pull on his coat and leave the house. Snow was falling, fat luxurious flakes that tumbled down like soft blossoms. He stood outside on Beacon Street, his face lifted to the sky, and breathed in deeply, grateful for the fresh air after his exertions on the dance floor. Tonight, Dr. Aldous Grenville had made it clear to all of Boston that Norris Marshall had earned his approval. That he was worthy to step into the loftiest circles.

Norris laughed and caught a snowflake on his tongue.
The best is yet to come.

“Mr. Marshall?” a voice whispered.

Startled, he turned and stared into the night. At first, all he saw was falling snow. Then a figure emerged from the curtain of white, the face framed by a tattered cloak. Ice encrusted her eyelashes.

“I was afraid I’d missed you,” said Rose Connolly.

“What are you doing here, Miss Connolly?”

“I don’t know who else to turn to. I’ve lost my job, and I have nowhere to go.” She glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. “They’re looking for me.”

“The Night Watch has no interest in you now. You don’t need to hide from them.”

“It’s not the Watch I’m afraid of.”

“Then who?”

Her chin snapped up in alarm as Dr. Grenville’s front door opened, spilling light from the house. “Thank you for a most enjoyable evening, Dr. Grenville!” said a departing guest.

Norris quickly turned and began to walk away, afraid that someone might see him speaking to this ragged girl. Rose followed him. Only when they were well down Beacon Street, almost to the river, did she fall into step beside him.

“Does someone threaten you?” he asked.

“They want to take her from me.”

“Take whom?”

“My sister’s child.”

He looked at her, but her face was hidden by the hood of her cloak. All he saw, through the veil of falling snow, was a glimpse of alabaster cheek. “Who wants her?”

“I don’t know who they are, but I know they’re vicious, Mr. Marshall. I think they’re the reason Mary Robinson is dead. And Miss Poole. Now I’m the only one still alive.”

“You needn’t worry. I’ve heard it on the best authority that Dr. Berry has fled Boston. They’ll find him soon enough.”

“But I don’t believe Dr. Berry
is
the killer. I think he has fled for his life.”

“Fled from whom? These mysterious people?”

“You don’t believe a word I’m saying. Do you?”