“Why wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t know. I’m just nervous, I suppose. Do you trust him?”
“I do. Drew is clever and persistent, and discreet. He helped me find you,” Quinn reminded her gently, covering Jo’s cold hand with her own.
Jo nodded, but Quinn’s reassurances still hadn’t put her mind to rest. “How did you find him? Was he recommended by someone you know?”
“Haven’t I said? Drew is Brian’s cousin. Brian is Jill’s boyfriend. Drew Camden was a detective on the Met before a bullet to the leg put an end to his career. It shattered his knee,” Quinn explained. “Once he recovered, Drew started his own security firm, but he also works as a private investigator. Don’t worry.”
Jo nodded. “I trust your judgment, Quinn.”
“Would you like me to freshen your tea?” Quinn asked just as the doorbell rang. “Ah, that must be Drew.”
Quinn went to let Drew in and invited him into the kitchen. “Drew Camden, this is my sister, Jo Turing,” she announced.
“A pleasure to meet you, Jo. It gladdens my heart to see the two of you reunited.”
“Thank you, Mr. Camden,” Jo replied. Her gaze was glued to Drew’s face as she took his measure.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?” Quinn asked. “Or a coffee?”
“Coffee would be grand, thanks,” Drew replied as he took off his coat and hung it on the back of a chair. He took a seat at the table and stretched out his leg. “Still pains me when I bend it,” he explained, “and this miserable weather’s not doing it any favors either.” He extracted a small notebook from the pocket of his coat and turned it to an empty page. “Let’s make a start, shall we? I find it helps to plunge right in rather than waste time on small talk.”
Jo nodded and tightened her hold on the mug. “I’m ready.”
“Good. Tell me everything you remember, no matter how insignificant you might think it is. I already know you went by your birth name then—Quentin Crawford.”
“Yes, that’s right. I spent three months at St. Monica’s Home for Mother and Baby near Dublin. My daughter was born there on August 17th, 1999. I never saw her after the birth. My father handled all the arrangements for the adoption, and we never spoke of my time at the home after I returned to Leicester. My parents preferred to pretend it had never happened, and frankly, I was okay with that because I was more than ready to get on with my life.”
“I see. Anything you want to tell me about the father of your child?” Drew asked.
“No,” Jo replied firmly.
“And what about your siblings? Have you asked them?”
Jo’s reaction was immediate. She hunched her shoulders and her gaze slid away from Drew’s face toward the rain-streaked window. “We’re not in contact.”
“They might be able to remember something you don’t from that time,” Drew insisted gently.
“They won’t. Please do not approach them.”
“Understood,” Drew said. He closed his notebook, set the pen on top of it, and accepted a cup of coffee from Quinn.
“It doesn’t look good, does it?” Jo asked, her voice small and laced with bitterness. “I should have asked my father about the child while he was still alive, but I never broached the subject. And now it’s too late.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Drew replied, and blessed her with a reassuring smile. He was a bear of a man, with a full head of curly salt-and-pepper hair and warm blue eyes. He was the type of person who invited confidences and made one feel safe, protected, and hopeful.
“I’ll start with the home and go on from there.”
“The home closed six years ago,” Jo replied, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s a care home for the elderly now. There are no other leads.”
Drew took a slow sip of coffee and smiled at Jo, holding her gaze. “Jo, an investigation is much like a wool jumper,” he said.
“What?” Jo and Quinn asked in unison.
“All you need is to find a loose thread and pull, and then the whole thing begins to unravel. One clue usually leads to the next. The maternity home might have closed, but the people who worked there are still around. I’ll go so far as to bet that some of them are now employed by the care home. All I need is one person who’s willing to talk, or at least give me the names of their coworkers. Someone always knows something. It’s just a matter of asking the right questions.”
Jo smiled, her face aglow with hope. “So, you think it’s possible to find her?”
“I think we have a reasonable chance of success. I can’t offer you any guarantees, but I can promise you that I will do my level best to find your girl.”
“That’s all I can ask for,” Jo said. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I have some work commitments this week. I will leave for Dublin at the beginning of next week and ring you with a progress report by the end of the week, whether I discover anything or not. I know you’ll both be anxious.”
“Thanks, Drew,” Quinn said. “We’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
Drew heaved himself to his feet and tucked away the pen and notebook in his pocket before pulling on his coat.
“Say hello to Brian,” Quinn said as she walked him to the door. “Does he still work for you?”
“He consults for me on a need-to basis. I don’t require a full-time IT department,” Drew replied. “It was good to see you, Quinn. Your sister is lovely.” He turned up his collar, opened his umbrella, and stepped out into the pouring rain.
“Do you feel a little more optimistic?” Quinn asked once she rejoined Jo in the kitchen.
“Yes. I like him. There’s something about him that I can’t quite put my finger on.”
“He’s possessed of that quiet confidence that makes one feel reassured,” Quinn supplied.
“Yes, that’s it. For the first time since I decided to find my daughter, I feel hopeful.”
Quinn was about to reply when a thin wail erupted from the baby monitor. “And he’s awake,” Quinn said with a smile. “If you wait while I feed Alex, I can make us some lunch.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll get going,” Jo said as she began to gather her belongings. She seemed eager to leave, so Quinn didn’t insist. Jo had much to think about.
Chapter 32
October 1588
Leitrim, Ireland
Over the coming days, Rafael bumped into Aisling several times. She always smiled and called out a greeting before continuing on her way, either to the kitchen or to the outbuildings in the yard. Regardless of their standing within the clan, everyone seemed to pitch in with the chores and no one except Lady O’Rourke sat idly by, not even Shannon. Seeing Aisling left Rafael feeling awkward and foolish, and wishing he’d come up with an excuse to keep her from leaving so soon. There was something about Aisling that drew him like a moth to a flame. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful; she was spirited and a little defiant, a trait he could relate to. Aisling reminded him of a caged bird, her eyes turned to the great sky outside her prison, desperate to fly away, if only someone would set her free.
Perhaps he was reading too much into two brief conversations, but his soul reached out to hers in a way it never had to Mira. To him, Mira seemed hollow and colorless, whereas Aisling was achingly alive and wonderfully mysterious. He longed to talk to her and learn more about her life in this foreign place, but despite his best efforts, they never found themselves alone, as they had on the battlements the day of the feast. Rafael hadn’t seen much of Eilis either, but came face to face with Julio Fernández nearly everywhere he went, which irritated him beyond all measure. Julio was as cocky as ever and had surrounded himself with a group of men who were drawn to his macho arrogance and cruel tongue. Julio seemed to feel no remorse and fixed Rafael with an insolent stare whenever no one was looking, his gaze a silent reminder that his threat had not been an idle one. Julio would find a way to pay him back, of that Rafael was sure; he just couldn’t predict what form his vengeance would take.
&nb
sp; “Are you still mooning over that girl?” Alfonso asked as they approached the great hall, where supper was about to be served. The inhabitants of the castle ate their supper earlier, leaving the hall to the Spaniards, who liked to linger after the meal and talk well into the night, since there was no reason for them to be up early the following morning. Some of the men tried to help with everyday chores, but the others did nothing but lounge about, dicing and drinking for lack of anything better to do. They seemed oblivious to the fact that they created extra work for the servants and forced the castle steward to dip into the winter stores to feed the extra mouths. Sir Brian was gracious as ever, but his allegiance could be easily withdrawn if he began to view his guests as a liability, which they were quickly becoming.
“I’m not mooning over anyone,” Rafael replied gruffly, embarrassed that his feelings were so obvious.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. She’s pretty and seems to like you as well.”
“How can you tell?”
“You really are an innocent, aren’t you, de Silva,” Alfonso said, rolling his eyes toward the heavens in mock exasperation. “In a castle this size, the one girl you find attractive manages to run into you at least once or twice a day, and you think she doesn’t like you? You have much to learn about women, my friend.”
“I won’t argue with you there, Alfonso,” Rafael agreed. “I do like her, but I’m not in any position to act on my feelings. Besides, I’m promised to a girl back home.”
“Rafael, decency is one thing no one can take away from you, but so is common sense. You must take what life gives you and make it fit into your warped sense of honor. You’re not Julio, or others like him. You don’t take what you want without any consideration for anyone’s feelings. This girl clearly likes you, and if you can do something to brighten this bleak time in your life, then allow yourself this little bit of joy. If she looked at me like that, you better believe I’d be at her beck and call, and give her wherever she wanted,” Alfonso added with a meaningful smile.
“And what is it you think she wants?” Rafael asked.
“I think she wants you to make a move.”
“What kind of move?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” Alfonso chuckled heartily.
Rafael’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. He really was a simpleton when it came to women. “It wouldn’t be right, Alfonso. I mean to go home and honor my obligations to my family. I won’t toy with Aisling. I respect her too much.”
“Right you are, Rafi. Right you are,” Alfonso replied, still grinning. “Respect, that’s what it’s all about.”
“Are you laughing at me?”
“You better believe I am. Now, let’s go eat; I’m famished.”
Rafael followed Alfonso into the great hall and took his seat on the bench. He accepted a cup of ale and tucked into the bowl of stew Mary placed before him. Conversation swelled around him, but he fixed his attention on the food, not in the mood for idle chatter. Since Alfonso dominated the conversation with ideas for his play, Rafael had little need to interject anything more than the occasional nod of approval.
The men around them were highly entertained by Alfonso’s rapidly evolving story, talking over each other in their eagerness to offer plot twists and amusing situations from their own lives that they were willing to allow Alfonso to use in his budding masterpiece. Alfonso lapped up the attention and laughed heartily with the men, but Rafael saw the gleam of excitement in his gaze. This wasn’t idle conversation for him, this was research. Alfonso wasn’t nearly as oblivious or unambitious as he appeared to be. A keen mind hummed behind his innocent brown eyes, and as Rafael directed his attention to the food, he reconsidered Alfonso’s advice. Perhaps Alfonso was right, and Rafael owed it to himself to seize this opportunity with Aisling, but he had no inkling of how to go about it without causing offense.
He’d seen some of the men eyeing the castle girls. They didn’t speak a common tongue, but there was an unspoken language of attraction that needed no translation. The women averted their eyes and played coy, but not before making lingering eye contact and smiling in a way that left no room for doubt that they found the men appealing. Rafael had no way of knowing if these flirtations ever went beyond ardent gazes, but some of the men seemed distinctly happier than they’d been a fortnight ago. The next time he saw Aisling, he’d try to speak to her.
Chapter 33
The following day dawned sunny and bright, and Rafael longed to leave the castle and go for a walk in the woods or by the lake. He had nothing to fill his days and envied Alfonso his sudden desire to become a playwright. It kept him busy and made him popular with the other men, especially since he had named some of the characters after his friends. Rafael had to admit that the tidbits Alfonso had been persuaded to read to them were witty and entertaining. He had cast Rafael in the role of the pious priest who acted as the main character’s nagging conscience. Rafael had instantly become the butt of good-natured teasing, except by Julio, who had suggested to Alfonso that perhaps the character should be martyred for his unwavering faith.
“Only if I can make Julio a lecherous villain,” Alfonso had responded, making the men guffaw with laughter. Julio had stormed off, but not before he called Alfonso some choice names.
“Are you going out?” Alfonso asked Rafael as he glanced up from his writing.
“I need to take a walk. I feel restless.”
“You should find a companion to walk with,” Alfonso replied innocently.
Rafael was about to rebuke him but changed his mind. “Maybe I should,” he replied instead. Alfonso smiled absentmindedly and returned to his manuscript.
“Alfonso, perhaps you should name your villain something else,” Rafael suggested.
“Why? Julio is the perfect name.”
“Julio Fernández doesn’t take kindly to being made a fool of,” Rafael replied. “Now’s not the time to make enemies.”
“Don’t be silly, Rafi. It’s all in good fun. It’s not as if anyone outside this castle will ever read my play. I need a diversion, and it improves morale among the men.”
“You don’t believe we’ll ever get home, do you?” Rafael asked, sensing Alfonso’s melancholy.
Alfonso shook his head. “Let’s not speak of it, Rafi. Go take your walk.”
Rafael inclined his head in acknowledgment and left Alfonso to his literary efforts.
He was just wondering where the best place to bump into Aisling might be when he saw her coming toward him down the passage. She wore a plain gown, the russet color a muted reflection of her hair, which was tucked beneath a modest cap. Her cheeks were rosy, probably from the heat of the kitchen, and a basket was slung over her arm.
“Good morrow, Master de Silva,” she called out. “Lovely day.”
“Eh…yes, it is. I was just going to take a walk,” he added shyly, too nervous to ask her to join him.
“The woods are lovely this time of year,” she said, giving him a meaningful look. “I’m going for a walk myself.” She smiled and continued toward the door. Aisling crossed the yard and passed through the gates, her gait brisk and purposeful. Rafael followed at a discreet distance, hoping he hadn’t misread her meaning and wasn’t about to make a fool of himself.
Aisling stopped just beyond the gates and turned back briefly, a beguiling smile tugging at her lips. Before Rafael could return her smile, she turned away and hurried along a wooded trail, her gown blending with the colors of the forest. She finally stopped, bent down to pick up something off the ground, and tossed it into her basket.
“What is that?” Rafael asked once he caught up to her. The objects in her basket were green and spherical, and fuzzy enough to be mistaken for small creatures.
“Chestnuts,” Aisling replied. “Don’t ye have chestnuts in Spain?”
Rafael thought about it for a moment. “Castaña? Yes, we have them,” he said. “But they’re shiny and brown, not like those strange things.”
A
isling let out a peal of laughter and shook her head in amusement. “Ye have to peel off the outer shell to get to the nut, which is very tasty.”
“I thought people only eat them at Christmastime,” Rafael said as he bent down to pick up several chestnuts. He added them to her basket. “Why don’t you let me hold that for you?”
Aisling handed over the basket and searched for more nuts as Rafael trailed after her. “We roast them at Christmas, but they’re added to various dishes at this time of year. They’re a good source of nourishment. Did ye never go chestnut picking before?”
“I grew up in a city,” Rafael replied. “We purchased chestnuts at the market.”
“I’m sorry,” Aisling said.
“Sorry? Why?”
“It must be awful to live in a place where everyone’s right on top of each other, with no open sky and no woods to get lost in. I wouldn’t like it.”
“We have a walled garden behind our house,” Rafael said defensively. “It has a birdbath, and we often sit outside on summer evenings. It’s cool and pleasant beneath the wisteria arbor,” he added wistfully.
“What is this wisteria?” Aisling asked.
“It’s a climbing plant that produces garlands of large purple blooms. It’s very beautiful.”
Aisling nodded. “I suppose I imagine every place is just like this one, never having been anywhere else.”
“It’s very different where I come from,” Rafael said. “But it’s beautiful here as well,” he hastened to add.
The sky was a turquoise blue, as bright as the opal in his hamsa. The bold color appeared almost unnatural in contrast to the bright leaves that formed a riotous canopy above their heads. Through a gap in the trees, Rafael could just make out the lake. On this clear day, it sparkled and shimmered, the silvery-blue surface reflecting the glorious autumn foliage.
“Do you walk in the woods often?” Rafael asked as he followed Aisling to the next chestnut tree.
“Not on my own. Wandering around alone can be a dangerous business for a woman,” Aisling replied.
The Betrayed (Echoes from the Past Book 7) Page 17
