off with your niece when you weren’t even here!”
“Mr. Tate has signed away his parental rights,” said Nurse Cabot. “He, at least, understands what’s best for his baby.”
“He doesn’t care about the baby,” said Rose.
“You’re far too young to raise it yourself. Be sensible, girl! Give it to someone who can.”
In answer, Rose snatched up Meggie from her basket and held her tightly against her breast. “Give her to a stranger? I’d have to be on my deathbed first.”
Nurse Cabot, faced with Rose’s clearly insurmountable resistance, at last gave a sigh of exasperation. “Suit yourself. It’ll be on your conscience when the child comes to grief. I have no time for this, not tonight, with poor Agnes…” She swallowed hard, then looked at the groundsman, who still waited with Aurnia’s body on his cart. “Remove her.”
Still holding tightly to Meggie, Rose followed the man out of the ward, into the courtyard. There, by the yellow glow of his lamp, she stood vigil as Aurnia was laid into the pine box. She watched him pound in the nails, hammer echoing like pistol shots, and with every blow she felt a nail being driven into her own heart. The coffin now sealed, he picked up a lump of charcoal and scrawled on the lid: A. TATE.
“Just so there’s no mix-up,” he said, and straightened to look at her. “She’ll be here till noon. Make your arrangements by then.”
Rose laid her hand on the lid.
I’ll find a way, darling. I’ll see you properly buried.
She wrapped her shawl around both herself and Meggie, then walked out of the hospital courtyard.
She did not know where to go. Certainly not back to the lodging house room that she’d shared with her sister and Eben. Eben was probably there now, sleeping off the rum, and she had no wish to confront him. She’d deal with him in the morning, when he was sober. Her brother-in-law might be heartless, but he was also coldly sensible. He had a business to maintain, and a reputation to uphold. If even a hint of malicious gossip got out, the bell over his tailor shop might fall silent. In the morning, she thought, Eben and I will come to a truce, and he’ll take us both in. She is his daughter, after all.
But tonight they had no bed to sleep in.
Her footsteps slowed, stopped. She stood exhausted on the corner. Force of habit had sent her in a familiar direction, and now she gazed up the same street that she had walked earlier that evening. A Dearborn carriage clattered past, pulled by a swaybacked horse with a drooping head. Even so poor a carriage, with its rickety wheels and patched canopy, was an unattainable luxury. She imagined sitting with her weary feet propped up on a little stool, protected from the wind and rain while that carriage bore her like royalty. As it rolled past, she suddenly saw the familiar figure that had been standing right across the street from her.
“Did y’hear the news, Miss Rose?” said Dim Billy. “Nurse Poole’s been killed, over at the hospital!”
“Yes, Billy. I know.”
“They said she was slit right up her belly, like this.” He slashed a finger up his abdomen. “Cut off her head with a sword. And her hands, too. Three people saw him do it, and he flew away like a great black bird.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mrs. Durkin did, over at the stable. She heard it from Crab.”
“There’s a fool of a boy, Crab is. You’re repeating nonsense, and you should stop it.”
He fell silent, and she realized she had hurt his feelings. His feet were dragging like giant anchors across the cobblestones. Beneath his shoved-down cap, enormous ears protruded like drooping saucers. Poor Billy so seldom took offense, it was easy to forget that even he could be wounded.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what, Miss Rose?”
“You were only telling me what you heard. But not everything you hear is the God’s truth. Some people lie. Some are the devil’s own. You can’t trust them all, Billy.”
“How
“Mr. Tate has signed away his parental rights,” said Nurse Cabot. “He, at least, understands what’s best for his baby.”
“He doesn’t care about the baby,” said Rose.
“You’re far too young to raise it yourself. Be sensible, girl! Give it to someone who can.”
In answer, Rose snatched up Meggie from her basket and held her tightly against her breast. “Give her to a stranger? I’d have to be on my deathbed first.”
Nurse Cabot, faced with Rose’s clearly insurmountable resistance, at last gave a sigh of exasperation. “Suit yourself. It’ll be on your conscience when the child comes to grief. I have no time for this, not tonight, with poor Agnes…” She swallowed hard, then looked at the groundsman, who still waited with Aurnia’s body on his cart. “Remove her.”
Still holding tightly to Meggie, Rose followed the man out of the ward, into the courtyard. There, by the yellow glow of his lamp, she stood vigil as Aurnia was laid into the pine box. She watched him pound in the nails, hammer echoing like pistol shots, and with every blow she felt a nail being driven into her own heart. The coffin now sealed, he picked up a lump of charcoal and scrawled on the lid: A. TATE.
“Just so there’s no mix-up,” he said, and straightened to look at her. “She’ll be here till noon. Make your arrangements by then.”
Rose laid her hand on the lid.
I’ll find a way, darling. I’ll see you properly buried.
She wrapped her shawl around both herself and Meggie, then walked out of the hospital courtyard.
She did not know where to go. Certainly not back to the lodging house room that she’d shared with her sister and Eben. Eben was probably there now, sleeping off the rum, and she had no wish to confront him. She’d deal with him in the morning, when he was sober. Her brother-in-law might be heartless, but he was also coldly sensible. He had a business to maintain, and a reputation to uphold. If even a hint of malicious gossip got out, the bell over his tailor shop might fall silent. In the morning, she thought, Eben and I will come to a truce, and he’ll take us both in. She is his daughter, after all.
But tonight they had no bed to sleep in.
Her footsteps slowed, stopped. She stood exhausted on the corner. Force of habit had sent her in a familiar direction, and now she gazed up the same street that she had walked earlier that evening. A Dearborn carriage clattered past, pulled by a swaybacked horse with a drooping head. Even so poor a carriage, with its rickety wheels and patched canopy, was an unattainable luxury. She imagined sitting with her weary feet propped up on a little stool, protected from the wind and rain while that carriage bore her like royalty. As it rolled past, she suddenly saw the familiar figure that had been standing right across the street from her.
“Did y’hear the news, Miss Rose?” said Dim Billy. “Nurse Poole’s been killed, over at the hospital!”
“Yes, Billy. I know.”
“They said she was slit right up her belly, like this.” He slashed a finger up his abdomen. “Cut off her head with a sword. And her hands, too. Three people saw him do it, and he flew away like a great black bird.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mrs. Durkin did, over at the stable. She heard it from Crab.”
“There’s a fool of a boy, Crab is. You’re repeating nonsense, and you should stop it.”
He fell silent, and she realized she had hurt his feelings. His feet were dragging like giant anchors across the cobblestones. Beneath his shoved-down cap, enormous ears protruded like drooping saucers. Poor Billy so seldom took offense, it was easy to forget that even he could be wounded.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what, Miss Rose?”
“You were only telling me what you heard. But not everything you hear is the God’s truth. Some people lie. Some are the devil’s own. You can’t trust them all, Billy.”
“How
Similar Books
