The Burying Ground. Janet Kellough
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she settled herself in a chair at one end and glared at Christie, who, with an apologetic look, passed her the bowl of oatmeal.
“And what will you do with yourself today, Mr. Lewis?” Christie asked.
Thaddeus wasn’t sure. He had a two-day rest period before he once again had to meet any appointments, but he hadn’t given much consideration to what he might do when Luke was working. In the old days when his circuit was complete, he always returned home to discover that Betsy had numerous things that needed doing, and he seldom had time to complete all of the tasks before he had to leave again. Even his free days were full.
“You could go and visit Morgan Spicer,” Luke said. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Morgan Spicer?” Thaddeus was astonished. “Where on earth did you run across Morgan Spicer?” He had long since lost track of his one-time protégé.
“He hailed me as I was walking down the street the other day. He mistook me for you.”
“But what is he doing in Yorkville?”
“Spicer?” Christie said, “Isn’t he that weedy little character who looks after the Burying Ground? The one with the twins?”
“I don’t know,” Luke said. “But he wanted to speak with my father in connection with the Burying Ground, so I’m sure you’re right. He said there had been a strange occurrence there. He said to say it was a puzzle.”
“Ah yes, someone’s been tampering with the graves, I hear,” Christie said, reaching for the last rasher of bacon on the platter. “Resurrection men no doubt, looking for bodies for the medical students to cut up. Should do it the way they do in Scotland — just fetch them from the hangman.” He stopped talking for a moment, wrinkled his brow, and chewed thoughtfully. “Mind you, there was rather a strange case in Edinburgh in ’28. Not enough people hanged, you see, so cadavers were in short supply. Families soon found that they had to post guards at the graves of their newly buried love ones, so the bodies wouldn’t be dug up and sold. And then two bright souls decided to expedite the process by dispatching a raft of old folks, drunks, and prostitutes, whom no one would miss, you see. Burke and …” he hesitated for a moment and chewed thoughtfully on his bacon, “Hare. Yes, that was the other fellow. Rather a clever ploy, but they were careless with the victims’ clothing and were soon caught. Hanged, of course, and dissected by the surgeons. Ironic, don’t you think?”
“Where did the bodies come from at McGill?” Thaddeus asked Luke. It wasn’t a subject that had previously ever occurred to him to inquire about, but he supposed that they had to come from somewhere.
“From the jails, mostly, I guess.” Luke said. “There was some grave robbing, but not much within the city itself. It was more of a problem in the outlying districts. The Montreal graveyards are all within the city limits, with stores and houses around them. There was some talk of putting a new cemetery up on the mountain overlooking the city. That might make it easier for the resurrectionists, I suppose.”
“If they’d just hang more criminals, it wouldn’t be such a problem,” Christie pointed out. “Enough of this nonsense of sending them off to penitentiary, where they sit around and eat their heads off. Hanging would save a great deal of money and ensure a steady supply of cadavers. They could start with resurrectionists and work their way up to slave-owners.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Thaddeus said. He didn’t dare look at Luke. He was reasonably certain that if he did so, he would scarcely be able to stop from laughing out loud.
Chapter 4
Thaddeus had no difficulty recognizing Sally Spicer when she opened the door of the Keeper’s Lodge at the Burying Ground. In spite of the years that had passed since he had last seen her, she was still the same raw-boned, red-haired girl he remembered. She, on the other hand, seemed to have trouble placing him, and her eyebrows lifted in a question.
“Sally!” he said, tipping his hat. “Or I should say Mrs. Spicer, I suppose. It’s Thaddeus Lewis.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know who it was at first. Come in, come in! Please sit down and I’ll get Morgan. He’s just out back.”
The Spicers’ parlour had only two hard chairs in it, both drawn up to a scarred wooden table. Thaddeus took the seat nearest the window. He heard Sally call Morgan’s name, then she reappeared in the doorway. “He’ll be along in just a moment,” she said.
“So how did you come to be in Yorkville?” he asked. “I was surprised when my son said you were here.”
Sally sighed. “Poor Morgan. He could never get the hang of writing. He can read well enough, or at least by my standards he can, but he has a terrible time whenever he goes to put the words down on paper. It’s the one obstacle that’s kept him from being a real preacher. Whenever he’s applied for a trial, he’s been turned down because of it. He knows his Bible inside and out, but I guess that’s not enough.”
“I’m so sorry,” Thaddeus said. “I thought I’d done fairly well by him. I wish he’d let me know. I could have helped more.”
“You had your own troubles at the time,” Sally said, “and more since. Morgan tells me your good lady has passed on.”
“Yes, although we had some fine years, even at the end.”
“I’m glad for the good years and sorry for the loss,” she said. “Any road, we fetched up here just after the girls were born and Morgan thought it was time to settle for a bit. The job here came up and he writes well enough to keep the burial records. Most don’t like the work, you see, dealing with dead bodies all the time, so there wasn’t much competition, and the job came with the house as well.” She peered at Thaddeus anxiously. “He hasn’t given up, you know, on the preaching. This is just until we’re better situated, and then he’ll try again.”
“I know he will,” Thaddeus said. “If there’s one thing Morgan has, it’s persistence.”
“Here he is,” Sally said, turning to look as Morgan appeared in the doorway, a gaggle of children crowding in behind him. Thaddeus had to look carefully to see that there were, in fact, only four of them, and even then he had to take a second look to assure himself that he wasn’t seeing double. Judging by the way they were dressed, there were two girls and two boys, but they looked so much like each other that without the clue their clothing offered, any one of them might have been mistaken for any of the others. He judged them to be perhaps eight or nine years old — at the gangly stage — but the lankiness could well be another trait they had inherited from their mother along with carroty-red hair and an extraordinary number of freckles.
“Mr. Lewis! It’s so good to see you again.” Morgan entered the room, his hand out in greeting.
The years had in no way improved Morgan Spicer’s appearance, Thaddeus thought. He was still scrawny and unkempt-looking, with lank hair and a straggly beard, his clothing cheap and ill-fitting. As Thaddeus looked more closely, though, he realized that Morgan stood a little straighter perhaps, and had developed a grave and deliberate way of moving. He could well have cultivated this mien because he felt it was appropriate for a minister, but it would certainly be fitting for his current occupation as well. Although, Thaddeus supposed, an effort at solemnity would be largely wasted on the customary clientele of a Potter’s Field. At a Strangers’ Burying Ground, there would be few mourning relatives on hand to usher the dead into the earth.
“Pardon me for not rising,” Thaddeus said. “I’ve grown older since last I saw you.”
Spicer sat in the opposite chair and beamed. “Those were good days, weren’t they? When you and I rode together.”
Thaddeus nodded, although he by no means agreed with this statement. They had been hard days, the whole colony stirred into an uproar by rebellion and invasion, and all the while a murderer was stalking young women. He and Spicer tracked the villain down, but Thaddeus had been shaken to the core