They’d started talking about baby names, but for some reason no name felt quite right yet. Since Phoebe kept insisting that the baby was a boy, they’d come up with several male names, but the only one Quinn was partial to was Alexander. Gabe hadn’t mentioned it, but she was sure he wouldn’t be averse to naming the child Graham, after his father. Quinn understood the sentiment, and would have loved to honor Gabe’s dad in that way, but she just couldn’t warm up to the name. To her, Graham was an old-fashioned name, not a name for a little boy, or even an adolescent. She wanted her child to have a name that was trendy and modern. She wouldn’t object to giving Graham as a middle name, if it came to that. Perhaps she’d stop by Waterstone’s and pick up a book of baby names.
Quinn was just about to leave the café when her phone buzzed. It was a text from Rhys, asking her to stop into the BBC offices to sign the renewed contract. He went on to say that he could overnight it to her if she didn’t feel up to coming in person. Quinn glanced at her watch. She had hours until Emma needed to be collected from nursery school, and a walk was just what she needed. Waterstone’s could wait.
On my way, Quinn texted back and slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. She put on her sunglasses and headed out into the glorious afternoon, her mind on the fifteenth-century remains she’d so recently seen.
The BBC head office in Portland Place sparkled with reflected sunshine as Quinn approached. A number of people milled about outside, talking on their mobiles, sneaking a quick cigarette, or just enjoying a few minutes of sunshine before returning to their desks. Quinn signed in and took the elevator to Rhys’s floor. His PA invited her to sit down.
“He’s in a meeting, but should be wrapping things up,” Deborah said, glancing at the clock. “Can I get you a cup of tea or some water?”
“Thank you. I’m all right. I’ll just wait.”
Quinn took a seat on the ultra-modern white leather sofa and checked her phone. There was a missed call from her mum and several new texts. Jill had sent a photo of a charming empire-waist frock in apple green. The caption read: You like?
Quinn responded: I like. Keep it aside for me, and any peasant blouses you might have in my size. I can still get away with wearing those. She glanced down at her stomach. She’d have to start buying maternity clothes soon. Her elastic-waist leggings were becoming too tight around the waist and she was uncomfortable. It was about time, she supposed. She’d just entered her third trimester.
Quinn scrolled through the unread texts and found a message from Sylvia. She wanted to know if Quinn might like to meet for lunch at the weekend. Sylvia omitted any mention of Gabe, which meant that she was still angry about the incident with Jude. Quinn sighed with frustration. Why did people have to make things so difficult? Gabe refused to apologize—not that he should have to—and Sylvia refused to see that Gabe was justified. They hadn’t come face to face since the incident with Emma, and Quinn hoped that Emma’s birthday party might give them the opportunity to bury the hatchet. She smiled wryly. She’d learned that expression from Seth. She hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, and knew that she should reach out, but every time she thought of Brett, her stomach contracted with fear. She didn’t want to revisit the events that had landed Brett in prison, and talking to Seth inevitably brought it all back.
Quinn’s thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the door. Rhys stepped into the anteroom, followed by an elderly gentleman wearing a clerical collar. They were still talking, but Rhys gave Quinn a warm smile and beckoned to her.
“Reverend, this is Dr. Quinn Allenby. Or is it Dr. Russell now?” Rhys asked.
“I’m keeping my maiden name professionally,” Quinn replied.
“Dr. Allenby, this the Reverend Alan Seaton. He’s just written a best-selling book about the life of Richard III and given all the recent interest in Richard, the BBC has invited him to do an interview and an overview of his work. The reverend was there when they unearthed Richard’s remains. Isn’t that so, Reverend?” Rhys asked, inviting the man to enter the conversation. “And he’s campaigning to have Richard interred at Leicester Cathedral.”
Quinn suddenly felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. She knew the name sounded familiar, but hadn’t made the connection until Rhys mentioned Leicester Cathedral.
“Reverend Alan Seaton?” she gasped, looking at the man closely. “Are you the same Reverend Alan Seaton who found an infant in September of 1983?”
“Yes, I am,” the reverend replied shyly. “I’m amazed that you’d remember that story. You must have been an infant yourself at that time. I always did wonder what happened to those girls,” he said, shaking his head.
“Sorry, how do you mean?” Quinn asked. Her knees suddenly felt like jelly and her stomach felt hollow and jittery.
“Quinn, you’re white as a sheet. You’d better sit down,” Rhys said. “Reverend, Dr. Allenby is the baby you found that day.”
“You said ‘those girls’, Reverend,” Quinn breathed as she stumbled to the sofa and sat down hard. Her mouth had gone dry and she suddenly wished she’d accepted the offer of a glass of water.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to distress you. Yes, there were two babies. I assumed you knew.”
Quinn shook her head. “But that’s impossible. I saw the news article. My parents showed it to me. It said ‘infant’, not ‘infants’.”
“Deborah, get Dr. Allenby some water,” Rhys barked. His PA sprang to her feet and ran to the water fountain in the corridor.
I must look as awful as I feel, Quinn thought hysterically.
“Perhaps we’d better continue this in my office,” Rhys said as he accepted a cup of water from Deborah. “Come, Quinn.” Rhys gave Quinn a hand up and steered her into his office, where he installed her in a comfortable chair and handed her the water before shutting the door on Deborah’s curious stare. The Reverend took the other guest chair, while Rhys sat behind his desk.
“I’m so sorry,” Reverend Seaton said again. “Are you all right, Dr. Allenby?”
Quinn nodded, too stunned to speak. She took several sips of water, but her mouth was still dry and her heartrate had accelerated, leaving her breathless. “Please, tell me what happened. From the beginning.”
The reverend nodded and began. “It was a weekday in late September. It was still fairly early in the morning, so the cathedral was empty. We’d just opened, you see,” he explained. “I was in the vestry, having a cup of tea and preparing for the morning service, when I thought I heard something odd. A mewling, you might call it. I stepped out and saw a bundle in the front pew. At first, I thought someone had forgotten their jumper, but then I heard the whimpering and knew it wasn’t a jumper at all. The baby got tired of fussing and let out a howl, the likes of which I’ll never forget.” He smiled at the memory. “You had some lungs on you, young lady.”
“But I was there alone,” Quinn clarified. “You said bundle, not bundles.”
“You were alone. I picked you up and looked around, assuming the mother was nearby or maybe went to the ladies’ room and thought it safe to leave you lying around. There was no one there. You quieted down and were studying me with as much interest as I was studying you. I’d baptized quite a few babies, so I could tell you were a newborn, and then I saw the note inside your blanket and realized that you’d been abandoned. I took you into the vestry and called the police. They arrived quickly, and brought a case worker with them. She took possession of you right away.”
“What did she do?” Quinn asked, fascinated. She had never heard this part of the story.
“She was well prepared. She had clean nappies, a blanket, in case one was needed, and several bottles of baby formula. She changed you and fed you in the vestry while the officers searched for the mother. It was then that she told me she’d just come from the Leicester Royal Infirmary. A baby had been left in the waiting area of the Children’s Emergency Department. The baby was wrapped in a blanket and had a note tucked inside
.”
“What did it say?” Quinn whispered.
“Quentin, born September twenty-seventh, 1983.”
Quinn’s hand flew to her mouth. “But why? Why was she left at the hospital?”
“The baby had difficulty breathing and had a bluish color about her when she was discovered by hospital staff. She was born with a heart murmur. The case worker assured me the child would recover fully after surgery. Once it was well enough to leave the hospital, it would be put up for adoption, if the mother didn’t come to claim it. She did study the note carefully, and was certain that the handwriting was the same.”
“What happened to her?” Quinn cried. “Why did no one ever tell me I had a sister?”
“I can only assume your adoptive parents never knew. Clearly, you two were treated as separate cases. I don’t know if any tests were ever performed to determine if you were indeed twins, but I’d say that the answer is obvious.”
“Not to me,” Quinn replied, shaken. “I found my birth mother less than a year ago. Quite by chance. We talked at length of the events that led to my birth and abandonment, but she never once mentioned a second baby. She wouldn’t withhold something like that from me, would she?” Quinn asked, turning to Rhys, who looked as shocked as she felt. “Rhys, would Sylvia really not tell me?”
Rhys shook his head. “I don’t know, Quinn. I’d like to say that Sylvia would never do such a thing, but I’m finding that I don’t know her nearly as well as I thought I did. I’ve caught her in several lies as well, as of late.”
“Really?” Quinn breathed.
Rhys nodded. “I’d rather not go into details.”
“I understand.” She turned to Reverend Seaton. “Reverend, did you ever follow up on what happened to us?”
“Once you entered the system, no one would tell me anything. I wasn’t a relative and had no legal right to any information. I checked the papers for years, hoping for a mention of your case, but there was never anything. I must admit that I assumed you two would have been kept together, given the circumstances.”
“You never saw an obituary for a baby named Quentin?” Quinn asked, holding her breath until the reverend shook his head.
“No. Never. The case worker assured me the baby would be all right. I had no reason to doubt her word.”
“Quinn, would you like a moment alone?” Rhys asked gently.
“Please,” Quinn muttered.
“Come, Reverend, I’ll walk you out. We’ll talk again soon. Would it be all right if Quinn contacted you should she need any further information?” Rhys asked.
“Of course. Anytime. And Quinn, if you wish to talk, I’ll be in London for another week. I’d be happy to meet you anywhere you like.”
“Thank you, Reverend. That’s very kind.”
Quinn buried her head in her hands as soon as Rhys and the reverend left the office. She was shaking all over, and could feel an angry flush spreading from her chest up to her neck and face. Her cheeks were flaming. Her heart was galloping like a terrified horse and she was short of breath.
“Do you have your heart pressure medication?” Rhys asked as soon as he came back into the office.
Quinn nodded, but didn’t have the strength to find it. Rhys unceremoniously dumped the contents of her bag onto his desk and found the bottle. He checked the dosage, then took out a tablet and held it out to Quinn. She obediently took the medicine and drank the rest of the water, but it would take at least a quarter of an hour for the drug to take effect.
“You need to lie down,” Rhys said, taking control. He led Quinn over to his sofa and made sure she was comfortable. “All right?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
“I’m calling Gabe.”
Chapter 25
Gabe rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. His head was pounding and he could use a stiff drink to calm his nerves, but it was past midnight and he’d be better off going to bed, if he could manage to relax enough to fall asleep. Quinn had finally dozed off, but her eyelids fluttered as if she were having a bad dream and she was whimpering in her sleep. Gabe could make out the tear tracks on her cheeks in the silvery moonlight. Her belly shivered like shifting sands, the baby now wide awake when its mother needed rest.
The news about Quinn’s twin couldn’t have come at a worse time, and Gabe felt a renewed burst of anger toward Sylvia. Would this never end? The woman had misled Quinn time and again, and still there were more secrets and lies. Gabe fervently wished Sylvia had never found Quinn. Quinn would have always wondered about her birth parents, as many adopted children did, but she wouldn’t have had to deal with all the heartache and disillusionment meeting Sylvia had brought into her life.
Quinn refused to condemn Sylvia without first confronting her, but Gabe’s mind was made up. Sylvia was poison, and he would do anything to keep Quinn from meeting with her. Of course, Quinn had a right to know the truth, but her blood pressure had been dangerously elevated when he’d fetched her from Rhys’s office, and she’d been pale and shaky. Gabe had asked Brenda McGann to collect Emma from school and take her out for pizza to give him time to calm Quinn down and talk the situation through.
He’d meant to argue his case against Sylvia, but Quinn had been so distressed that he’d simply held her and let her cry until she’d eventually exhausted herself enough to allow him to make her some chamomile tea and draw her a warm bath. The bath had helped somewhat, but as soon as Quinn had toweled herself dry and climbed into bed, the tears had begun anew. The revelation that Sylvia had repeatedly lied to her and that she had a twin sister out there was simply too much for Quinn to absorb, and she’d returned to the same questions again and again, unable to make sense of the situation.
The conversation would resume as soon as Quinn opened her eyes in the morning, and Gabe needed to figure out a plan for Quinn to get her answers, but suffer no ill effects. Easier said than done. Gabe almost wished he could confront Sylvia himself, but it wasn’t his place, nor would he have enough self-control not to wring the woman’s neck. Perhaps he could ask Logan to mediate. Logan’s presence might keep the conversation between Sylvia and Quinn from escalating into nuclear warfare, but it didn’t seem fair to bring him into it. Sylvia was Logan’s mother, and he didn’t need to be confronted with these terrible secrets from her past.
Gabe sighed and went to check on Emma, who was sleeping fitfully, Mr. Rabbit clutched in her hand. She always sensed when something was wrong, and began to fret, terrified that the new development would somehow destroy her happy home. Poor child. She’d been through so much already. She didn’t need this additional stress when she was about to start at a new school and share her parents with a new sibling. That was enough for any small child to deal with. Gabe tucked the duvet tighter around Emma’s shoulders and left the room on silent feet. She was a light sleeper, and once woken, would take hours to go back to sleep.
Gabe got into bed, folded his hands behind his head, and stared up at the murky white ceiling. Preventing Quinn from confronting Sylvia would take an act of God. He couldn’t keep that conversation from taking place, but perhaps he could offer Quinn a distraction before the epic confrontation. He’d fetch the sword back from the institute in the morning and let Quinn have a go. The distraction would help—he hoped.
Chapter 26
April 1461
Berwick-upon-Tweed, Northumberland
Guy came awake slowly, his lids fluttering like the wings of a butterfly before finally opening all the way. He’d been sleeping a lot, since there wasn’t much else he could do in his weakened state. His arm still felt like a fallen log, and he experienced excruciating pain every time he tried to move it. This made everyday tasks difficult. Even eating had become a challenge, since he couldn’t cut his meat with his left hand. Walter had to cut up the meat for him, like he would for a small child. Nurse had helped him bathe the day before. She was the only person in his life in front of whom he could never be embarrassed. She loved him for who he was, and had
done so since he was an infant. Nurse was the closest thing he had to a mother, and although he’d never admit it to Hugh, he cherished her as he would a beloved parent.
Guy glanced toward the window to gauge the time. He was hungry, so it had to be getting close to suppertime. He also needed to piss, so he carefully slid off the bed and used his foot to slide the chamber pot from beneath the bed. After relieving himself, he congratulated himself on completing this important task on his own, and lay back down. He felt lightheaded and weak after standing for less than a minute.
When Walter quietly opened the door and peeked inside, Guy beckoned him to come in.
“Just checking if you’re awake, sir,” Walter said as he advanced into the room with a laden wooden tray. “With Cook’s compliments,” he added impishly.
“Pour me some wine, Walter. I’m thirsty.”
Walter poured Guy a cup of wine and set the tray on the counterpane next to him. It contained a bread trencher filled with mutton, thick with gravy and onions. The gravy had soaked into the bread, making it too messy to eat with his hand.
“Shall I cut it up?” Walter asked.
“Please. Walter, I thought I heard hoof beats a few minutes ago.” Guy took a mouthful of bread and mutton and began to chew. It was good, and hot, and he instantly felt better.
“Aye, you did, sir.”
“Well, who was it?”
Walter’s eyes danced with mischief, and he clearly couldn’t wait to divulge whatever news he was withholding. “The master is back. And Sister Catherine is with him,” he said, watching Guy for a reaction.
The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past Book 4) Page 14