The Unforgiven

by Irina Shapiro

Growing up, she’d often felt lonely and unsure of her place in the world, but at that moment, she was exactly where she wanted to be with the one person she wanted to be there with. Tomorrow, they would return to reality, and deal with the prospect of selling their homes and moving to Berwick, Quinn’s high-risk pregnancy, and Emma’s displeasure at having to be uprooted once again. But tonight was just for them.

  Later, after Gabe had fallen asleep, Quinn reached for a glass of water and noticed that there was one voicemail message on her mobile. It was from Rhys.

  “Quinn, Legal didn’t turn up any of Clara’s descendants. There’s not enough to go on, so we are in the clear as far as that goes. Also, the powers-that-be don’t feel comfortable with revealing your psychic ability on air. They fear it might undermine the integrity of the program and cause a backlash. So, a letter from George to Amelia will miraculously materialize, recounting all that he’d learned from Sybil about Madeline’s parentage and demise. It will forestall any awkward questions about how you learned the location of her resting place. And, last but not least, brilliant news, BBC has renewed Echoes for a second season. Hope you’re on-board. Talk soon.”

  Epilogue

  September 1859

  Arabella Plantation, Louisiana

  George knocked softly and entered his grandmother’s bedroom. She was propped up in bed, reading, as she always did before going to sleep. An oil lamp illuminated her face as she frowned at something happening in the story. During the day Sybil Besson was perfectly groomed and fashionably attired, but now her face was devoid of the powder and rouge she used to brighten her cheeks, and her severe gown had been replaced by a simple cotton nightdress. Her gray hair was plaited, and the braid rested on her shoulder, secured with a blue ribbon.

  “George,” Sybil said, putting the book down on the counterpane. “Come in.”

  “I’ve come to say goodnight,” George said. He was still dressed, but had removed his coat and silk cravat, and taken off his shoes.

  “Is little Brett all right?” Sybil asked.

  “Yes, he’s full to the brim and down for the night. I love watching him nurse,” George confessed. “I do wish Amelia could have the pleasure of breastfeeding our son, but we’ll take what we can get.”

  “Your grandfather liked watching his boys nurse as well. I almost wish I’d breastfed them myself, just to get him to look at me with such love,” she reminisced.

  “Grandfather loved you,” George replied. “I know he did.”

  Sybil didn’t answer, but looked at George more closely. “Is something troubling you, Georgie?”

  “Have you heard from Madeline? Surely she’s settled in Paris by now.”

  “No, I haven’t heard anything,” Sybil replied, her eyes sliding away from George’s anxious face.

  George shook his head in dismay. “I just don’t understand, Grandmamma. She left without a word. She didn’t even take any of her things. I know I behaved badly. I was selfish and careless, but Madeline never gave me a chance to put things right between us. I can understand why she refused to see me while she was with child, but I thought we’d finally have a chance to talk after the baby was born. I would never have forced her to marry Gilbert if she had no wish to. I would have taken care of her and made sure she had a good life. I would have thanked her for my beautiful boy. Doesn’t she even want to know how our son is doing?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Grandmamma, where was Madeline planning to stay? The Monroes are going to France for the winter, so I’ll ask them to look her up. I just want to know that she is well, and that she’s all right for funds. I know you gave her a large sum, but perhaps she needs more. I can wire her the money if I just have the name of the bank.”

  Sybil exhaled loudly and looked up at George. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and she suddenly looked older and grayer. “George, Madeline is gone.”

  “I know she’s gone, but I am worried about her. I want her to know I haven’t forsaken her, and she has nothing to fear from Amelia. Amelia holds no grudge against her, not after the precious gift Madeline has given her.”

  “George, Madeline is dead,” Sybil said bluntly.

  George’s knees went weak and he rested his hand on the corner of a dresser to brace himself. “Dead? But you told me you arranged for her and Mammy to go to Paris.”

  “I told you that to spare you pain.”

  “Did she die in childbirth?” George exclaimed. “You should have had Dr. Halbrook attend on her. You should have allowed her to stay here, in comfort. Amelia and I would have stayed away, if it made things easier for Madeline. We would have respected her wishes.”

  “She didn’t die in childbirth, George.”

  He stared at his grandmother, understanding dawning. “What did you do to her?” he asked, his voice low.

  “She would have never relinquished the child. She made threats.”

  “Please, please tell me you didn’t have a hand in her death.”

  “It was quick and merciful.”

  “Quick and merciful?” George cried. “She was sixteen. Her life had barely begun. She was your granddaughter.”

  “George, stop bellyaching about that pathetic half-breed. We’re better off without her. I did what had to be done. No God will fault me for cleansing our family of that stain.”

  George glared at his grandmother. “I always knew you were cruel and unforgiving, but this…. Does Amelia know?”

  “Of course not. No one knows except Joe, and he won’t tell a soul. Not if he wants to keep his children.”

  “And Mammy, what have you done to her?”

  Sybil let out a bark of laughter. “I fed her to the crocodiles. It was appropriate, I think.”

  George sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. He felt ill. This was all his fault. He’d given in to his loneliness and disappointment, and his weakness had resulted in the deaths of Madeline and Mammy. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he’d suspected his grandmother hadn’t told him the truth, but he’d pushed the thought away, too enamored of his son to probe deeper.

  “You’d better go now, George. I’m tired,” Sybil said as she laid her book on the bedside table and fluffed her pillows. She set aside one pillow to lie down more comfortably.

  George got to his feet and approached the bed. “Goodnight, Grandmamma,” he said and bent to plant a kiss on his grandmother’s cheek. “Sleep well.”

  Sybil slid down on her pillows. “Turn out the lamp, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  George grabbed the extra pillow and pressed it over Sybil’s face. He held it down, ignoring her muffled screams. She clawed at his forearms and kicked wildly, but after a few moments her thrashing subsided, and she eventually went quiet and still. George waited a little while longer before he removed the pillow and set it aside. He looked at his grandmother’s face for a long time as silent tears slid down his cheeks.

  Tomorrow, he would grant freedom to Zachary, Zane and their families, and give them enough money to start a new life up North. He could never tell them the reason for his generosity, but letting them go was the least he could do, in view of his grandmother’s deeds. He would plan a small, private funeral for her and lay her in the Besson tomb, which he would never visit again until it was his turn to join those already there.

  George finally got to his feet, turned out the lamp, and walked softly to the door. He went downstairs to the parlor and poured himself a large cognac. Only a few weeks ago he’d learned about Jean’s affairs, Corinne’s birth, and his uncle’s incestuous marriage. He’d finally understood why his grandmother had despised Madeline and never forgave her son, but now there were three murders to add to the Besson legacy. Nothing he could do would atone for what they’d done. His soul was forfeit, and he’d die unforgiven.

  The End

  Turn the page for an excerpt from The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past Book 4)

  Notes

  I hope you’ve enjoyed this insta
llment of the Echoes from the Past series, and the revelations it brought. I would like to thank Dina and Annette, who’ve generously allowed me to use their names for two of the characters in this book. It certainly made those characters more real for me, even though they only had minor roles to play. If you think you’d like to be a character in by books, please reach out to me at irina.shapiro@yahoo.com and submit your name. You just might win a walk-on part.

  And now, a brief word about book four. Even though Quinn has finally found her real father and discovered the source of her gift, there are still more revelations and cases to come, so please stay tuned for the next book. Quinn is in for quite a surprise, one she never saw coming, but that’s all I’m willing to say at the moment.

  If you’d like to receive updates and information about new books, please visit me at www.irinashapiro.com or email me at irina.shapiro@yahoo.com. I’m always thrilled to hear from you.

  And lastly, if you’ve enjoyed the book, a review on Amazon or Goodreads would be much appreciated.

  Excerpt from The Forsaken

  Prologue

  She wasn’t frightened at first. The twitches in her belly seemed insignificant, like the rumbling of distant thunder, and the shortness of breath and nausea had been her constant companions for several weeks. It wasn’t until that first sharp pain that she began to worry, wondering if something might be truly wrong. She tried to sit up, desperate to pull apart the bed hangings and allow some light into the dim confines of the bed, but another pain sliced through her, forcing her back down and pinning her to the mattress. She rolled onto her side and brought her knees up to her chest, praying for the pain to stop, but it didn’t. Waves of nausea and dizziness rolled over her as the spasms in her womb intensified, no longer rumbles of thunder, but sharp, jagged bolts of lightning. Her extremities began to numb, as her vision blurred and her hearing faded out. She tried to call for help, but her cry was like the whimper of a newborn kitten.

  “Dear God, please, no,” she prayed as hot, sticky blood began to flow between her legs, her womb mercilessly forcing the baby out. Somewhere deep inside she’d known that this could never be. She owed God a debt and he’d come to collect, with interest. He wouldn’t allow a sinner like her to taste such joy. God was vengeful, and He was cruel, and in her time of need he had forsaken her.

  She began to tremble violently as her breath came in short gasps, no longer seeing the darkness of her curtained world. What she saw were the faces of those she’d loved, floating before her like wispy clouds before the moon.

  As she lay in a pool of her own blood, and life drained from her battered body, she had one final thought:

  I’ve been murdered.

  Chapter 1

  July 2014

  London, England

  The morning had been beautiful, with abundant sunshine streaming through the uncurtained window, but by the afternoon, the sun had disappeared, giving way to ominous clouds and steady rain. Quinn came awake slowly, her mind returning from that other realm with difficulty. She listened intently, but heard nothing from the other room. Gabe and Emma must have gone out while she was sleeping.

  Quinn burrowed deeper under the covers. There was no reason to get up—not yet. She still felt tired since the brief kip wasn’t enough to make up for weeks of sleepless nights. She’d returned from New Orleans over two months ago, but still the nightmares persisted, the horror of those hours she’d spent locked in a tomb replaying in her mind with terrifying clarity. Once Quinn woke from the nightmares, shaking, sweating, and gasping for air, she could never go back to sleep, and wound up spending the wee hours of the morning watching television or reading—anything to get her mind off the images preying on her mind.

  She felt safe here, in the London flat, but it wouldn’t be theirs for much longer. As soon as Gabe found a job in Northumberland, they’d list the flat with an estate agent. The plan was to move to Berwick-upon-Tweed by the end of the summer, so that Emma could start school in their new neighborhood. Quinn had always assumed they would make their home in London once they were married, but life had its own plan, as usual. Gabe’s father had passed away in May, leaving his elderly wife alone in the rambling mansion that had been in Gabe’s family for generations. Phoebe Russell needed help managing the estate, but more than that, she needed company, or she would follow her husband sooner rather than later. Doing the church flowers and hosting book club meetings simply wasn’t enough to keep her going in the face of grief and loneliness.

  Quinn didn’t relish the idea of moving to Berwick, but she could hardly refuse, especially since she genuinely liked Phoebe and wanted to help, and had accepted Gabe’s decision with good grace. Her work commitments were finished for the moment. Quinn had submitted all her research files and footage to Rhys Morgan, but the third episode of Echoes from the Past had yet to be filmed. She was free to rest until Rhys presented her with the next mystery, and he was still on the hunt for a storyline that made for compelling television. The series had originally been contracted for three episodes, but the BBC had already commissioned a second series, confident that the program would be a success.

  Quinn had yet to sign the new contract. She’d been dead set against agreeing to another season, but after what had happened in New Orleans, she was no longer sure she meant to refuse the offer. The truth was often painful, but it had to be told, especially since those whose lives had been affected were no longer in the position to tell their own stories. Quinn’s ancestor, Madeline Besson, from whom Quinn had inherited her psychic gift, now rested in St. Louis No. 1 cemetery in New Orleans, interred next to her parents, Charles and Corinne Besson. Madeline had been erased from history by those who didn’t want her true heritage to be revealed, but Quinn had been able to give Madeline a voice once more, and to add her name to the Besson family tree, but not without nearly paying a terrible price.

  Quinn still experienced a stab of pain every time she allowed her thoughts to stray to Brett, the half-brother who’d fooled her so thoroughly into liking and trusting him. Brett was now serving a ten-year sentence in a Louisiana prison for the attempted murder of Dr. Quinn Allenby and her unborn child. Mercifully, Brett had accepted a plea bargain, making it unnecessary for Quinn to return to New Orleans to testify at his trial. Brett hadn’t taken the deal to spare her, but to get a reduced sentence for himself, but Quinn was grateful nonetheless since she wished she could erase those few days from memory and going over them in court would have been incredibly painful.

  She was also hesitant to see Seth again. Her biological father was irrevocably broken, as was his ex-wife Kathy. Their grief had brought them together, but no amount of emotional support could make up for what Brett had done to his pregnant sister in his desperation to bury the truth he couldn’t bear to come to light. The Bessons were descended from a slave woman from Trinidad whose granddaughter had unwittingly married her white half-brother and produced Madeline, the beautiful girl with a psychic gift passed along from her mother’s people.

  Quinn exhaled loudly in irritation. She didn’t want to think about Brett again. It was enough that he haunted her dreams; she wouldn’t allow him to dominate her waking hours as well. She had her baby to think about. The high blood pressure, swelling of her extremities, and severe headaches that had plagued her in Louisiana had not improved upon returning home. If anything, they’d gotten worse. Quinn experienced shortness of breath, blurred vision, nausea and fatigue almost daily. She had been diagnosed with moderate to severe preeclampsia and had been prescribed blood pressure medication and advised plenty of rest. Quinn’s obstetrician had strictly forbidden any physical activity, such as packing for their move, and stress was to be avoided as much as possible.

  “Cup of tea?” Gabe asked, as he carefully opened the bedroom door. He held a steaming mug in his hand and set it carefully on the bedside table before giving Quinn a chaste kiss on the forehead.

  “Where’s Emma?” Quinn asked. “It’s so quiet; I thought you two had gone out.�
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  “She fell asleep on the sofa,” Gabe replied. “We went to the park for an hour and then stopped by Bombay Palace to get a takeaway for dinner.”

  “Did you get me something totally bland and utterly tasteless?” Quinn joked.

  “Of course. You know you’re not allowed anything spicy or salty.”

  “Thank you. You’re always looking out for me,” Quinn said with a smile. She would love a curry, but she’d have to wait until after the baby was born to indulge. If she had it now, she’d have heartburn for hours and curse that damn curry the whole night, only to wake up to swollen ankles and a blinding headache. A nice, bland supper was just what the doctor ordered.

  Quinn patted the space next to her, inviting Gabe to sit down. He got comfortable and rested his head against the headboard, closing his eyes. He looked tired and tense.

  “Gabe, what’s troubling you? And please, don’t say nothing. You’ve been short-tempered and withdrawn for days.”

  Gabe sighed. He seemed reluctant to talk, which wasn’t like him. Normally, he was the one who wanted to talk things out and outline all possible solutions, but for the past few weeks he’d shied away from any serious conversations, changing the topic the moment anything stressful came up. He didn’t want to distress her, she knew that, but whatever was on his mind wasn’t going away and needed to be brought out into the open.

  “Gabe, what’s wrong?” Quinn asked again, determined to get an answer this time.

  “Everything,” Gabe replied, startling her with his vehemence.

  “Surely not everything.”

  “No, not everything,” he conceded with a guilty smile. “I just don’t deal well with lack of control, is all.”

  “What is it you feel you can’t control?” Quinn asked, although she suspected she already knew the answer. She just wanted to engage Gabe in a discussion about his feelings. He clearly needed to talk.