“Come now, you must have something for me. It’s a fascinating business. Is it not?” he asked, his voice now silky and cajoling.
“Rhys, at this stage we are dealing with pure conjecture. According to Dr. Scott, our victims were mother and son, who died of blunt force trauma to the head. They were buried on the fringes of a leper cemetery, face down as a sign of disrespect. Their remains date back to early- to mid-fourteenth century, and those are the only hard facts we have.”
“Have you been able to locate any parish records?” Rhys asked. Quinn’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and Rhys smiled and shook his head, instantly realizing the futility of his question.
“There are no parish records. Were you hoping I’d go deep-sea diving and see what I can salvage from a church that was claimed by the sea six hundred years ago?” Quinn asked.
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you,” Rhys retorted and reached for a biscuit. He leaned back in his chair and chewed thoughtfully as he considered the situation. “Actually, that’s perfect.”
“Is it?”
“There’s not a shred of evidence as to who these people were or why they died. Any story we decide to tell is as valid as any other. Since there are no records, no one can disprove our version of events, and I know that our version will be the truth, won’t it?” he asked, watching Quinn intently. “Come now. What have you seen, Quinn?”
Quinn sighed with resignation. Telling Rhys about her gift seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she wished she’d kept it to herself. Rhys had every intention of exploiting her to get his story, and nothing would stand in his way. Rhys Morgan gave the phrase ‘creative license’ a whole new meaning.
“The cross I found belonged to a young woman named Petra Ordell. She was a widow with three children, the oldest being a boy named Edwin. Edwin suffered from debilitating seizures which seemed to be brought on by stress. He might have been epileptic, but I can’t say for sure. That’s all I know so far.”
Rhys looked disappointed, but tried to make the best of the situation. “Well, I’m sure something of interest will crop up. This Petra didn’t get herself buried face down in the dirt by being a model citizen. So, the child was her son?”
“It would seem so,” Quinn replied. She had no desire to tell Rhys about Petra’s relationship with Avery or the details of Edwin’s true parentage. She needed to know more, but her stomach twisted with anxiety every time she thought of what awaited Petra and Edwin. They were ordinary people, the type of individuals who rarely made a mark on history, their lives of interest only to their descendants. What happened to them, and why had they been punished even in death?
“I’ll keep you posted,” Quinn said as she sprang to her feet, eager to put an end to the conversation. Rhys hadn’t asked about the silver necklace found at the site, and Quinn saw no reason to bring it up. She had yet to unlock its secrets, so there was nothing to tell.
“Wait, what happened with Chatham?” Rhys asked as he rose to his feet and reached for his coat. His next meeting clearly wasn’t at the office.
“Not a match.”
“Did you speak to him? What did you make of him?” Rhys asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“I thought he was a right old wanker, if you must know. A bully and a misogynist. Nice company you keep.”
“Come now, I haven’t spoken to the man since I was a teenager. Are you ever going to let me live this down?” Rhys asked, his expression petulant.
“Probably not,” Quinn replied, but without genuine heat. Continuing to stay angry with Rhys was pointless and counter-productive. “What can you tell me about Seth Besson?”
“Absolutely nothing. He was a friend of Robert’s. I’d only met him a few times. Have you searched for him online?”
“Not yet. I’m doing one potential dad at a time,” Quinn joked, but the truth was that she wasn’t ready to face the man who’d fathered her. She needed time.
“If there’s anything I can do to help,” Rhys offered without any enthusiasm. “Come, I’ll walk with you to the lift.”
“Thanks, I’ll let you know,” Quinn replied as she followed Rhys out of his office toward the bank of elevators.
“Quinn, I’m meeting Sylvia,” Rhys suddenly blurted out. “She’s finally agreed to see me.”
Quinn nodded, unsure of what to say. She wouldn’t tell Rhys this, but she had a newfound respect for him. Facing a woman you raped three decades ago was not for the faint of heart, and Rhys deserved some credit for taking that step toward forgiveness.
“Good luck,” Quinn said and meant it.
Chapter 39
Quinn stopped in the lobby, rummaged in her handbag for her Oyster card, which still had enough of a balance for several tube rides, and stepped out into the overcast morning. The rain had slowed down to a drizzle, but it was cold and damp, and a chill wind blew off the river. Quinn huddled into her coat and began to walk down the street toward the nearest tube station. She had to get home; there was much to be done. Gabe had dismantled his office and cleared the room, but they still had to paint it before the furniture arrived in two days’ time. More importantly, they needed to find a suitable nursery school before bringing Emma to London. There was a stack of brochures on the counter waiting to be perused. At least now they had an idea of what to look for.
Gabe invited Pete and Brenda McGann round for dinner the night before. Pete was Gabe’s best friend from university days, and Quinn knew and liked the McGanns. They were kind, down-to-earth people, who didn’t act shocked or judge Gabe for fathering a child out of wedlock, despite their staunch Catholic views. Instead, they instantly offered help, in whatever form it was needed. Quinn hadn’t had much time to cook, so they got a takeaway and a couple of bottles of wine, opting for a relaxing evening that required no serving or clearing up. After dinner, Pete helped Gabe take apart the furniture, and Brenda sat with Quinn on the sofa and answered her ever-growing list of questions. The McGanns had two teenage boys, and Brenda was the only close friend who had any knowledge of raising children in London, where the choices were numerous and overwhelming.
“So, what do I look for in a nursery school, Brenda?” Quinn had asked. “Besides the obvious, I mean.”
“Make an appointment to see the school. Of course, they will tell you only positive things and steer you toward what they want you to see, but don’t be shy. See how clean the toilets are; that’s always a good indicator of how sanitary the place is. Ask about the ratio of teachers to students, and inquire about their security measures and response time to an emergency. Do they have a nurse on the premises? Are parents allowed inside?” Brenda added as an afterthought.
“Why is that important?”
“It’s much safer when parents are not allowed on the premises and meet their children by the gate. This way no strangers are ever in the building, and everyone is accounted for. There are always cases of custody disputes, and at times abuse, and it’s best to keep those issues out of the schoolroom and let the individuals and the courts deal with them. There have been cases of parents kidnapping their own children or even their children’s friends. People don’t think rationally when they are under great strain.”
“I see,” Quinn said, pondering this. “That would never have crossed my mind.”
“And it shouldn’t, but we live in strange times, when people seem to snap all too easily. You’ll be amazed at what you’ll have to consider as Emma gets older. Becoming a parent changes your life inside out. You have to know where your child is and with whom at all times. Never take anyone’s word for it. There are too many cases of children being snatched off the street or from the park, and sometimes even from their homes. You must be vigilant, Quinn.”
“Now you’re scaring me,” Quinn said. Emma was so trusting, so sweet. She’d had reservations about leaving Edinburgh with Gabe and Quinn, but accepted the situation because adults she trusted told her that she must. What if someone tried to steer her wrong or lure her away?
“It must be easier with boys,” Quinn said, thinking of all the things that could happen to a little girl, especially in this age of child trafficking and sexual predators.
“You would think that, but that’s not necessarily the case. Nowadays, boys are just as vulnerable as girls. If a girl makes an accusation of sexual assault, whether it actually happened or not, the boy is guilty until proven innocent, not the other way around. Many girls cry foul because they can. It’s a very effective way to hurt someone who rejected them, and it’s difficult to prove that it was consensual if intercourse took place. I worry about my boys all the time. They don’t understand how underhanded some girls can be. In the old days, girls trapped boys into marriage. Today they just send them to prison.”
“That’s an awfully grim view,” Quinn said, wondering if Brenda was being a bit biased, having only boys. Her birth mother never sent anyone to prison, when she should have. Girls were just as vulnerable, if not more so, because it was equally difficult to prove that an assault had taken place instead of a consensual act.
“It is, but it’s the grim reality of the Internet Age. Kids don’t realize how much ammunition can be gathered against them from social sites. They post inappropriate pictures, make careless comments, and engage in cyber-stalking and bullying. Sometimes things get out of control.”
“Thank God Emma is only four,” Quinn breathed. “I’m utterly unprepared for the world of parenthood.”
“Neither am I, and I’ve been a parent for sixteen years,” Brenda sighed. “Things were so different in my day. Today, kids hook up before they even ask each other’s name. Sex is casual and frequent. Many kids have dozens of partners before they even leave school,” Brenda said bitterly. “Sometimes, I honestly can’t wait for my boys to go off to university. I just can’t handle the pressure of having two teenagers with raging hormones in the house.”
“Does Pete feel the same way?” Quinn asked carefully.
“He doesn’t really talk about it, but he worries. We were each other’s first, you know,” Brenda added with a sad smile. “We were such innocents.”
It was only after the McGanns left and Quinn and Gabe had gone to bed that night that Brenda’s comments finally made sense.
“They’re going through a difficult time with Michael,” Gabe said after Quinn shared with him what Brenda had said. “He got involved with a girl at the start of term. They were happy for a few weeks, but then Michael started to lose interest. The girl got her feelings hurt and accused Michael of assaulting her. She’s since taken the accusation back, admitting that she only did it to hurt him, but Brenda and Pete have been to Hell and back. And it damaged their relationship with their son, since they had to keep asking him point blank if he’d done anything that might be construed as an assault.”
“You can’t blame them for asking. Can you?”
“No. Nor can you blame Michael for being upset. It’s taken a toll on everyone. Michael is angry and silent these days, hurt that his parents didn’t support him when he needed them most. He wants to switch schools and then join the military immediately after graduation, but Pete and Brenda hope they can still talk him out of it. Pete is riddled with guilt, and Brenda is angry. She’s not a woman who deals well with having no control over a situation.”
“We really are woefully unprepared, aren’t we?” Quinn asked as she snuggled closer to Gabe.
“We’ll get there,” Gabe replied. “One thing at a time. Was Brenda helpful about the nursery school?”
“Yes, very. I have a list of things to look for, and a list of things to avoid.”
“Then we are already ahead of the game,” Gabe muttered as he began to drift off.
“Right,” Quinn agreed, but she wasn’t convinced. She hadn’t asked for any of this, and after her conversation with Brenda, she felt more unprepared than ever.
Chapter 40
Quinn was just about to go down into the station when her mobile rang. It was her cousin Jill, and Quinn felt a pang of guilt as she stared at the caller ID. She hadn’t been in touch with Jill since sending her a text on New Year’s Day, wishing her a Happy New Year and announcing the engagement. Jill was Quinn’s closest friend, and the only person besides her parents and Gabe in whom she confided, but lately Quinn just didn’t feel like talking. After finding out about the night she’d been conceived, Quinn found herself turning inward, as if not telling anyone might retroactively change what happened. She had told Jill, of course, but had no wish to keep returning to the subject, not until she was in possession of new facts.
Quinn had finally worked up the courage to tell her parents about Sylvia a few weeks ago, but they hadn’t been ready to discuss the news until they’d had some time to deal with the shock. Quinn understood. This was the call they never expected to receive since Quinn had been found in a church pew when she was only a few days old and turned over to social services until an adoption could be arranged. Since no one knew who Quinn’s birth parents might be, there was no danger of Quinn ever tracking them down. An extraordinary chain of events led Sylvia to Quinn a few months back, and now Quinn knew, and understood, why Sylvia chose to give her up, but she still had to lay out the facts for her parents.
The conversation had gone much as Quinn anticipated. Susan and Roger Allenby loved her too much not to feel outraged on her behalf and eager to soothe the hurt, which allowed them to vent their anger, but left Quinn feeling upset and unsettled. She saw their point of view only too well. They wished they could turn back the clock and prevent Sylvia from showing up on Quinn’s doorstep. It was always better to cherish a dream than be faced with the reality, which was sometimes unexpected and cruel, and Sylvia’s version of events was just that.
“Darling, we will support you in whatever you decide to do,” Roger said when he managed to get a word in edgewise.
“Quinn, you don’t owe this woman anything,” her mother cut in. “She found you by chance. It’s not as if she was even searching for you. And to think that your father…” She sucked in her breath, still unable to accept the truth. “Please, let this go. Can’t we be enough?”
“Mum, you and Dad are enough, and always have been, but I need to know where I come from. I’m a historian. I spend my life uncovering people’s stories. How can I not know mine?”
“Sue, she needs to do this,” Roger Allenby said. “She’ll never rest until she finds out. And the sooner she does, the sooner she can put this behind her and move forward with her life. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
“Yes, Dad,” Quinn said, grateful for his understanding. He had always been the more open-minded of the two, although Quinn knew that her mother’s stubbornness was born of a fierce love for her, and the desire to protect her from pain.
“Please tell me this woman will not be invited to the wedding,” Sue pleaded. “There will still be a wedding. Won’t there?”
“Yes, Mum,” Quinn said gently. “There will be a wedding, and I would like to invite Sylvia. She’s no threat to you. Just think of her as another guest.”
“As if I could. The thought of her there…”
“Mum, Sylvia has two sons. I’m going to invite them as well.”
“Must you?”
“They are my half-brothers.”
Quinn heard the sharp intake of breath, followed by a loaded silence from her mother, who was no doubt rummaging in her pocket for a tissue. She felt betrayed, which was exactly what Quinn had feared all along. How could she explain to her parents what it meant to her to have siblings after all these years? It was a dream come true, a fantasy come to life. She’d prayed for siblings when she was little, asking God to bring her a brother or a sister in lieu of birthday or Christmas presents. She wouldn’t mind sharing her parents with a ba
by, she’d assured God. She would be good, and helpful, and loving. It was her dearest wish to be a big sister. But, there was never a baby. Her mother was infertile, a word Quinn didn’t understand until much later, and the Allenbys didn’t have the financial resources to go through another adoption. Quinn was destined to be an only child. She had Jill; that was true. Jill was her honorary sister and closest friend, but it wasn’t the same, since they weren’t biologically connected in any way.
“We look forward to meeting them. Don’t we, Sue?” Roger said, his tone gentle, but full of warning. He rarely got between Quinn and Susan when they disagreed, but he realized that this situation would require serious diplomatic negotiation, especially once the wedding drew nearer. “Now, tell us about Emma,” Roger invited.
Quinn ignored the sniffle that came over the line. Her mother hadn’t taken the news well, but to her, Gabe having a child was still the lesser of two evils. Of course, that hadn’t stopped her from expressing her opinion about men who indulged in casual sex with women they barely knew and didn’t prevent her from voicing her disappointment with her future son-in-law, who would have to work very hard to get back into her good graces.
“Lord only knows how many more children there might be,” Susan said dramatically. “I hope you know what you’re getting into, Quinn.”
“Mum, Gabe is hardly a serial lothario who’s had a string of meaningless affairs. I trust him.”
“So you say,” Susan countered. “You trusted Luke as well. And look how that turned out.”
Quinn groaned. “Mum, I don’t want to talk about Luke.”
“Neither do I,” Roger said firmly. “You were about to tell us about Emma.”
“Oh, she’s lovely, Dad. She’s so sweet and funny, and she looks just like Gabe.”
The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2) Page 19
