The pitch dark of night began to give way to the murky gray of morning when she banged on Anna’s door, calling for the older woman to let her in. Anna opened the door, her face pale with fright. A dark braid streaked with silver snaked over her shoulder, a threadbare shawl draped over her nightdress.
“Jocelyn, what is it? What’s happened?”
“Help me. Please,” Jocelyn whispered, and went down in a heap, her legs no longer able to support her.
Chapter 63
March 2018
London
Quinn dropped the ring when Jude poked his head into the bedroom.
“Quinn, Dr. Chan just called. He said Gabe’s out of surgery, and you can visit him now.”
“Thanks,” Quinn said. “I’ll be right down.”
She came downstairs to find a cup of coffee and a sandwich waiting for her.
“You have to eat something before you go,” Jude said. “Do you want me to drive you? Emma will never know if I step out for an hour.”
“I’ll take an Uber. Emma’s too young to be left alone.”
“All right. Ring me when you get there,” Jude said once Quinn finished her meal.
“I will.”
“The Uber is outside,” Jude said fifteen minutes later. He handed her a coat, her bag, and her mobile. “All right?” he asked.
Quinn nodded. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Don’t worry about Emma. I’ll look after her.”
“I know you will.”
Quinn was grateful that the Uber driver didn’t feel a need to chat. It was just past 5:00 a.m. and the streets were deserted, most windows dark as they drove past office buildings and private residences. She should have been exhausted, but the coffee had revived her and the prospect of seeing Gabe lifted her spirits. He’d be groggy and confused, but he was alive; that was all that mattered.
Leaning back against the seat, Quinn allowed her mind to drift for a moment, her thoughts returning to what she had just witnessed. She hadn’t expected to be confronted with such brutality, particularly perpetrated by a man who’d seemed so pleasant and correct in his dealings with others. She’d seen people pushed beyond the point of endurance but didn’t think this was the first time the major had taken out his fury on a helpless woman. He’d been successful at hiding his true nature, but it had come out nonetheless, and if Quinn had to guess, she’d bet that he’d been able to get away with it every time. No wonder Jocelyn had been so traumatized, but there was more to the story. Quinn would have to wait to find out the rest.
She thanked the driver and hurried toward the entrance of the hospital, where the night porter demanded to know what she was doing there at such an ungodly hour. Visiting hours would not start for a while yet. Quinn explained, and he waved her through. She took the lift to the appropriate floor and approached the nurses’ station.
“I’m here to see Gabriel Russell,” Quinn said. “Dr. Chan said I’d be allowed to visit with him.”
A middle-aged woman with spiky red hair smiled kindly at her. “He was just brought up half an hour ago. He’s asleep, but you can sit with him. He’ll be happy to see a familiar face when he wakes up.”
“How is he?” Quinn asked.
The woman must have seen the anxiety in her eyes because she rushed to reassure her. “The surgery went well, and he’s stable. Don’t you worry, love.”
Quinn thanked the nurse and walked along the corridor until she found the right room. Gabe had been assigned a double-occupancy room, but the other bed was empty, so he was on his own. Quinn pulled up a chair and sat down, drinking him in until she felt reassured that he was indeed stable. Gabe was hooked up to an IV and several other monitors, but his face looked peaceful, and his color was good. He was breathing evenly, and his heartrate was steady. Quinn reached out and took his hand. It was warm but limp. His fingers did not curl around hers, nor did he respond in any way. That was all right, though. She had no wish to disturb him, only to feel a connection with him.
She sat like that for a long time, just watching him sleep, until the sky began to lighten in the east, dawn fast approaching and the sun rising on another day, a day neither of them might have lived to see. This would also be the day she’d have to tell Phoebe that her son had lost a kidney and inform Seth that his son was in police custody. Some part of her wanted to wait, to let Seth find out on his own, but she owed it to him. He was her father, and the news that his son had not only willfully killed his other daughter but had tried to murder Quinn and Gabe would bring Seth to his knees. He wasn’t an overly introspective man, preferring to deal with facts rather than suppositions, but Quinn was certain he’d ask himself the impossible questions, like whether there was anything he had done as a father to set Brett on the path he’d chosen. Any parent would.
Would Seth set aside his own feelings and try to help Brett, or would he let him face the consequences alone this time? Quinn couldn’t begin to guess. The very thought of Brett made her feel ill. She hadn’t focused on the details last night, having been too shocked and scared to notice the little things, but now her mind was cruelly playing back the tape, forcing her to pay attention to things she’d have preferred to ignore. Brett had been wearing latex gloves, and the hood of his sweatshirt had been pulled up to cover his hair. He hadn’t sat down or come into contact with anything. Had the police found Quinn and Gabe dead this morning, there would have been no forensic evidence linking Brett to the scene. He’d thought everything through and had chosen a poison that would kill swiftly, ensuring there’d be no dramatic rescue.
As with Jo, this was no crime of passion. He’d had less than a day in which to set his plan in motion, but he’d done so quickly and efficiently, and would have got away with it. And as he had pointed out, by the time DI Marshall would have issued a warrant for his arrest and gone through the proper channels to have him extradited to the UK, he’d be long gone. A person who had cash could always go off the grid, especially in places where it was easy to disappear. He’d mentioned once that he’d go to Thailand if he ever decided to get away from the States. Perhaps that had been the plan.
“Quinn,” Gabe muttered. His voice was barely audible, but he was awake and lucid.
“I’m here. How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a lorry,” Gabe replied, giving her a feeble smile.
“You are going to be all right,” Quinn assured him. There was so much she wanted to say, but now wasn’t the time. She didn’t want to upset him or remind him of last night, in case his brain had somehow managed to dull the sharpness of recent events.
“Where’s Emma?”
“She’s at home, with Jude.”
“My mum,” Gabe muttered.
“Don’t worry. I will ring your mum.”
Gabe’s eyes cleared a little as he grew more alert. “Do they have enough to charge him?”
Quinn nodded. “They do. He’s not getting off so easily this time. DI Marshall has found evidence of Jo’s murder as well. Brett is going down, Gabe.”
Gabe sighed and closed his eyes. He looked tired and ill.
“Go back to sleep,” Quinn said softly. “I’ll be right here when you wake.” If DI Marshall wanted a statement, he’d have to come to her. She wasn’t leaving Gabe on his own, not for such a long stretch of time.
Quinn briefly considered going in search of a cup of coffee but changed her mind. Instead, she reached for the ring and slipped it onto her finger, eighteenth-century Long Island materializing before her eyes.
Chapter 64
November 1777
Long Island
Jocelyn buried her face in her hands, trembling violently as she recalled the horror of that night and the look in Jared’s eyes as he was hauled away, his arms wrenched behind his back, his face covered in blood, his fate sealed. The weeks that followed had been a blur, made bearable only by Anna’s unwavering support and quiet understanding. Jocelyn had been desperate to remember her past, but now that she did, sh
e wished she hadn’t. Only a few days ago, she’d believed that she might have been part of a close family and wed to a man who loved her. Today, she knew better. And she owed the Wilders the truth. She could no longer keep up the pretense in the hope that the truth, once discovered, would be palatable.
The Battle of Brandywine, fought on September 11, had been lost, her part in trying to change the outcome no longer important. If the Wilders chose to turn her over to Lieutenant Reynolds, so be it. She no longer cared. She was all alone, carrying a child conceived in an act of violence and hatred. She didn’t blame the baby. It was innocent in all this, but she’d be lying if she said she felt any love toward it.
Forcing herself to her feet, Jocelyn made her way downstairs, where Hannah was washing up after supper, and Ben and Derek sat by the fire in the parlor, talking quietly. Josh must have gone to bed, which was just as well, since this wasn’t a story for a young boy.
“May I speak to you all?” Jocelyn said, her voice quivering as she forced out the words. Once she told them the truth, there’d be no going back. She realized she didn’t want to leave. She felt safe here and cared for.
“Of course,” Hannah said. “Are you quite all right, Alice?”
Jocelyn shook her head. “No,” she replied. I don’t think I’ll ever be all right again, she thought as she took a seat at the table and waited for the others to join her.
“My name is Jocelyn Sinclair,” she began. “I was an actress at the John Street Theatre before the war began.”
“You’ve remembered. How wonderful,” Hannah exclaimed, but the look on Jocelyn’s face silenced her. “I’m sorry. Do go on.”
And she did. She told them everything, from being recruited by Richard Kinney, whose name she didn’t divulge, to the day she’d boarded a ship named Peregrine bound for Virginia, where she’d intended to stay with Greg until she felt ready to face the world again.
The Wilders stared at her in horror, even Derek, who’d already known part of the truth.
“My dear girl,” Hannah exclaimed. “What you have been through. Oh, if only I’d known.”
“You’ve been the soul of kindness, Hannah. I could never repay you for the care and understanding you’ve shown me.”
“You sound like you’re leaving,” Ben said, his gaze searching her face anxiously.
“I can’t put you out any longer. I will make my way to Virginia, to my brother’s house.”
“Alice, eh, I mean Jocelyn,” Hannah said, the name strange on her tongue. “What of your young man?” she asked quietly.
“Court-martialed for assaulting a senior officer and sentenced to hang,” Jocelyn replied, her voice flat. She could barely get the words out, much less allow herself to focus on what they meant. “Anna saw it in the paper.”
“Oh, I am sorry,” Hannah cried, her eyes shimmering with tears.
“Jocelyn, you don’t need to leave,” Derek said, reaching out to take her hand. “You are a part of this family now. Please, don’t go.”
Jocelyn nodded, tears threatening to fall again. “I need some air,” she choked out, and fled outside. She ran as far as the stile and stopped, panting as the memories assaulted her once again. Now that she recalled Major Radcliffe’s assault, she couldn’t get it out of her mind. She could feel his hands on her hips, his swollen cock inside her, robbing her of her innocence and dignity with every savage thrust. And now she carried his child, a child who’d be a constant reminder, especially if it was a boy.
The wind had picked up since the afternoon, and Jocelyn shivered, suddenly realizing she was cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, surprised when a coat was draped over her shoulders. Ben stood next to her, his eyes warm with sympathy.
“You’ll catch your death,” he said quietly.
“I should have died in that shipwreck,” Jocelyn said vehemently. “I’d have been better off.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. Jocelyn, you’re beautiful and clever and strong. You will get past this, in time.”
“Will I?”
“You will if you have love and support,” he said. Jocelyn experienced a sinking feeling as she looked up at Ben. He’d come out here for a reason.
“You might not think this is the right time, but it is exactly the right time,” he began.
“Ben…”
“Please, let me speak. Jocelyn, I will look after you and the baby. I will love it as if it were my own. I will make you whole again.”
“Ben, I couldn’t possibly say yes. Not now.”
“Why not?” Ben demanded. “Do you like me, Jocelyn?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust me?”
“I do,” Jocelyn admitted.
“Do you believe I will treat you with kindness and respect?”
Jocelyn nodded.
“Then why can’t you give me a chance? Many a marriage is based on less.”
“Ben, your mother—”
“My mother knows how I feel about you. She will be happy for us.”
Jocelyn shook her head. “I can’t. I’m not ready. I thought I could agree to a marriage and learn to love my husband, but I’m damaged, Ben. Broken.”
Ben placed his hand over hers on the stile. “How about this? I will give you my ring as a token of my love. Wear it for a spell. Give yourself time to come around to the idea. If, by Christmas, you still feel that you can’t accept me, I will take it back, and I will not trouble you again. You don’t really want to go to Virginia, do you?” he cajoled.
“No,” Jocelyn admitted. “I don’t.”
“You don’t have to tell anyone your real name if you don’t want to. You can become Alice Wilder. You can start a new life. With me.”
Ben took the ring off his finger and placed it on hers. The ring slid off and fell into the grass at their feet. Jocelyn bent down to pick it up. “It’s too big.”
Stepping behind her, Ben undid the clasp of her chain and threaded it through the ring, then put it around her neck. The ring hung next to the silver cross she wore.
“There,” he said. “Now, you are wearing my ring.”
“Ben,” Jocelyn began, but he shook his head, silencing her.
“Until Christmas, Jocelyn. No one has to know except us.” Ben seemed confident that she’d come around. Jocelyn wasn’t so sure.
“Let’s go back inside. Your hands are freezing. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving,” he reminded her. “I think we all have something to be thankful for this year. I know I do.”
Jocelyn nodded and allowed him to lead her back to the house, his hand on the small of her back. He was already acting like a husband, she thought, but the observation did not put her off. Would it be so terrible to be a part of this family? Ben was so solid, so strong. He’d love her, and he’d love her child, she was sure of that. His word meant everything to him. And Derek would marry his Lydia and move to town. It’d be best for all involved. For a brief moment, she had thought she might be able to love Derek, but what she had felt was a need for support and protection from someone who didn’t crowd her or make her feel beholden.
Derek had been as good as his word. He’d helped her and guided her toward regaining her memory, but he didn’t love her any more than she loved him, and the look of horror in his eyes when she’d described the rape had convinced her that there could never be a future for them. He’d never be able to get those images out of his mind, nor would he be able to care for the child when he knew the truth of its parentage.
“Get some rest,” Ben said. “Tomorrow will be a better day.”
“Yes,” Jocelyn agreed. She trudged up the stairs and walked into her room. Instead of going to bed, she stood by the window, looking out over the moonlit landscape, her hand going unwittingly to her stomach.
“We’ll be all right, you and I,” she said quietly. “We’ll be all right, no matter what.”
Chapter 65
December 1777
Long Island
Despite her misery, Jocelyn had managed to enjo
y Thanksgiving. It was the first time in a long while that she’d felt like part of a family. Everyone was so kind and careful of her feelings. Jocelyn had thought Hannah might resent Ben’s feelings for her. What mother would want her son to a marry a woman who’d been despoiled and now carried her rapist’s child? But Hannah was more protective than ever, treating Jocelyn like the daughter she’d never had. Jocelyn was touched by her sensitivity and grateful to have a home with the Wilders, for however long she might need it.
As the weeks passed, she began to feel more resigned, but there were times when she longed to be alone with her turbulent thoughts. She took daily walks, strolling across the fields and through the woods at a brisk pace until she regained some semblance of calm. Her memories came rushing in as soon as she was alone or blew out the candle in hopes of falling asleep without the horrible images replaying themselves in her mind. Ignoring them wouldn’t work, so she had to face them and come to terms not only with what Major Radcliffe had done but with the loss of Jared. She’d cried over him while holed up at Anna’s, but now that she’d recalled his death, the grief was as fresh and raw as if he’d died yesterday. There were so many things she’d never had a chance to tell him, so many feelings that no longer had an outlet.
Unsure of his feelings for her, she’d kept Jared at arm’s length, believing he would leave her behind as soon as he was posted elsewhere, but he’d loved her, really and truly. He’d given his life for her, because as soon as he’d raised a hand to Major Radcliffe, he must have known what the outcome would be. He hadn’t hesitated, and he’d have killed the man had Private Sykes not intervened. And now Jared was gone, and she had a chance at a new life, with Ben.
The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9) Page 30
