The Unforgiven

by Irina Shapiro

  A few more months. Be patient, Russell.

  He pressed his foot on the gas pedal and the Jaguar roared into life. It was time to get his girl back.

  Chapter 36

  Quinn grabbed her handbag and sunglasses, remembering to slip a bottle of water into her bag before heading for the elevator. She’d been making a conscious effort to drink more fluids. She did feel better, and the headaches were not as severe, but a dull ache still hovered behind her eyes, ready to escalate if she allowed herself to get stressed or overly tired.

  She rode the elevator to the ground floor of the hotel, hoping to have a cup of decaffeinated tea at the restaurant before leaving for the day. Perhaps Jason would join her when he arrived. She’d had breakfast in her room already, so she ordered a pot of tea and settled in to wait for Jason. He’d know to look for her here.

  Her conversation with Gabe was still fresh in her mind, and truth be told, she was more than a little upset despite the brave face she’d put on for him. The fact that Gabe hadn’t called her when Graham passed away rankled, even though she’d accepted his apology and understood his reasons, and the sudden prospect of moving to Northumberland didn’t thrill her either. She understood Gabe’s dilemma, and wanted to be there for Phoebe, but she liked being in London, and was just beginning to forge a relationship with Sylvia and Logan. She’d miss Jill too. Quinn popped into Jill’s shop whenever she was near, but now she wouldn’t see her cousin for months on end, possibly longer.

  Quinn stirred sugar into her tea and took a sip. The tea was hot and strong, and just what she needed. As she lifted her head, her eyes fell on a familiar figure walking toward her table. She carefully set the cup down. Her hand was shaking and she felt a now-familiar flush spreading from her neck up toward her cheeks.

  “May I join you?”

  “What do you want?” Quinn asked warily. “I thought we’d finished our conversation.”

  “Quinn, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Luke said as he sat down opposite her and signaled to the waiter. “I only wanted to talk to you, but things got out of hand. And then that man showed up.”

  “That man is my father.”

  “Yes, I gathered that. How on earth did you find him?”

  “I found my biological mother first,” Quinn replied. “Or, more accurately, she found me.”

  “Will you tell me about it?” Luke asked after ordering a cup of coffee. He leaned in closer and gazed into Quinn’s eyes. “I know how much this means to you. You must be thrilled to finally have the answers you’ve been seeking.”

  She knew exactly what he was doing. She’d seen him do it countless times. He was trying to disarm her, to win her over with his interest and undivided attention. Did he really think that was all it would take to get her back?

  “Luke, I’m meeting someone in a few minutes,” Quinn said, implying he should leave, but he ignored the hint and added cream to his coffee, his movements relaxed and unhurried, as though there were nowhere else he’d rather be.

  “Quinn, please give me a chance. Have dinner with me. We’ll have a nice meal, talk, and maybe you’ll forgive me just a little bit.”

  “I am not sure how I can say this in a way you’ll understand. We’re done. There’ll be no dinners, no conversations, and no apologies. I bear you no grudge, and I wish you well. And I hope you can do the same for me.”

  “It’s not as if you’ve never made mistakes,” Luke replied. The casual posture was gone, replaced by a tensing of his shoulders and the tightening of his jaw.

  Quinn instinctively leaned away from him, not wishing to engage.

  “You drove me away,” he hissed. “You always put your career first. You never had time for me.”

  “Then you should be glad to be rid of me,” Quinn replied, gathering her things. “You are now free to find a woman who will make you the center of her universe. Goodbye, Luke. Please don’t come here again.”

  Quinn was about to walk past Luke when he grabbed her arm. “Quinn, come on. You see what you do to me? You make me lose control because I care so much. Please sit down.”

  “Everything all right?” Jason asked as he approached the table. Normally, he looked like a big teddy bear, but at the moment, there was nothing cuddly about him.

  “Let me guess. Your newfound brother?” Luke asked sarcastically. “Will he threaten to rough me up as well?”

  “If the situation calls for it,” Jason replied calmly.

  “I’m ready, Jason. Let’s go,” Quinn said and turned away from Luke.

  “Quinn!” he called after her, but she didn’t turn around.

  “Are you all right?” Jason asked as he held the truck door open for her and then climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Perfectly. But thank you for coming to my rescue,” she said with a smile.

  “Damsels in distress are my particular specialty. Look, all jokes aside, if you’re uncomfortable with that guy, just say the word.”

  “Thank you,” Quinn said and put her hand on Jason’s arm. “I think he got the message loud and clear.”

  Jason nodded and started the engine. “Off we go then. I hear the swamp calling.”

  Chapter 37

  January 1859

  Arabella Plantation, Louisiana

  Madeline floated through the house like a ghost in the days following the Christmas ball. She was alive, but she no longer felt a part of the physical world. She was a shell, a husk of her former self, a gift box discarded after the present had been removed and enjoyed. George had forsaken her, and now she would be sent away, tucked away from prying eyes until her shame could be erased. George and Amelia would get a new beginning, while Madeline would be disposed of as soon as was decently possible. She supposed many girls would thank their lucky stars for a chance at a respectable marriage and a husband who cared for them, but the thought of marrying Gilbert left Madeline feeling even more desolate than the promise of exile.

  Having experienced love with George, she couldn’t begin to imagine having that type of intimacy with Gilbert. The thought of sharing his bed made her feel sick, and the idea of carrying his children brought the bitter taste of revulsion to her mouth. She wouldn’t be the first woman to marry someone she didn’t love, but perhaps it was easier if you had never loved, and had never known the kind of rapture she’d known with George. She supposed that deep down she had always known their liaison would end in disaster, but she was young and naïve, and most of all trusting. Had George truly cared for her, as he’d professed, or had he simply used her to fill a void left by the death of his child and the desertion of his wife? Perhaps he had wanted to get back at Amelia for leaving when he needed her more than ever. Madeline supposed that in time she’d know the answer. She would see George again sooner or later, and his behavior toward her would answer all her questions. But for now, she had to bide her time.

  She had to endure a visit from the Montlakes the day before she was set to leave for the cabin, and having to pretend that everything was well took more out of her than she could have imagined. Sybil had informed Mrs. Montlake and Gilbert that Madeline would be leaving to visit her mother’s family in Charleston, and Madeline had to deliver her carefully prepared story to divert suspicion from her sudden departure.

  “May I write to you?” Gilbert asked as she walked him to the door.

  “You may send your letters here,” Sybil responded in Madeline’s stead. “We will include them with our own.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Mrs. Montlake said.

  “I hope you’ll not forget me and write back,” Gilbert said. He looked like a dejected puppy, a state that Madeline had come to associate with him.

  “Of course she’ll write back,” Sybil replied with a tinkling laugh. “What girl wouldn’t wish to correspond with her young man?”

  Gilbert’s eyes lit up, his expression hopeful. “There are things I’d like to talk to you about when you return,” he said softly. “But I will wait. Mother says there’
s a time for everything, and today isn’t that time.”

  “No, today is not the time,” Madeline agreed. It would never be the right time, but she could hardly say so in Sybil’s hearing. All she wanted was to go back to her room and ask Cissy to loosen her corset. She could hardly breathe. Already her body had begun to change, and the tiny belly that protruded when she stood in front of the mirror in her camisole needed to be contained to avoid any suspicion.

  Gilbert leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on Madeline’s cheek. “I’ll miss you, Madeline. Come back soon.”

  “Oh, she’ll be back before you know it. Won’t you, Madeline? By March, at the latest,” Sybil promised. Of course, Madeline wouldn’t be back by March, or even by April or May, but Sybil could hardly tell the Montlakes that Madeline wouldn’t be returning until after she delivered her bastard. Some excuse would be made, and lies would be told.

  Madeline smiled brightly as she said goodbye to the Montlakes and accepted their good wishes. She breathed a sigh of relief when they’d finally climbed into their carriage and could no longer see her face.

  Sybil turned on her heel, ready to walk away. She’d hardly spoken to Madeline since the morning after the ball, addressing her only when the story needed to be worked out for the sake of the neighbors.

  “I suppose you’ll expect me to write to Gilbert,” Madeline said to Sybil’s back.

  “You suppose correctly. Joe will pass on his letters, and you will respond. Your letters to him will be light and airy, full of trivial details and girlish observations. You must keep him on the hook, Madeline.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or your future will be a lot dimmer than even you can imagine,” Sybil replied and walked away, leaving Madeline standing alone in the foyer.

  Madeline recalled the gaunt and pale face of Miss Cole when she last saw her a few months back. She’d become a shadow of her former self, a drudge who lived from payday to payday, dependent entirely on the whims and moods of her employer. Madeline sighed and trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. Some practical part of her brain told her it was never too late to become a seamstress or a governess, because once set on that path, there’d be no coming back, so despite her misgivings, she had to go along with Sybil’s plan—for the time being.

  Madeline glanced at the clock. It was nearly noon, and Joe would be taking her to the cabin in about an hour. He’d returned from the bayou yesterday evening, having delivered the last of the supplies, and informed her grandmother that all was in readiness. Mammy was awaiting Madeline’s arrival. Madeline supposed she was ready to go.

  She paced the length and breadth of her bedroom, and then wandered to the hallway, restless and filled with dread. Madeline wasn’t sure what had made her go there, but she found herself in the nursery. It had been cleaned and prepared for the baby that never came, the crib polished to a shine, and soft cotton bedding embroidered with pink and blue flowers covered the tiny mattress. Bette had scrubbed the floor and cleaned the old toys that lined the wooden shelves. She’d dusted every nook and cranny, but now a fresh layer of dust covered all the surfaces, the nursery abandoned once more, patiently waiting for a child to fill it at last.

  Would Madeline’s baby occupy this nursery? Would Sybil summon one of the nursing mothers from the slave quarters and oust Madeline from her baby’s life as soon as it was born, fearful of the love that would bind the child to its mother? Of course she would. This would be Amelia’s baby, and it would crave Amelia’s love.

  Loneliness and desolation sweep over Madeline. How had she come to this impasse in her life? Only a few months ago she had been in New Orleans, happy with a father who loved her, and spoiled and indulged by Mammy and Tess. She’d still been a child, an innocent. She still felt innocent, despite the sin she’d committed and the unlawful love she’d made with another woman’s husband. Deep down she’d known she was doing wrong, but had given in to her loneliness and desire to be loved. Mammy had often said that there’s a price to pay for every moment of happiness, and now Madeline finally understood what she’d meant. She would be paying for her recklessness for years to come, maybe even for the rest of her life.

  Madeline sank down onto a window seat. A polished wooden horse’s head on a stick, the kind boys liked to play with and pretend they were riding a fearsome stallion, gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window, its painted eyes staring straight at Madeline. She reached out and touched its brown mane made of yarn. It was shaggy and soft.

  Madeline yanked her hand away in fright. She thought she saw two boys in front of her, fighting over the horse.

  “Let me play. It’s my turn,” one of the boys whined.

  “It’s mine. I got it for my birthday.”

  “Why can’t you share, Charles?” the younger boy cried.

  The imagine faded, leaving Madeline wondering if she’d imagined the whole thing. She reached out and carefully touched the horse again, her fingers pressed to the sun-warmed wood. The boys reappeared. They were about six and eight, both dark-blond with light eyes and fair skin. Their matching outfits made them look even more alike.

  “Leave me alone, Albert. I only just got it yesterday. You can play with it tomorrow. I promise,” Charles replied, and held the horse out of his brother’s reach. He straddled it and began to prance around the nursery, smiling slyly at his brother’s disappointment.

  Madeline yanked her hand away and slumped against the back of the seat, panting with shock. Was she imagining things or had she really just seen her father and his brother playing in their nursery? How was that possible?

  She looked around. The room was silent, and dust motes floated peacefully in the shaft of light from the window. No one had occupied this room since George was a child, so why couldn’t she see him? Madeline touched the horse again.

  This time the boys appeared to be a little older, possibly eight and ten. The horse stood forgotten in the corner as they sat side-by-side at the table, an open book in front of them. A bearded and bespectacled middle-aged man stood before them, slate in hand, droning on in a voice reminiscent of boring church sermons that seemed to go on forever. He appeared to be teaching them arithmetic. Madeline couldn’t help smiling when she noticed Albert elbowing Charles when the tutor wasn’t looking and making him spill ink on his work. Charles kicked him back under the table, and a scuffle broke out.

  “If you’re not back in your seats in two seconds, I will tell your mother, and then you know exactly what will happen,” the tutor said.

  The boys froze in the act of pummeling each other and immediately slid back into their seats, eyes on their teacher.

  “That’s better. I would hate to see you two punished again. If I recall correctly, you couldn’t sit for several days.”

  The boys nodded in unison, their eyes pleading with the tutor not to tell.

  “Whoever solves this problem first, and correctly, will have an extra ten minutes to play after lunch.”

  The boys bent their heads to their notebooks, all playfulness forgotten as they applied themselves to the problem.

  Madeline let go of the horse and got to her feet. If she could see the past by touching the horse, might there be other objects that could show her something? She went around the room, laying her palm on various toys and books. Nearly half the objects in the nursery seemed to be imprinted with memories of their owners, but the newer ones showed Madeline nothing. Perhaps they’d belonged to George and were purchased long after Charles and Albert had outgrown playtime.

  Madeline replaced the last toy on its shelf and moved toward the door. It had been comforting to see her father as a boy, but a little unnerving too. Why was she seeing these strange things? Perhaps it was just her mind playing tricks on her because she was so distraught.

  She returned to her bedroom and curled up on her bed. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, but no one came to comfort her. She was a pariah.

  Chapter 38

  May 2014

  London, England
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  It was dinnertime by the time Gabe pulled up to Sylvia’s house in Ealing. He’d picked up a sandwich and a cup of tea just after noon when he’d stopped at a petrol station, but now he was hungry and tired after driving for most of the day and sitting in rush-hour traffic for nearly an hour once he entered London proper. He hoped Sylvia had given Emma her tea so he could just give her a bath, read her a story, and put her to bed as soon as they got home. He needed a quiet evening, and a large glass of something very alcoholic to dull the anxiety he’d been feeling over the past few days. Tomorrow morning, he’d call the airline and see if there were any seats left on his upcoming flight. Emma would be coming to New Orleans with him.

  Gabe just barely squeezed into a spot and thanked the gods of parking that he’d been able to find a spot so quickly. The lights in Sylvia’s front room were on, so thankfully she was at home and he wouldn’t have to wait. He rang the bell and allowed himself a happy smile. He couldn’t wait to scoop Emma up and give her a great big hug. He’d been gone for less than a week, but he felt as if they’d been apart for a month.

  Sylvia yanked open the door and stared at Gabe with a look of pure trepidation. She paled visibly, and stepped back to allow him to come inside.

  “Is something wrong?” Gabe asked, taken aback by Sylvia’s obvious distress. “Where’s Emma?”

  “I don’t know,” Sylvia admitted. “I thought you were Logan.”

  “Sylvia, what’s happened?” Gabe demanded, his voice rising by several octaves. “Where’s my daughter?”

  Sylvia sank down onto the sofa, as if her legs could no longer hold her up. She wrung her hands and her unfocused gaze slid around the room to avoid meeting Gabe’s intent stare. The house was ominously quiet, only the ticking of the clock audible over the hush. It felt to Gabe as if all the air had just been sucked out, leaving him and Sylvia suspended in a vacuum, their movements reminiscent of some strange pantomime.