The Grave Robber's Secret (3 page)

Robby nodded. He was never going back inside that place, but something made him turn back for a second to see the light in the window.

At home Robby heated water on the big black stove. “What are you doing?” Da demanded from the table as he ate bread and butter.

“I want to wash myself before I go to bed,” Robby said, and he shuddered. Did the smell of death cling to him or was it his imagination? Either way, there would be no rest for him until he was clean. Tomorrow he would start a new life, and he would wear clean clothing, not even bothering to take the things he now wore with him.

CHAPTER THREE

T
he next morning Robby began at once to plan his escape. In the closet beneath the front stairs was an old valise that had belonged to Ma's uncle, who once lived in the house. He would take his other change of clean clothes, brought in from the clothesline just yesterday, fold them, and when he could go into the closet unobserved, he would deposit them in the bag.

His plan was changed by a loud knock on the front door just as they finished breakfast. Ma hurried to answer. “Have you rooms to let?” Robby heard a man's voice ask. “I am in need of two, one for me and one for my daughter, Martha.”

Robby pushed open the swinging door to stand in the doorway between the kitchen and the parlor. “We do indeed have rooms,” Hannah Hare said. “Won't you come in?” Ma followed a small pale-skinned man into the parlor. He removed a tall black hat from a head covered with black hair. His eyes were black too, and seemed odd against his pale skin. His large, twisted nose and narrow lips made his face decidedly unpleasant. He held his hat in the same hand as a walking stick made from a rich dark wood with a handle of gold, and he moved with the manner of a man accustomed to receiving respect. Robby thought he looked out of place in the Hare parlor, with the red settee worn shiny by use, the lumpy, overstuffed brown chair, and scarred wooden table.

Da got up from his breakfast and leaned around Robby. After he had a glimpse of the man, Da walked into the parlor. Ordinarily Da would pay no attention to the lodgers, only their money. He must think this man might be important. He held out his hand, but he dropped it when the man did not take it. “Welcome to me home,” he said. “I'm the landlord here. Roger Hare's the name.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Burke, William Burke. Could you show me the rooms, my good fellow? I am in something of a hurry, having left my young daughter at the train station while I search about for lodging.”

“Yes sirree, Bob!” Da flashed a smile. “Right this way.” He led the guest back into the hall and up the stairs. Robby could hear their feet on the stairs, and the sound of his father's booming voice. He stayed holding the swinging door until his mother went back into the kitchen, then followed.

Ma began to clear the dishes from the long, wooden table with its red checked oilcloth. “Your da's all excited because this Burke looks like a gentleman,” she said, and frowned. “Me, I'd sooner have a common-looking lodger, one who ain't used to having fancy food.”

Robby reached to gather the cups. “Ma,” he said, “you've no call to fret. Why, you're the best cook in all of Philadelphia. Everyone says so. Let's just pray this man takes the rooms. With two rooms rented, surely Da won't make me go back to the graveyard.”

The dishes had just been stacked for washing when they heard the men come back down the stairs. Da pushed open the swinging door and stuck in his head. “Come in here,” he demanded. “We've got ourselves two fine boarders,” Da said when Robby and his mother were in the room. “Yes sirree, Bob. It's mighty proud we are to have you,” he said, and he reached out to clap a hand on Burke's shoulder.

Burke stepped away and brushed at his coat where Da's hand had touched. “I don't care to be touched by those outside my family. Please remember that in the future,” he said, frowning.

Da looked as if he had been slapped, and for a moment Robby actually felt a bit sorry for his father. “Sure thing, Mr. Burke, sir,” Roger said. “When will you be moving in?”

“Right away.” He turned to Ma. “The rooms do seem to be in order, but they want dusting. I trust you can take care of that immediately.” He did not wait for an answer. “Who lives in the third room?” he asked.

“Miss Stone,” said Robby's mother. “She is a dear old lady, and very quiet. She takes most of her meals in her room. She's not strong.”

“Would you like the third room?” Roger asked. “Because if you do, that can be arranged.”

Robby, who had stayed near the doorway, gasped, but no one seemed to notice. Would his father really turn out Miss Stone? She had been with them for as long as he could remember, and Robby knew she had no other place to go. If his father forced her out, Robby would find her another house where she could rent a room. He would find such a place even if he had to walk every street in the city.

“No,” said Burke, “two rooms are all we require. I shall go now and fetch my Martha. We have traveled far, and she will be glad of a bed on which to rest.”

“Off with the both of you,” said Da as soon as the door closed behind Mr. Burke. “Get your dust rags and run. You've got to be on top of things in the place now that we will have a gentleman in the house. No more lazy lounging about for the two of you.”

Ma's face turned scarlet and Robby knew she was thinking that it was Da who did the lounging about. He was afraid that his mother might not be able to keep her tongue, and then, of course, Da's famous temper would erupt. He was relieved when she, without speaking, took two pieces of cloth from her rag bag and handed him one.

They said nothing until they were upstairs, but just before they parted, each to tidy a separate room, Ma spoke. “He gives me the willies, that Burke does.” She shook her head. “Mark my words, we will be sorry of his coming. I know we will.”

Robby's eyebrows went up with surprise. “No, Ma,” he said. “This is a lucky day for us. There will be no need now to go to the graveyard.” He whistled while he dusted.

True to his word, William Burke returned soon after the dusting was finished. Ma had gone back to do the dishes, and Robby had taken his dust rag into the parlor. This time Burke did not knock. Robby heard the outside door open in the hall and looked up to see their new boarder come in. “I won't be knocking at a house where I pay to lodge,” Mr. Burke announced, and he set down his bag. A girl followed him inside and stood beside him, her eyes down. She wore a brown cape that seemed too heavy for the spring weather. She was smaller than Robby, but he thought she looked to be about his age. Probably she had inherited her small frame from her father. She had not, thank heavens, inherited his looks. Her fair hair framed a face with fine, perfect features, and her skin was so clear that a light seemed to come from beneath it. She looked, Robby thought, like a china doll that should be kept on a shelf because it was not strongly made.

Robby realized he should respond to Mr. Burke's comment. “Certainly, sir,” he said. “We'd not expect you to knock. Can I help you with your bags?” He leaned around the doorway to see if there were more bags in the hall. “Do you have more?”

“No,” said Mr. Burke. “We traveled light. I expect we will be doing a deal of shopping once we're settled. What is your name, my lad?”

“Robert, sir, but I'm called Robby.”

“Robby,” said Burke, “this is my daughter, Martha.” He reached out to stroke her blond hair. “Martha is not strong, and I shall expect you to be helpful to her when I am away at business.”

“I will,” said Robby, “I'll be sure to do that.” He looked at the girl and smiled, but she continued to study the floor. Being helpful to this Martha might not be easy, but he would manage. These people had just rented two rooms, and taking care of this girl was a much better job than robbing graves.

Mr. Burke held out the bag to Robby. “Show Martha her room and take up the bag.” He consulted a pocket watch. “I must hurry to a business appointment.” He laid his hand against Martha's cheek. “You should rest yourself, my dear. I'll be back in time for the evening meal.” He whirled about so quickly that the tails on his fancy black jacket flapped, and he was gone.

Robby, the suitcase in his hand, began to climb the stairs. The girl did not move, nor did she look at him. After a few steps, he paused and turned back to her. “Well, do you want to see your room now?”

She looked up and nodded. “Come along, then,” he said, and he began to climb again.

At the top of the stairs, he paused and looked back at her. She moved slowly, staring at each step before she put her foot on it. Maybe the girl was not right in the head. She might be like poor Daft Jane. He hoped she was not weak-minded. If she was, she would need a great deal of watching, and Robby had no doubt the job would be his.

He opened the door to her room and carried the bag inside. Then he went back to the stairs to wait for Martha. She was about halfway up, but she stopped when she saw Robby.

“Come on up,” he said, and motioned to her in case she did not understand the words. He waited for her. When finally she was beside him, he noticed that she breathed rather heavily. “This way,” he said, and rejecting the notion that he should take her hand, he turned and went back into the room. It was not a large room, but Robby thought it a pleasant one. He took the girl's cape and hung it on a peg. There was a narrow bed, a washstand with a mirror, a small bureau, and in front of the open window was a little table with two wooden chairs pushed up to it. A fresh breeze made the clean white curtains lift. “You'll most likely be comfortable here,” Robby said. At just that moment, he heard his mother coming up the stairs.

Hannah Hare came into the room, her apron still wet from dishwashing. “Now isn't this fine. I see you children are managing quite well without me.” She smiled at Martha, and Robby was amazed to see the girl return a lovely smile of her own. Ma moved to stand beside Martha. “Are you well, child?” she asked. “Your breathing seems a bit heavy.”

Martha sighed softly. “We had typhoid, my mama and me. I got well …” Her voice broke. “Mama didn't get well.”

Ma reached out to put an arm around Martha, who leaned into the woman's ample side. “Sometimes life is just terrible hard, and that's the truth.” She turned the girl's body to face the bed. “You have yourself a bit of a lay down now, and Robby will come fetch you when the noon meal is laid.” The girl did as she was told, and Hannah took the light blanket from the foot of the bed and spread it over her.

Robby followed his mother from the room, closing the door gently. “Poor little mite,” she said when they were on the stairs, and she made a
tsk
sound with her tongue.

“Is she daft, do you think?”

“Mercy, no, just terrible tired and with a heart that's all in pieces. We'll be kind to her as we can be. She needs some kindness if ever a body did.”

Robby thought that he had never known his mother to be unkind. He would be kind to her too. Still, this sad girl and her peculiar father were beginning to make him uncomfortable. He gave himself a little shake. The new boarders would keep him out of grave robbing. Nothing else mattered, did it?

…

At noontime, Robby went back upstairs to escort Martha to the kitchen. He was surprised to hear Miss Stone call to him through her open door just at the top of the stairs. “Robby, darling, come here, please.”

He turned to go in her direction. The old woman sat in her rocker, and on the foot of her bed, Martha was curled up with a book of fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen in her hand. Miss Stone motioned toward the girl. “As you can see, I've met Martha. Isn't it lovely to have her with us?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Robby said, ashamed of the jealousy he felt. He did not want to share Miss Stone with this strange girl, but somehow it had already happened. She was in Robby's place reading his books, and she looked totally at home. “Ma's got vittles ready,” he said, trying not to sound cross.

“Good,” said Miss Stone. “Is your father home today, Robby?”

“No, ma'am, he isn't.” He knew that the lady would go downstairs for the noon meal. She rarely ate in the kitchen if doing so meant eating with Roger Hare.

Miss Stone put down the mending she had been working on. “I believe I'm strong enough to go downstairs to eat.” She rose and moved toward the door, calling to Martha, “Come dear, Robby's mother is a wonderful cook. She'll put some meat on your bones. You can be sure of that!”

“May I borrow the book?” asked Martha. “I'd like to read more.”

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Stone. “Take it to your room now.”

When they were at the staircase, Robby took Miss Stone's arm. They moved slowly down the steps, Martha following. All the way down, Robby scolded himself for being jealous. What if his mother sickened and died? What if he had no one left to him except Da? Well, at least Martha's father seemed a deal kinder to her than Robby's father was to him.

“Where did you last live, dear?” Miss Stone asked after they were all settled with full plates.

A nervous look crossed Martha's face. She started to say something, then paused. “Papa's family is all from Massachusetts,” she murmured.

“That doesn't answer the question.” Robby stabbed at the cake of butter with his knife. “She asked you where you lived last.”