The Bone Garden: A Novel by Tess Gerritsen

lamps had blown out. Only a single flame glowed. She stared at the closed door, shut off from the one soul whom she held dear.
    No, there’s another to love now, she thought, looking down at baby Margaret.
You.
    Standing beneath the single flickering lamp, Rose studied the baby’s pale and downy hair. The eyelids were still swollen from the travails of birth. She examined five little fingers and marveled at the hand’s plump perfection, marred only by a heart-shaped strawberry mark on the wrist. So this is what a brand-new life feels like, she thought, looking down at the sleeping child. So rosy, so warm. She placed her hand on the tiny chest and through the blanket felt the beating of her heart, quick as a bird’s. Such a sweet girl, she thought. My little Meggie.
    The door suddenly swung open, spilling light into the hall. Nurse Poole came out of the room, closing the door behind her. She halted and stared at Rose, as though surprised to see her still there.
    Fearing the worst, Rose asked: “My sister?”
    “She still lives.”
    “And her condition? Will she—”
    “The bleeding has stopped, that’s all I can tell you,” snapped Nurse Poole. “Now take the baby to the ward. It’s warmer there. This hall is far too drafty for a newborn.” She turned and hurried away down the corridor.
    Shivering, Rose looked down at Meggie and thought: Yes, it’s far too cold here for you, poor thing. She carried the baby back to the lying-in ward and sat down in her old chair beside Aurnia’s empty bed. As the night wore on, the baby fell asleep in her arms. Wind rattled the windows and sleet ticked against the glass, but there was no word of Aurnia’s condition.
    From outside came the rumble of wheels over cobblestones. Rose crossed to the window. In the courtyard, a horse and phaeton rolled to a stop, the canopy concealing the face of the driver. The horse suddenly gave a panicked snort, its hooves dancing nervously as it threatened to bolt. A second later Rose saw the reason for the beast’s alarm: merely a large dog, which trotted across the courtyard, its silhouette moving purposefully across cobblestones that glistened with rain and sleet.
    “Miss Connolly.”
    Startled, Rose turned to see Agnes Poole. The woman had slipped into the ward so quietly Rose had not heard her approach.
    “Give me the baby.”
    “But she sleeps so soundly,” said Rose.
    “Your sister cannot possibly nurse the baby. She’s far too weak. I’ve taken the liberty of making other arrangements.”
    “What arrangements?”
    “The infant asylum is here to fetch her. They’ll provide a wet nurse. And most certainly, a fine home.”
    Rose stared at the nurse in disbelief. “But she’s not an orphan! She has a mother!”
    “A mother who most likely will not live.” Nurse Poole held out her arms, and her hands looked like unwelcoming claws. “Give her to me. It’s for the baby’s own good. You certainly cannot care for her.”
    “She has a father, too. You haven’t asked him.”
    “How can I? He hasn’t even bothered to show up.”
    “Did Aurnia agree to this? Let me speak to her.”
    “She’s unconscious. She can’t say anything.”
    “Then I’ll speak
for
her. This is my niece, Miss Poole, my own family.” Rose hugged the baby tighter. “I’ll give her up to no stranger.”
    Agnes Poole’s face had gone rigid in frustration. For a dangerous moment she appeared ready to wrench the baby from Rose’s arms. Instead, she turned and swept out of the ward, her skirt snapping smartly with every stride. A door slammed shut.
    Outside, in the courtyard, the horse’s hooves clattered nervously on the stones.
    Rose went back to the window and watched as Agnes Poole materialized from the shadows of the walkway and crossed to the waiting phaeton to speak to the occupant. A moment later the driver snapped the whip and the horse clopped forward. As the vehicle drove out the gate, Agnes Poole stood alone, her silhouette framed by the