Elise had just finished hemming the claret gown when she spotted movement by the carriage house. Her heart leaped as she carefully set aside her sewing and got to her feet, as if to stretch her legs. Cissy had just come into the parlor to deposit an armload of firewood by the hearth, and Elise had no desire to arouse her suspicions. She was a gossip at the best of times, a shrew at the worst, always looking for juicy tidbits to chew over with the other servants. Hugh had her whipped once for speaking ill of the mistress but had been persuaded by his wife to give Cissy another chance. Elise smiled innocently at Cissy and took a turn about the room, waiting for the girl to finish stacking the wood and leave before making her way stealthily outside.
The carriage house was located next to the stables and visible from all the front-facing windows, which included her father’s study. Hugh de Lesseps used to spend hours poring over manifests, figures, and maps, but these days he spent much of his time gazing out the window, his mind refusing to settle to business matters. Elise threw a cautious glance at the windows of her father’s study but couldn’t see the dark silhouette behind the sunlit panes. She quickened her step and slipped into the carriage house before anyone saw her, breathing out a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her.
The carriage loomed in the dim confines of the building, its black-painted exterior making it look forbidding and grim without light reflecting off the windows and illuminating the padded interior. The carriage house was Gavin and Elise’s special place, the only place where they could steal a few moments of privacy, away from the prying eyes of the family and servants. Hugh was a man who enjoyed routine, so Elise always knew when the carriage house would be empty. It was there that Gavin had kissed her for the first time and talked to her of the future. And it was there, inside the carriage, that they hatched their plans, talking and dreaming as young lovers did.
Gavin stepped from behind the carriage, his hat in his hands as he peered at Elise through the gloom. He looked tired and anxious, his eyes searching Elise’s face for clues as she rushed toward him. Elise walked into Gavin’s arms and rested her head on his chest. She’d never taken such liberties before, but this might be the last time they saw each other, so she threw caution to the wind. Whatever happened, she was glad he’d come. Not seeing him before the wedding or saying good-bye would have made things even more difficult to bear.
“Elise,” Gavin murmured as he pushed back the hood of her cloak and stroked her hair. “Oh, Elise.”
Elise opened her mouth to say something, but the only thing that came out was a choked sob. She hadn’t meant to cry, but suddenly her predicament seemed unbearable. All her hopes and dreams were being torn apart, replaced by a black void in which her future now lived. She’d tried picturing her life with Lord Asher but drew a blank every time. She knew nothing about the man, his life, or even his house. She could picture his face, but nothing more.
“Gavin, I’m so sorry,” she finally choked out. “I wasn’t given a choice. The Celeste . . .”
“I know,” he replied gently as he continued to hold her close. “Come inside the carriage. I want to talk to you.”
Gavin reluctantly let her go, then opened the door of the carriage and handed her inside. The interior felt like a tomb, but it did offer them more privacy should anyone decide to come in. Once Elise’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she felt cocooned within the vehicle, momentarily safe from the world outside. If only they could stay in the carriage forever, hidden from her father and future husband, who would claim her for his own in less than two weeks.
Gavin set aside his hat and turned to Elise, his eyes intent on her face. “Elise, I hold your father in very high esteem and would never dream of going against his wishes, but this is our once chance to thwart your marriage to Lord Asher.”
“Gavin,” Elise interjected, but he shook his head, wary of the interruption.
“Elise, come away with me. We can leave London tomorrow, or even today. I have enough put by to sustain us for several months until I find employment. We can go anywhere, even to the American colonies. We can be free,” Gavin pleaded. “We’ll never be rich, but I will take care of you and our future family; you’ll never want for anything.”
Elise huddled into the corner of the carriage for support, her heart racing wildly as she considered Gavin’s words. She wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him that yes, she would go with him, today, tomorrow, next week, or whenever he was ready. She’d sacrifice anything to be his wife.
Gavin’s earnest blue eyes held her gaze, begging her for an answer as he reached for her hands. “Say yes. We’ll make a life together, a good life.”
Elise lowered her eyes, staring at their intertwined hands. If it were up to her, she’d give anything to be with him. No sacrifice would be too great, but she had to think of her family. Her father would be ruined if she ran off, as would her brothers who already had families to support. Her sisters would be left with no dowry, and their reputation would be tarnished by association. Amy would be fourteen in March. In a few short years, she would be ready to be wed, and her prospects would be nonexistent, thanks to a sister who selfishly ran off with no thought to her duty to her family.
“Gavin, I can’t,” Elise said miserably. “I can’t shame my father that way. He’s facing utter financial ruin, and this will be the end of him. Lord Asher will see that he’s disgraced and bankrupted if I humiliate him by running away. How can I be happy living with the knowledge that I ruined so many lives?”
“Elise, I know you have a duty to your family, but you have a duty to yourself as well.” Gavin looked stricken, as if the possibility of her refusal never figured in his plans.
“Do I? I’m just a woman, Gavin. I’ve nothing of my own, not even a voice. My father speaks for me until such a time as I’m given away in marriage. My only value is in how well I can marry and what I can bring to my family. I want nothing more than to be your wife, but I have no right to be so selfish. I’m the only one who can keep us from total ruin. Please forgive me,” she whispered as she looked up into his shocked face.
“So be it, then,” Gavin replied, his tone laced with bitter defeat. He pulled his hands away and looked at her tear-streaked face, his eyes studying her features as he wordlessly said good-bye.
“I cannot continue working for your father, Elise. I will wait until spring, then sail to the colonies. There are opportunities for men like me. It’s a chance for a fresh start. If you change your mind, before or even after the wedding, you know where to find me. But, by April, I will be gone. I’ll wait for you until then.”
“Don’t. I won’t be coming, Gavin. This is good-bye.”
Elise leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Gavin’s lips, but he remained unresponsive.
“Good-bye, Elise. May God keep you,” he said as he exited the carriage, pushed his hat onto his head, and strode out of the carriage house, leaving her alone and bereft. Elise knew that she’d done the right thing, but it was a cold comfort when faced with a lifetime of sadness.
Chapter 5
October 2013
London, England
On Monday morning, Quinn dutifully presented herself at the morgue where the skeletal remains found in Mayfair had been taken for tests. Over the weekend, she’d scanned all the information available online about the find but learned little more than she already knew from Gabe. The only thing that offered any clues as to the time period of the murder was the picture of the chest taken by one of the workers on the site, but she needed a closer look to ascertain the period in which it might have been crafted.
Truth be told, Quinn was glad to be in London. Having spent her first weekend on her own, she was more than ready to leave the house and grasp the distraction of this case with both hands. She thought that she’d accepted the idea of Luke’s desertion, could forge ahead without him, but the time alone proved her wrong. They’d spoken about the future shortly before she left for the dig in Jerusalem. Luke had even hinted that
he was ready for the next step, and she’d dreamed of a Christmastime proposal, but she could never have imagined that the next step for Luke would be a professorship in America.
Quinn was ready for marriage and thought that Luke had been too. And she had been eager to start a family, although she hadn’t mentioned that to Luke before she left. One step at a time was the way to go with Luke. She’d never known him to be impulsive. Luke was a planner, a list keeper. He wouldn’t have been open to having a child right away, but she would have talked him round sooner rather than later. Luke liked kids and mentioned his desire for a family several times over the past few years. It had been Quinn who’d been apprehensive. She’d spent years focusing on her career and making a name for herself in academic circles, but now, at thirty, she seemed to melt every time she saw a sweet baby gazing at her from a passing pram and longed for the feel of chubby arms around her neck. There was a time when having a child seemed like a burden and an unnecessary hindrance to her success, but at this moment, she would give up all the ancient bones in the world for the comforting weight of a baby in her arms. But the promise of family had suddenly been snatched away from her, and she found herself mourning the loss of something that had been within her grasp only a few months before.
Quinn blanched as the smell of strong disinfectant assailed her senses. It failed to disguise the note of putrefaction hovering in the air. In fact, it only served to bring attention to it. Dr. Scott was in the middle of an autopsy, his apron covered with substances Quinn didn’t care to name. He gave her a wave through the Plexiglas window and held up his splayed hand, indicating that he’d be done in five minutes. Quinn took a seat outside, reserved for family members coming in to identify their loved ones, and stared out the window. The on-and-off rain that stuck around all weekend had stopped, giving way to a glorious autumn morning. Everything was painted in shades of orange, crimson, and gold, the colors brilliant against an azure sky, the outside a stark contrast to the atmosphere of the morgue, where death ruled with an iron fist.
Dr. Scott finally came out, thankfully sans apron. He’d removed his latex gloves and shook Quinn’s hand, surprising her with the firmness of the handshake. Colin Scott wasn’t tall, but he was lithe, with graceful hands that looked as if they should be holding a paintbrush, not a scalpel. His long sandy hair was pulled back into a bun while he worked, and Quinn was fairly certain that he was fully aware that his surgical cap exactly matched the shade of his eyes. Had she met him at a social function, she would never have taken him for a pathologist. An artist, maybe, or a musician—even a writer—but never for a man who dissected cadavers for a living.
Dr. Scott’s sensual lips stretched into a warm smile as he released her hand.
“Dr. Allenby, a pleasure to meet you. Gabe told me you’d be stopping by.”
“He strong-armed me into taking on this case,” Quinn complained good-naturedly as she smiled back at the doctor, who didn’t seem the least bit affected by the fact that he’d just autopsied a woman who appeared to be in her early forties.
“Me as well, but I was secretly pleased. Unlike those of us in the trenches, the administrators always have to worry about where their funding is coming from. I’d rather get my hands dirty any day rather than panhandle to endless bureaucrats in exchange for measly handouts. Come, let me introduce you to our ‘lovers.’”
“Well, since you put it that way, lead the way,” Quinn said and followed Dr. Scott down the corridor.
“Actually, Sarita Dhawan, my assistant, is performing most of the tests, but she’s very thorough, I assure you.”
They entered a separate room, where a young Asian woman was tapping away at her computer, her huge dark eyes reflecting the screen in front of her. She looked up in greeting, a smile transforming her narrow face from serious to radiant in an instant.
“Good morning, Dr. Allenby,” Sarita called out from her perch as she gave Dr. Scott a questioning look.
“Can you finish up for me, Sarita?” he asked as he inclined his head toward the room he’d just come from. “Just close her up. I’ll enter the results once I’m finished in here.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Sarita answered as she slid off her stool and reached for an apron and a pair of latex gloves.
“What was it that killed her?” Sarita asked.
“Intracerebral hemorrhage,” Dr. Scott replied, his attention already on the metal slab in the middle of the room. Sarita nodded and left the room with some reluctance, casting a look of pure longing at the remains. Whatever Dr. Scott said would be more interesting than closing up a body after an autopsy, a pathologist’s version of grunt work.
“Shall we begin?” Dr. Scott asked as he walked briskly toward the slab, rubbing his hands in childish anticipation.
Two skeletons were laid out side by side, the chest they’d been found in discreetly stored in the corner of the room and wrapped in clear plastic to prevent accelerated decay caused by exposure to oxygen and sunlight. Quinn would examine the chest later, but for now all her attention was focused on the remains. Even if she had not known that the skeletons were those of a male and female, she would have been able to guess just by looking at them. The male skeleton was much longer, raw boned, with large hands and feet. The female was dwarfed by the male, her bones narrow and delicate by comparison. She might have been mistaken for a boy were it not for the wider pelvis.
“So, what have you discovered?” Quinn asked as she accepted a pair of latex gloves from Dr. Scott and approached the slab with some trepidation. She always felt a pang of anxiety when confronted with human remains. These individuals had died years before, but her heart turned over at the sight of them. They’d been living, breathing people once, people who loved and hated and worried about things just as any person did today. They had names and people who cared about them, but now they were just two anonymous skeletons lying on a cold metal slab in a twenty-first-century morgue, their bones almost translucent beneath the merciless florescent light coming from the fixture above.
Dr. Scott didn’t seem to share Quinn’s bout of sentimentality as he reached for a manila folder containing the test results. Unlike her, who dealt with death in a more academic manner, he faced down death every single day and was immune to the ugliness and decay that immediately followed the passing of a person. Dr. Scott was more interested in the physical aspects, whereas Quinn longed to know about the actual person and the life they’d led.
“We’ve conducted the usual tests: carbon-14 dating, mineral analysis, degree of bone calcification, and isotope mapping to determine the paleo environment and reconstruct the paleo diet of the subjects. What we have here are the skeletal remains of a male and a female, and they are roughly four hundred years old. The male was in his mid-twenties. Judging by his height and the condition of his teeth, I’d say that he came from a well-to-do background and enjoyed adequate nutrition for most of his life. There are bony ridges on his right wrist, so he likely did some type of work that required prolonged use of his right hand; I can’t ascertain what kind, but he might have been a craftsman of some sort or a blacksmith—a workingman, at any rate. He’d sustained broken ribs and several broken fingers on his left hand, but they were well healed by the time of his death.”
“How did he die?” Quinn asked, staring at the man’s grinning skull as if it might offer up some clue to his fate.
“There is no indication that he was murdered before being placed in the chest. His skull is intact, and there are no nicks from a knife on any of his bones. It’s possible, of course, that someone could have slid a knife under the ribs and into the heart, but I doubt that was the case since we found no traces of blood, which would have been there had he suffered a violent death. He most likely died of asphyxiation.”
“And the woman?”
“The woman was younger, possibly in her late teens or early twenties. Only two of her wisdom teeth had come in, and clavicle fusion hadn’t occurred yet. There are no obvious signs of violence, so she
likely died in the same way as her mate. I can say, however, that she’d had at least one child, possibly more.”
“Is that all you can tell me?” Quinn asked, slightly disappointed. She hoped for something more to go on before starting her quest for the identity of these two, and Gabe had made it clear that time was of the essence.
“Oh no, my dear. I have lots of surprises for you,” Dr. Scott replied, his tone jovial. “We have been able to recover several strands of hair, bits of fabric, and scraps of leather as well as several metallic objects that you can evaluate at your leisure.”
Dr. Scott led her to a side counter where the specimens were displayed in labeled plastic bags. He was practically glowing with excitement. Quinn supposed that this was a welcome break from autopsying cadavers, a historical puzzle rather than the final journey of someone who was now nothing more than a slab of meat, dissected and analyzed for the benefit of the family who needed answers or for the police, desperate for clues in an investigation.
“Although we found hair, we were unable to extract any nuclear DNA due to the lack of a root. We did, however, find a few broken nails, which were much more helpful. We did extensive DNA testing, and here’s what we found. The man’s hair was dark; it appears to have been either a dark brown or black, and he had light eyes. He was Caucasian, of Norman and Saxon descent, and he was not related to the woman. Can’t say that last bit surprises me,” Dr. Scott joked, implying that the man and woman were romantically involved. They might have been, but Quinn didn’t wish to jump to any conclusions that might sway her findings until she knew more.
“As I mentioned before, he enjoyed a plentiful diet for a man of his time. He might have suffered from a mild calcium and vitamin C deficiency, but that was common since people subsided mostly on bread and meat and hardly ate any vegetables, fruit, or dairy. The deficiency wasn’t severe enough to make him lose his teeth, at least not yet. We x-rayed his skeleton and saw no evidence of disease, which would have appeared as holes or lesions. Bone density is normal. We found that he had a version of the Klotho gene associated with long life.”
The Lovers Page 4