Jocelyn subconsciously reached up and took hold of Ben’s ring. It felt warm from its proximity to her skin, the etching bumpy beneath her fingers. What was she to do? Ben had offered her a home, stability, and affection. But what did she have to offer him in return? Could she love him? Would she enjoy his attentions as a wife should? And what of the child? Jocelyn thought as she quickened her steps, her mind returning to the same questions every time she went for a walk. Would either of them be able to love this baby without reservation? She hoped so.
Letting go of the ring, Jocelyn lowered her hand to her stomach. At this stage, the child didn’t feel real to her. She wasn’t showing yet, and it was too soon for the baby to move. The sickness had abated, and Jocelyn felt more herself, stronger and more energetic. She had a few weeks before her belly would begin to swell and the child inside would make itself known. If she refused Ben, she’d have to go it alone, with no one to turn to for comfort or financial support. She couldn’t go to Greg now.
Dear God, what would he say if he knew what had happened to her? If she knew Greg, he’d probably think she had brought this on herself. And she had, to some degree. She’d betrayed the major’s trust and had played him for a fool. Her actions didn’t excuse his brutality toward her, but he would have had her arrested and executed, of that she was certain. She was lucky to be alive. That was twice she’d cheated death. Didn’t things come in threes? she mused as she entered a thickly wooded stretch of the path.
The trees were bare, the branches reaching for the sky like skeletal limbs. Before they knew it, Christmas would be upon them. She had to decide, but despite all the reasons she had for marrying Ben, her heart rejected her decision. It struggled and ached, and refused to comply, holding out like a stubborn donkey.
Jocelyn stopped walking and stood still, listening. She thought she’d heard something. No one ever took this path. It was too far away from town and didn’t lead anywhere. Jocelyn laughed at herself. It was probably a rabbit, or even a squirrel. She’d never been fearful and had no reason to be afraid now. She resumed walking, but her spine was rigid, and her ears attuned to the sounds around her. Suddenly, the copse seemed full of noises, and she hurried home, eager to get warm and have a cup of tea by the fire.
She was almost out of the woods when a figure stepped out in front of her. He wore a black coat and a tricorn that was pulled low over his eyes, but she’d recognize him anywhere. Jocelyn took an involuntary step backward, her breath catching in her throat.
“Hello, Jocelyn,” he said conversationally, taking a step toward her.
“Major,” Jocelyn replied, wishing desperately someone would come along, preferably someone armed.
“I didn’t think we’d meet again, but imagine my surprise when Private Sykes told me he’d seen you at a tavern.”
Jocelyn gasped. She’d hoped Private Sykes wouldn’t mention seeing her, especially since he’d seemed to accept her denials of having met him in the past, but clearly, she hadn’t been convincing enough.
“Finding you took a bit of time, but here I am.”
“What do you want?” Jocelyn asked. She was shaking with fear, but her voice sounded clear and strong.
“What do you think I want?” Major Radcliffe asked. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
Confused, Jocelyn didn’t reply. If Major Radcliffe had come to Milford to arrest her, he wouldn’t have been skulking in the woods, out of uniform and without backup. Had he come on his own, he would have engaged the help of Lieutenant Reynolds at the very least to help bring her in and would most likely have arrested her publicly, not on an isolated path through a wintery wood.
Her trembling intensified as the reality of her situation dawned on her. Major Radcliffe had no intention of placing her under arrest. He wanted her silenced. She had the power not only to accuse him of rape and vindicate Jared for defending her but to let it be known that she had been spying under his nose for months, making him look like a dupe and possibly even an accomplice.
Jocelyn looked beyond the major’s shoulder, debating if she had any chance of outrunning him if she managed to get past him, but she didn’t think so. Despite his love of food and drink, the major was fit and strong, and he’d catch her in moments. Her only chance was to grab a stout branch off the ground and wield it like a club, but there was nothing nearby except a few thin twigs. Not even a good-sized rock. The major was armed with a pistol, and she had no doubt he had a dagger at his hip. He’d come prepared and had waited for an opportunity to catch her alone.
“I’m with child,” Jocelyn said, her gaze unflinching. “Your child.”
The major looked momentarily surprised, but then his eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted with derision. “And you think that makes any difference?” he asked. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s all the more reason to snuff you out. You’re a liability, Jocelyn, a loose end that needs tying up.”
Jocelyn didn’t argue. His mind was made up, and nothing she said would make a difference. Jared had said that Major Radcliffe was a meticulous man, and he was. As he’d pointed out, Jocelyn was a loose thread, which, if pulled, could unravel the entire fabric of the major’s life.
“Get on with it, then,” she said, thrusting her chin forward in a last-ditch effort at defiance. She wouldn’t beg for her life. She’d die with dignity.
“You are brave; I’ll give you that,” Major Radcliffe said. “In another time and place, we might have had a different ending, you and I.”
He said something else, but Jocelyn wasn’t listening to him. She looked up at the sky, suddenly aware of just how much she wanted to live. She was young. She would have had so much living to do had things been different. She recalled Jared’s kisses, and her heart squeezed with loss. Would they be together in death? Probably not. They hadn’t belonged to each other, not truly. They hadn’t been man and wife, only two young people who had, despite all the obstacles placed between them, succumbed to a mutual attraction and let their guard down enough to let love in. It would have blossomed had they been given time, possibly even lasted forever, but now she’d never know. It was as over for her as it was for him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the major reach for the pistol and point. I’m coming, Jared, Jocelyn thought as Major Radcliffe fired. She barely registered the sound of the shot, her attention caught by the startled birds that had erupted from the trees, their wings beating wildly against the clear blue sky, their squawks panicked and surprisingly loud. She felt a visceral pain as the lead ball tore through her chest, searing its way toward her heart. The world tilted, her vision blurring as she fell backward, having been nearly lifted off her feet by the impact. She landed on her back, her head snapping backward, her eyes still open as she gazed at the sky. She gasped for breath, her hand going to her chest. Hot, sticky blood covered her fingers and bloomed on the lace tucker.
The last thing Jocelyn saw was the major’s impassive face as he leaned over her and yanked off the chain around her neck. He slid off the ring and placed it on his finger, then threw the chain into the brown blanket of rotting leaves. And then the world went dark.
Chapter 66
March 2018
London
Quinn buried her face in her hands, desperate to get the last image of Jocelyn out of her mind. All she saw was the shock on the young woman’s face, her body jerking as the bullet entered her chest, and then she was falling, as if in slow motion, her arms outstretched, her mouth open in a silent scream.
“No,” Quinn moaned.
“Quinn, what is it?” Gabe asked. She must have woken him, and now he was looking at her with concern, as if she were the one in a hospital bed. He did look a little better, his gaze brighter and more alert. How long had she been in a daze?
“Oh, Gabe,” Quinn whispered miserably and placed the ring on the bedside locker, desperate to break the connection.
“Tell me what you saw,” Gabe invited. “Tell me the story.”
“He shot her,” sh
e whispered. “Major Radcliffe shot Jocelyn. The child was his,” Quinn said, unable to hide her disgust. “He attacked her when he found her in his office, rifling through his papers. He thought she’d hang, so no one would ever know, but Captain Denning tried to intervene. Major Radcliffe had him court-martialed for assaulting an officer. He was hanged.”
Gabe looked confused, having missed a large chunk of the narrative, but nodded all the same, his expression thoughtful as he tried to connect the dots, a task made more difficult by the strong painkillers coursing through his bloodstream.
“And he took Ben’s ring. I suppose he wanted a souvenir of his handiwork.”
“He took the ring?” Gabe asked, clearly still lost. Quinn nodded, her mind numb with shock.
“So, then the remains couldn’t be those of Ben Wilder,” Gabe said, verbalizing what Quinn was just beginning to grasp. “The major must have been wearing Ben’s ring at the time of his death.”
“Yes,” Quinn agreed, brightening. She found it fitting that someone had bashed the major’s head in and then buried him in an unmarked grave. “Yes,” she said louder. “The skelly is not Ben Wilder.”
“This explains how Ben’s ring came to be in England. Major Radcliffe must have returned home. Do we know if he came from Hertfordshire?” Gabe asked, growing more animated by the minute.
“No, but I can find out. I’ll also see if I can find anything about Captain Denning’s court-martial. The poor man. To be executed for trying to protect a woman,” Quinn said, shaking her head.
“I’m sure that bit never came out,” Gabe said. “Major Radcliffe would have made sure of that. He would have presented the tribunal with a convincing tale.”
“What a heartbreaking story,” Quinn said, shaking her head. “And it was all for nothing. The Continental Army lost the Battle of Brandywine.”
“But they won the war,” Gabe reminded her.
“But Jocelyn didn’t live long enough to find that out,” Quinn pointed out sadly.
“Can you use the ring to see what happened to Major Radcliffe?” Gabe asked.
Quinn shook her head. “The ring never truly belonged to Major Radcliffe. He’d stolen it, so his memories would not be imprinted on it. I’ll have to come up with some plausible story for the episode, one that’s more palatable than the truth. I’d forgotten what a toll this takes on me,” Quinn said, choosing to blame the visions rather than the ordeal of the night before. She couldn’t bear to revisit it and was glad Gabe didn’t want to rake it all over.
“So, no more cases?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Someone somewhere must have had a happy ending,” Quinn said, giving Gabe a watery smile.
“People who had a happy ending rarely find themselves with a bashed skull.”
“True, but in my book, this was a fitting end for the dear major. He got what he deserved.”
“Her certainly did,” Gabe agreed. “Quinn, you look exhausted. Go home. They’ll take good care of me while you’re gone.”
“I can’t bear to be parted from you,” Quinn said through the lump in her throat.
Gabe squeezed her hand. “I’ll be here when you return. Promise,” he added, grinning. When he looked like that, it was truly possible to believe everything would be all right. “And collect the children from Jill. I want to know that you are all together.”
“I’ll FaceTime you once I get the children. Your mobile is right here on your bedside locker.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Chapter 67
Brett stared straight ahead, refusing to look at the evidence spread out before him on the ugly Formica table. Did every country have the same hideous furniture in their police stations? DI Marshall was speaking, but Brett wasn’t listening, his mind on what he would say to his parents when he was finally allowed to make his phone call.
He was under no illusions. They wouldn’t come to his rescue this time. He was on his own, not counting the drippy lawyer he’d been assigned, who looked tired and bored. This guy wouldn’t know how to make a credible objection if someone had supplied him with Murder Trials for Dummies. So far, all he’d done was advise Brett to cooperate. Fat chance. He wasn’t giving these morons anything. It was up to them to build a case against him, which they apparently had. Between the forensic evidence, Quinn’s statement, and some recording they kept mentioning, he was really and truly fucked. And to think that he’d gotten rid of Jo to help Quinn. This was positively the last time he’d do anyone any favors. From now on, he was out for himself.
He was forced to look at DI Marshall when the man slammed his hand on the table to get Brett’s attention. Brett met the man’s triumphant gaze, and fingers of apprehension walked up his spine, his body temperature dropping by several degrees.
“Brett Besson, you are hereby charged with the manslaughter of Jo Turing, as contrary to Common Law. You are hereby charged with attempted murder against Quinn Allenby Russell and Gabriel Russell, as contrary to Common Law. And you’re also charged with leaving the scene of an accident, just for good measure. Take him down,” DI Marshall said to one of his goons. He watched with obvious satisfaction as Brett was hauled out of the room and into a corridor that smelled of reheated food. It had to be lunchtime.
Brett glared at DI Marshall one last time, then allowed himself to be led away. As the old saying went, “It ain’t over till the fat lady sings,” and this opera had only just begun. And even if they did manage to put him away, there were always mistrials, appeals, paroles, and early releases for good behavior. They might have nailed him for this, but they’d never find the others, Brett thought confidently.
Chapter 68
Christmas Eve 1777
Long Island
“Can I help?” Jocelyn asked as she walked into the kitchen, where Hannah was hard at work mashing potatoes.
“Absolutely not. You are to sit down and rest. Doctor’s orders.”
“I feel well, Hannah,” Jocelyn protested, but knew it was pointless. Everyone had been treating her like an invalid these past few weeks, and with good reason. She had recovered physically, but she was still fragile in both body and mind.
“If you are not going to rest, then get some air. You are as pale as the moon. Dr. Rosings did say you should take short walks.”
Jocelyn balked at that. She hadn’t left the farm since the fateful day she’d met Major Radcliffe in the woods, not even to attend church. But Hannah was right. It was time.
Draping a cloak over her shoulders, Jocelyn stepped outside. A gentle snow was falling, the landscape the dreamy lavender of a December twilight. She lifted her face to the sky, closing her eyes and letting the snowflakes settle on her nose and cheeks. She was so lucky to be alive. Despite his training and rank, Major Radcliffe had proved to be a poor shot. He’d missed her heart by at least two inches, unwittingly saving Jocelyn’s life. The bullet had passed right through, leaving a clean exit wound. Jocelyn might have still bled to death out there in the cold had Derek not come looking for her, suddenly certain that she needed his help. He’d lifted her off the ground and run all the way back to the farm, calling to Josh to fetch Dr. Rosings without delay. They’d saved her. Again.
Jocelyn began to walk slowly, carefully putting one foot in front of the other. She was still afraid to leave the farm. Knowing that Major Radcliffe was out there somewhere was terrifying, but she couldn’t live in fear. She had recovered, and come the new year, she’d have to decide what to do.
Jocelyn’s hand subconsciously went to her stomach. The major had done her a favor, really. She’d lost the baby, probably from shock. It had bled out of her while she lay unconscious, freeing her from a lifetime of being reminded of the worst day of her life.
Now she was free to start again, and she would, as soon as she found the courage to leave Milford. She couldn’t stay here, not now. And she wouldn’t be taking Ben with her. He deserved better than a woman who used him as a shield against the world. He deserved love.
J
ocelyn took a deep breath of the chill air, filling her lungs. She wouldn’t go far, not today, but tomorrow, she’d go further, and the next day, further still. She laughed out loud, the sound dissipating in the stillness of the afternoon. She’d cheated death three times. She must be invincible, she thought, amused. Maybe she had nine lives, like a cat.
Her humor evaporated when she saw two men in the distance, her breath catching in her throat. Jocelyn peered through the falling snow, trying to make out the men’s features. Derek had been away for nearly a fortnight. He hadn’t told her where he’d gone, and both Hannah and Ben had been tightlipped. Jocelyn hadn’t pressed them. It was none of her affair. Hannah would be thrilled to have him back for Christmas, though, and he had promised he’d try to get back in time.
As the men drew closer, Jocelyn breathed a sigh of relief. The man on the right was definitely Derek. She’d recognize him anywhere. The man on the left had his hat pulled down low over his eyes and seemed to be looking down as he listened to something Derek was telling him. But then he looked up and stopped, his gaze fixed on Jocelyn, a joyous smile spreading across his face.
Jocelyn let out a cry. She wasn’t supposed to run, but she didn’t feel the ground beneath her feet. She was flying on the wings of disbelief, crying tears of joy.
Jared sprinted toward her and caught her in his arms, spinning her around as he held her close. They were laughing and crying and tripping over each other in their haste to speak. Derek had gone on, leaving them to enjoy their reunion. There would be time later to thank him for what he’d done for them, for it was clear that he’d gone in search of Jared. He must have known somehow that Jared hadn’t been hanged. Perhaps he’d heard something while in New York.
Jocelyn buried her face in Jared’s chest, breathing in the damp wool scent of his coat. She’d never imagined she could be this happy. Jared took her hand and sank down to one knee in the snow.
The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9) Page 31
