her catching her by the arm. “Where is he? I would give anything to see him again, to hold him. I know in my heart that he is innocent.”
Tabby looked at her feet and shook her head. “I wish I knew, I’m sorry. I only know that he is alive. He is a clever man, though, and I’m sure wherever he is, he’s thriving.” She did not have to lie or sweeten her words; they were the truth.
“I miss him so much,” Mrs. Bishop said softly.
“I miss him, too.” She hadn’t even realized it until the words slipped out. For as much as the young man had confounded her, she found herself missing him with an intensity that rivaled the loss she felt for her sister. She hated that she missed him, especially after he had accused her of lying, but she did. She missed the appreciative glimmer in his eye when she said something clever. She missed his quick smile that was no less special for its frequency. She even missed his cocky banter.
But now was not the time to mine the depths of her heart. No sooner had she given her message to Mrs. Bishop than the parlor door was opening and Larson was clearing his throat expectantly.
“Madame, Mr. Whitby is here. Should I tell him you’re busy?”
Tabby froze. She shot a pleading look to Mrs. Bishop, but of course the older woman had no clue what had transpired between Tabby and him, and so the urgency of the situation was lost on her.
Mrs. Bishop gave a heavy sigh. “No, that won’t be necessary. The séance is concluded, I suppose, and he may be here with news about Caleb.”
Panicked, Tabby darted her gaze around the room, looking for a way out. If she moved fast, she might be able to slip out the servant’s entrance and into the back hall.
“I—I have to go,” Tabby mumbled. But as she started for the door, she was waylaid by the gaggle of women.
“Miss Cooke, I’m hosting a party Tuesday next, and I simply must have you there to perform a séance.”
“How much do you charge for a sitting?”
“Do you offer private sittings? I have a question for a spirit, but it is of a delicate nature.”
Bombazine skirts pressed in around Tabby, feathered fans snapping open and shut as the women all pleaded for her attention.
When at last she had broken free, mumbling vague promises of appointments, Tabby threw a glance over her shoulder at the other door just as a well-pressed suit stepped inside. For one brief, terrible moment, her eyes locked on his, and then she was gone.
19
IN WHICH THERE IS A GRUESOME REVELATION.
THERE WAS A clock on the mantel and with every heavy movement of the minute hand, it let out an awful, grinding tick, tick, tick.
After being admitted by a distracted adult son and daughter-in-law, Tabby had been left in the stately bedroom with the dying man, her first patient as a watcher. Robert Graham had obviously lived a comfortable life as a dean of Harvard, his chamber well appointed and tastefully peppered with mementos of a career spent in academia. The doctors had come and gone, done what they could for Mr. Graham’s chronic chest complaint, and told his family that all was left now was to make him comfortable in his final hours.
Tabby sat up in the armchair by Mr. Graham’s bed, stretching her aching legs and willing her scratchy eyes to stay open. She was not just being paid, after all, to keep him company; she was responsible for making sure that if and when he stopped breathing that he was well and truly dead.
All she wanted to do was sleep, and put the chaos of the séance that afternoon behind her, but she had promised Mary-Ruth, and she needed the money. Besides, she would be safe here, a roof over her head for so long as the sick man lingered. And when he took his last breath, she would find another dying patient, and so it would continue.
Mr. Graham’s chamber was oppressively hot, but Tabby was mindless of the sweat that beaded down her back. The image of Mr. Whitby’s cold eyes finding hers across the room had seared itself into her mind. They had held a threat, a promise. She knew that he had killed Rose, and he knew that she knew. He would find her.
A hoarse voice pulled Tabby from her thoughts. “Shh,” she said, rising and placing her hand on Mr.