The Orphan of Cemetery Hill - Hester Fox Page 0,25

taken a long draught.

She knew he was just trying to be kind—it was mostly water and sludgy grounds, supplemented with chicory root. Still, she was beyond relieved when he finally pushed his stool back and made ready to take his leave.

“Thank you again for answering my questions, Mr. Cooke,” he said. “I’m sure nothing will come of it, but when investigating the murder of a respected member of the community like Miss Hammond, we must be certain to leave no stone unturned.”

“Of course,” Eli said stiffly.

Once the officer’s heavy boot steps had receded down the stairs, Tabby slumped down into her seat. She hadn’t realized how tense and prickly the air had grown while the officer was there, how she had hardly breathed the entire time.

Tabby’s voice came out small in the quiet room. “Do you really think Mr. Bishop could have something to do with Miss Hammond’s death?”

Eli looked up from his own private thoughts. “I suppose he could have. We hardly know the young man. He’s a charmer, that’s for sure, and sometimes the charmers are the ones with the most to hide.” She must have looked crestfallen, because his look softened and he reached for her hand. “I know you took a liking to him, but you need to be careful, Tabby cat. Not everyone is deserving of your trust.”

Tabby had never offered Eli the details of her early childhood besides the fact that she was an orphan, and he had never asked. He didn’t know that the guardians to whom her parents had entrusted the care of their children would be cold and manipulative. He didn’t know that Tabby had learned to always be on her guard. He didn’t know the things Tabby had done to survive in those early days. But his reminder was timely; Tabby knew that her greatest fault was that, once won, her trust was too freely given. It was the loneliness in her, the hunger for the warm heartbeat of human connection.

Caleb might have acted the rogue and kissed her, but it seemed a far leap to murder. She just couldn’t see him being capable of that. But if her instincts were wrong about him, what else might she be wrong about?

She stood suddenly, rocking the stool back. “I... I have to go out.”

Eli’s gaze flicked to the darkened windows. “Now?”

“I have to find Mary-Ruth and learn what happened,” she said, gathering up her cloak and bonnet. “What really happened.”

* * *

Tabby hesitantly lifted her hand, and then rapped softly on the back door. She knew that she would find Mary-Ruth wherever the body of Rose Hammond was, and finding Hammond House had not been difficult; she had only to ask the lamplighter as he went about his rounds, and he had pointed her down a broad street lined with brick and marble houses.

The soft pad of footsteps from the other side of the door sounded, and a moment later Mary-Ruth appeared holding a lamp up into the night.

This was not the same carefree young woman that Tabby had run and laughed with in the cemetery the other day; this woman wore her abundant hair tucked up under a white turban like a nurse, and there were heavy smudges under her eyes.

“Tabby? What on earth are you doing here?”

Tabby glanced about the street behind her. Her childhood fear of being followed and discovered had never abated, and she had spent the entire walk darting between buildings, straining her ear for the sound of approaching footsteps. She wouldn’t feel safe until she was inside with the door bolted behind her. “May I come in?”

Mary-Ruth ushered her inside and led her down a steep staircase into the bowels of the large house.

“The family is asleep,” Mary-Ruth said when they reached the kitchen. “I was just about to go home. Now, do you want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

Tabby fumbled for the right words. How could she tell Mary-Ruth that she had kissed the man accused of the murder? How could she explain that she was a burning mess of guilt and fear, curiosity and yearning?

So all she said was: “Rose Hammond... She’s Caleb Bishop’s fiancée.”

Mary-Ruth crossed her arms. “Don’t you think I know that? They’re saying he’s the one who did it!”

“It’s not true,” Tabby hurried to reassure her, the words rushing out despite her own misgivings. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.”

“How do you know?” When Tabby didn’t say anything else, Mary-Ruth groaned. “Oh, Tabby. Don’t tell