Scottish fog. Fulfilling his dreams at the expense of abandoning Tabby in her hour of need would have been a hollow victory.
As they pulled up to his old home on Beacon Hill, his heart lurched. The flower boxes his mother took such delight in were empty in preparation for the winter, the windows dark and cold. The only sign of occupation was a thread of smoke coming from the chimney. Alice had wanted to go directly to the cemetery, had wanted to see Tabby for herself and make sure that she was all right. And though he ached to see Tabby like a marooned man aches to see land, he had reasoned that it had taken them nearly two months to reach home, and another hour or so wasn’t going to change anything. His mother, on the other hand, would be wasting away from nerves.
He had been right. As soon as his mother saw him enter the parlor, she was on her feet, rushing to him with outstretched arms. She had lost weight, and the clothes in which she had always taken so much pride hung from her, like they were no more than rags tossed over the skeletal figure of a scarecrow. She folded him into her embrace, her arms thin and fragile, and enveloped him in her familiar scent.
But then she pulled back and delivered him a stinging wallop across his cheek.
“Ow! For Chrissake, what was that for?”
“That,” she said, sniffing indignantly, “was for giving me the fright of my life. I thought you were dead!”
“Dead? Whatever would have given you that idea?” Word of his escape would have been in the papers, and he hadn’t thought that his mother would think him so weak that he had immediately perished outside the prison walls.
Her lip quivered, but she drew her head up, defensive. “A medium told me.”
“Oh, Mother,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I told you not to waste a minute nor a nickel on those people.”
“Yes, well, a widow with no children left has little recourse and I was desperate. If it wasn’t for Miss Cooke setting me right, I would have lost all hope. But you will never believe this...” She leaned in conspiratorially. “The medium was none other than Miss Cooke’s long-lost aunt!”
For the first time since they’d arrived, Alice made a noise. She took a hesitant step farther into the parlor, suddenly very pale. “Minerva Bellefonte? She was here?”
Mrs. Bishop’s gaze finally landed on Alice. “And who might this be?”
“Mother, may I present Miss Alice Bellefonte. Tabby’s sister,” he added.
Alice gave an abbreviated bow of her head.
“I see,” his mother murmured. “A pleasure. Yes, Minerva Bellefonte was here. She is supposed to be the best medium in Massachusetts. I didn’t realize she was Tabby’s aunt when I made the arrangements for the séance, but everything came to light in the most extraordinary manner.”
Caleb’s mouth went dry. “What happened?”
“Well, there was an awful row. Tabby exposed her in front of the entire assembly of ladies as a fraud. She said her piece, and before I had a chance to bring the room to order, she was gone.”
Caleb exchanged an alarmed look with Alice. “You don’t think...?”
His answer was written in the panic in her eyes.
“When was this?” he asked.
His mother frowned, thinking. “Oh, about a month ago now, I should think. It must have embarrassed Tabby terribly because she hasn’t been back to call since then, the poor dear.” Her eyes grew misty. “Miss Cooke has become a dear friend, a very dear friend. I don’t know what I would have done without her. And Mr. Whitby, of course,” she added. “He was here the day of the séance, come to see how I was doing since you’d gone away. I can’t tell you what a trial it has been since you’ve been gone.”
Caleb barely heard her. Tabby had been here, and Mr. Whitby, as well. And then she had disappeared, never to be seen again. It couldn’t be coincidence.
* * *
“I knew we should have gone directly to the cemetery,” Alice said as Caleb jumped into the hack behind her and rapped on the roof.
The hack lurched forward. He didn’t say anything. Hot irritation crawled down his neck, the source more himself than Alice’s accusing tone. They should have gone directly to look for Tabby, but he had wanted to see his mother. If he dug deep enough into his motives, he might have found that it was because he had also been scared