These Shallow Graves (39 page)

“We made it,” Eddie said, stepping out of the cab at Lexington and Twenty-Second Street.

“Thank you,” Jo said to the driver as she paid him.

They'd walked part of the way from the asylum to get the smell of death out of their noses, and their clothing, though Oscar still reeked. Jo was tired now. It had been hard work to shovel the dirt back over Stephen Smith's coffin, and tricky business to sneak through the gates. Luckily, the watchman had fallen asleep, despite his big mug of coffee.

Jo was aching with sadness, too. This was the end of the line. She could do no more. The manifests Stephen Smith had sent to Eleanor Owens would remain hidden, for both she and Eddie had tried—and failed—to find them. Mallon would remain unquestioned, at least by them.

Eddie was right—Mallon was too dangerous to approach. She would tell her uncle what she'd learned, and then he would go to the authorities. They would be the ones to approach Mallon. Jo's time as a sleuth was over. With all her heart she wished it weren't. She wished things could be different. She wished
she
were different—the sort of girl who could forget her duties to her family and follow her own heart's desires. But she wasn't.

“Anyone hungry?” Oscar asked. “The Portman's not far. I bet they'd scare up a sandwich for us.”

“How can you even
think
about food after where we've just been?” Jo asked.

“Dead people always make me hungry,” Oscar said. “Once you're in the ground, there's no more noodle kugel for you. No more roast chicken or potato latkes. So eat, drink, and be merry, I say. But especially eat.”

“I would love to go with you, Oscar, but it's almost one o'clock in the morning and I have to sneak back into my house,” Jo said. Then, impulsively, she hugged him.

“What's that for?” Oscar asked, as she released him.

“I don't know when I'll see you again. Or
if
I'll see you again. And I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I've never met anyone quite like you. I know you'll make the most wonderful doctor, and here's something else I know: Sarah Stein wishes you'd take her to dinner.”

Oscar blushed. He kissed Jo's cheek.

Then Jo turned to Eddie. The look that passed between them was one of love and loss. It was naked and sad, and Oscar saw it. “I … uh … I think I'll just walk down the street now. For no good reason,” he said.

“Can't imagine you'll be seeing much of me again, either,” Eddie said. He was looking at Jo, not Oscar.

Jo lowered her head so he wouldn't see the tears brimming in her eyes. “I'll miss you every day of my life. Because you changed my life, Eddie. I'll never, ever forget you.”

“No more, Jo,” Eddie said, his voice husky. “Please.”

Jo nodded. She raised her head and tried for a smile. “Goodbye,” she said, hugging him.

He hugged her back, holding her tightly, his cheek against hers, his eyes closed. And then he let her go.

“You need me to walk you home?” he asked.

“It's only a block away,” Jo said.. “I'll be fine.”

“All right, then. There's another cab coming,” he said, looking up the street. “Right behind that carriage. I'm going to take it and pick up Oscar.”

The hansom cab Eddie had seen was occupied. It rolled by them and then abruptly stopped. The door opened. A young man, slender and tall, stepped out.

“Jo? Jo Montfort?” he called. “Is that you?”

Jo turned around slowly, her heart in her throat.

It was Bram.

Bram looked at Jo as if he didn't trust his own eyes.

“Josephine, what in God's name are you doing out on the streets at this hour?” he demanded.

“W-well, I … I was j-just … ,” Jo stammered. She couldn't tell him the truth, but she had to say
something.

“Who is this man? Has he hurt you?” he asked, eyeing Eddie suspiciously.

“
Hurt me?
No!” she said. “He's my
friend,
Bram. Abraham Aldrich, I would like you to meet Edward Gallagher.”

Eddie offered his hand. Bram did not take it.

“And Oscar Rubin, too. Well, Oscar's not here at the moment. He's over there.” She pointed down the street. Bouncing on the balls of her feet nervously, she smiled and racked her brain for something to say. Finally she asked, “What brings
you
out at this hour?”

“Teddy Farnham's going-away party.”

Jo remembered that Teddy was leaving for a tour of the Continent soon. “Did you have fun?” she asked, as if it were perfectly normal to be having this conversation out on the street in the middle of the night.

Worry filled Bram's face. “Jo, are you all right? Please come inside the cab. I'll take you to your door.”

“You good with that, Jo?” Eddie asked.

“What?”
Bram said, turning to look at Eddie.

“You heard me. Even though I wasn't talking to you,” Eddie replied, standing his ground.

“What perfect timing!” Jo quickly said, moving toward the cab. “I won't have to walk through the square. Good night, Mr. Gallagher.”

“Miss Montfort,” Eddie said, tipping his cap.

Bram put a protective arm around Jo's shoulders and led her to his cab. “Gramercy Square. Number Fourteen,” he said to the driver as Jo climbed in.

The cab moved off and Jo settled herself on the seat. As she did, Bram's gaze traveled over her, from her dirt-streaked hands to her muddy shoes. She could see the confusion in his eyes and realized how she must look to him. She was wearing an ancient coat. Her dress was filthy. Her hair had straggled out of its knot.

“Jo, where have you been? What have you been doing?”

“Bram, you have to trust me,” she said earnestly, taking his hand.

“Jo, I
must
know what you were doing with those men,” he insisted.

“I'll tell you, but I doubt you'll believe me,” she said, fervently hoping that he
would
believe her. That she could confide in him. That he would help her. If he could do those things, it might be the beginning of something between them, something real.

She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I've been at the Darkbriar Asylum digging up a corpse.”

Bram sank back against his seat, ashen-faced.

“The corpse belongs to the man I suspected of murdering not only Alvah Beekman, but also Richard Scully and my father,” she continued, talking quickly. “However, a story tattooed on the corpse's chest has convinced me otherwise.”

“Oh my God,” Bram said, his voice barely a whisper.

“I know this must be a terrible shock for you, and I'm sorry,” Jo said, unhappy to have to upset him.

“If I'd only known,” Bram said. “I didn't see it. Phillip—”

“Knows nothing,” said Jo. “Not about this. I plan to tell him tomorrow. He'll know what to do.”

“First your father, then Richard, then Alvah. … It's all been too much for you. My poor girl. We've been so worried. … Your uncle, your mother, even Katie.”

Jo, looking out the window, barely heard him. The cab was now moving along the east side of the square. She didn't want to go any farther. “Stop here, please,” she said, agitated.

“But we're not at your house,” Bram objected.

“I don't want the cab to stop in front of it. In case the noise wakes Theakston.”

“But we
must
wake the servants. They'll be needed to help you. Your mother, too.”

“No!”
Jo said. “Bram, I
must
get to my room unseen. My mother mustn't find out about tonight. Not yet. Not before I tell my uncle. She won't understand.”

“All right, Jo, all right,” Bram said, in a soothing voice. “But you must allow me to see you to your door. I refuse to leave until I know you're safely inside your house.”

Bram stopped the carriage. He helped Jo down and walked her to the servants' door.

“Promise me you'll get some rest,” he said, distress in his voice.

“I will. Thank you for listening to me, Bram. Thank you for believing me.”

“It's all right, Jo. Go in the house now.” Jo nodded. She carefully opened the door, slipped inside, and pulled it closed, locking it behind her. Then she tiptoed up the back stairs, hoping not to wake anyone. When she reached her room, she looked out the window.

Bram was still standing on the sidewalk, motionless. He raised his hand to his eyes and brushed at something. Then he turned and walked back to his carriage.

Jo barely slept a wink all night.

She'd taken off her filthy clothing and muddy shoes, rolled them up in a ball, and shoved them into an old carpetbag at the back of her wardrobe. She took a hot bath, scrubbing every inch of herself, then climbed into bed, where she tossed and turned for the rest of the night, haunted by images of Stephen Smith in his coffin.

At dawn, she was out of bed. After dressing and doing her own hair, she slipped out of the house. Her mother was usually a late riser, but today was a Sunday and there was church to attend. Jo had to get to her uncle's house and back before breakfast. Her aunt and cousin slept late, too.

Her uncle, however, did not. He always said that dawn was his favorite time of day, and he usually worked for a few hours in his study before breakfasting with his family. Jo hoped that was the case today.

She hurried up the steps to her uncle's front door now and knocked lightly. Seconds later, it was opened.

“Miss Montfort, good morning. Is Mrs. Montfort expecting you?” Harney asked, ushering her inside.

“It's my uncle I've come to see, Harney,” Jo explained. “Can you please let him know I'm here?”

As Jo waited in the foyer, Admiral Montfort gazed at her with his hard eyes.
“Fac quod faciendum est,”
she whispered, drawing strength once again from the Montfort family motto. She would need it.

Harney returned. “Right this way, Miss Montfort,” he said, leading Jo to her uncle's study.

Phillip was standing in the doorway as she reached it. “Jo? This is a most unusual hour for a visit. Is everything all right?” he asked.

Jo waited until she was inside the study and Harney had closed the door before she spoke.

“No, Uncle Phillip, it's not. I have some very difficult news to share with you, and you are going to be angry with me when you hear it. Very angry. But please hear me out.”

Jo sat down. She looked at her uncle's kindly face, now etched with concern, and wished that she didn't have to tell him what she knew, but she had no choice. She needed his help. He was kind, yes, but he was also strong and shrewd and would do what needed to be done.

Jo squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, then began. She started with her trip to Child's Restaurant and ended with her visit to Darkbriar and her carriage ride home with Bram. She came clean about Oscar Edwards, too. She had to. Bram had seen Eddie and Oscar and might mention them to her uncle.

Phillip turned white as she spoke. He sat as still as death, listening to her every word. When she finished, he silently rose, poured himself a glass of brandy, and downed it in one gulp. Though his back was to her, Jo could tell by his clenched hand and the tremor in his shoulders that he was doing his best to compose himself. He turned, finally, and looked at her.

“Can this
possibly
be true?” he asked.

“I'm sorry, Uncle Phillip. I'm so sorry,” Jo said, hurting for him, regretting all the fresh pain she was causing him.

Phillip sat down again, heavily. “Kinch was Stephen Smith. …
How?
” he asked. “Smith was lost at sea. His ship went down in a storm.”

“I don't know how, but somehow he survived and returned to New York to look for Eleanor Owens and the manifests he'd sent her.”

“And he didn't kill himself at Darkbriar, you say? He was murdered?”

“Yes. I believe his orderly at Darkbriar did it … Francis Mallon. I think Mallon killed Mr. Beekman, Mr. Scully, and my father, as well.”

Phillip covered his face with his hands. He shook his head violently, as if trying to clear it. “Have you any proof of the things you've just told me?”

“I'm afraid I have very little proof of anything,” Jo admitted. “Only this.” She dug in her purse and placed Stephen Smith's pendant on the tea table.

Phillip stared at it. He picked it up and read the inscription. “Dear God, Jo. Tell me you did not really do what you said you did to get this thing.”

“I
had
to, Uncle Phillip,” Jo said. “I want my father's murderer—his real murderer—brought to justice. I want the truth. And though I may not have hard proof, I've heard enough, and seen enough, to think that your life might still be in danger.” She crossed the room, knelt down by his chair and took his hands. “Uncle Phillip,
listen
to me. You must act.
Please.
You must go to the police. I've lost my father to a murderer. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you.”

Phillip said nothing for nearly a minute. He just stared straight ahead helplessly. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, Jo. You're right,” he said decisively.

Jo felt a rush of relief. He was rallying. His color had improved. He sat up straight, in command of himself once again.

“I'll go to the authorities immediately,” he said. “I'd like to show them the pendant, if I may.”

“Of course,” said Jo. “Shall I come with you?”

“No, not yet. I'm sure the police will wish to speak with you at some point, but you are to do nothing more.
Nothing.
Do you understand me? You've put yourself in enough danger. You said this man Mallon attacked you once—what if he tries to do so again? My God, Jo, I still can't believe I'm having this conversation with you. The things you've seen … No young woman should
ever
see such things.”

Jo nodded, looking at her hands.

“Look at me, Josephine,” Phillip said sternly.

Jo raised her eyes to his.
Here it comes,
she thought, wincing.

“I cannot begin to tell you how angry I am with you. For doing the things you've done. For the risks you've taken. For deceiving us all—your mother, me, Bram. I only hope he has not told Grandmama. If he has, your engagement may well be in jeopardy.”

“I would sacrifice my future with Bram to save your life,” Jo said, tears springing to her eyes.

Phillip, who was about to continue his tirade, faltered. “You are a very foolish girl, Josephine. Very foolish,” he said, his voice breaking. “And very brave.”

“What about Mama? What do I tell her?”

Phillip cleared his throat. “Nothing. Not yet. Let me do it. I don't want your mother, aunt, and cousin scared witless. I won't go to church this morning. I'll say I'm unwell. I think you should do the same. You've had too great a shock to be out and about this morning.”

Jo nodded.

“After Madeleine and Caroline leave, I'll go to the police and tell them about Mallon,” Phillip continued. “Then I'll inform the other partners. They should know, too. I'll tell your aunt everything as soon as we both return home again. She'll be less upset if I can tell her that the police and the other partners have been alerted. When that's all done, I'll have a word with Bram. He's bound to be worried about you. And then I'll come to your house and talk to your mother. She'll be quite distraught when she hears about your activities, but I think she'll take it better coming from me than from you.”

Jo agreed, grateful to her uncle for dealing with her mother.

“There's one more thing, Uncle Phillip,” she said. “No matter how angry you are at me, you are not to be angry with Eddie Gallagher or Oscar Rubin. This was all my idea, not theirs.” She paused, then said, “If I am to go on with my life and become Bram's wife, I must know that they'll be allowed to go on with theirs, without suffering any consequences for helping me.” Her meaning was veiled, but she was sure her uncle would understand it.

And he did. “You have my assurances that Mr. Gallagher and Mr. Rubin are safe from my wrath,” he said. “But I must have your promise that you won't see either of them again. This is out of your hands now, Jo. It's a matter for the authorities.”

“I give you my word,” Jo said.

Phillip rose. “I think you should go home now. You look very tired, and I have much to do.”

Jo stood, too. “I feel like I could sleep for ten years,” she said.

Phillip embraced her. She hugged him back tightly.

“I was so afraid to tell you, but I'm glad I did,” she said.

“I'm glad, too,” he said, releasing her. “You're not to worry about it anymore, my dear Jo. I'll take care of it. I'll take care of everything.”