The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2)

by Irina Shapiro

  Edwin stopped and sat down on a fallen log, looking out over the cliff toward the placid sea. It was as still as glass today, the water sparkling in the winter sunshine and stretching as far as the eye could see. It was cold sitting there on the log, but Edwin hardly noticed. He was used to being cold. He closed his eyes and inhaled the brine-scented air, filling his lungs to capacity. He hadn’t felt so peaceful in weeks, and it was all thanks to Father Avery. Edwin had no idea why the priest took such an interest in them these days, but whatever motivated him to want to help was much appreciated. A few tasty tidbits appeared on the table on the days when his mother was at home, and there was plenty of firewood to keep them warm.

  Grandmother Maude didn’t seem pleased by Father Avery’s visits, throwing him stealthy looks as he tried to engage Edwin in conversation and teased the girls. Edwin couldn’t understand his grandmother’s displeasure. Father Avery was a man of God, a priest of the Church. What harm could his presence do? Edwin looked to his mother, who seemed lighter somehow. She even looked younger these days, the groove between her eyebrows gone, and the dead look in her eyes replaced by one of hope and humor. His mother could use a friend, and after today’s tour of the priory, it was clear that so could Edwin. He’d refused to come to the priory for nearly two weeks, but his objections had been for nothing.

  Edwin got to his feet and began to walk quickly to ward off the chill. He looked forward to returning to the priory tomorrow to begin his training. Sure, he’d be making ink and sharpening quills, but he’d also learn about mixing paints and grinding gold. It was the first step to creating something wonderful, and the prospect made him smile.

  Chapter 42

  “Mistress Ordell, won’t you join us?” Thomas asked as Petra set down a platter of honey-roasted pork on the table. He gave her an expectant look, willing her to agree.

  “I have much to do, my lord,” Petra replied as she caught a look of disapproval from Lady Blythe.

  “Surely it can wait, and you must eat. Come now,” he said, patting the chair next to him in invitation. “Nan, set another place,” Thomas called out to Nan who’d gone back to the kitchen to get a flagon of wine.

  Petra obediently sat down and accepted a slice of pork accompanied by stewed apples. She took a small bite of pork, uncomfortable under Lady Blythe’s unwavering gaze. She could almost hear what the old woman was thinking. You are beneath my son, and there’s no place for you in this family. Do the right thing and reject his proposal, or I will make your life a living Hell.

  Petra averted her eyes and stared into her plate, wishing that she’d declined his invitation to dine. Thomas finished his wine and refilled his cup. He had a hearty appetite and ate with relish, oblivious to the undercurrents passing between the two women.

  “I hope your trip was a success,” Petra said. Thomas had returned only last night and hadn’t had the chance to tell her what happened during his travels.

  “It was very successful,” Lady Blythe interjected. “Thomas talked circles around those dumb farmers. Didn’t you, Son?”

  Thomas seemed annoyed with his mother, but rearranged his face into an expression of civility and replied. “Yes, it was a success. I was able to retain most of our suppliers, save for two, who thought that selling to Master Nevins this year would be worth the risk. I wished them good fortune in their endeavors, and we parted ways on good terms.”

  “More the fool, you,” Lady Blythe cut in again. “You should have taken them to task, and reminded them how much this family had done for them. Your father lifted those peasants out of abject poverty when he offered them decent prices for their wool and made good on his promise to purchase from them year after year. They owe us not only their livelihoods, but their very lives.”

  “I think that’s overstating it a bit, Mother,” Thomas said. “Anyhow, I have no wish to talk business at the dinner table. I’ve done enough of that during the past three weeks. Mistress Ordell, how is your family? I hear your son is to be apprenticed to the scribes at Greyfriars. What a marvelous opportunity.”

  “A man should do man’s work,” Lady Blythe grumbled, her mouth full.

  “Not if he can do God’s work, Lady Blythe,” Petra retorted, thoroughly annoyed with the woman.

  “Sharpening quills is God’s work now, is it?”

  “Well, I’ve eaten my fill,” Thomas said and pushed away his plate. “Mistress Ordell, would you join me for a walk? It’s a fine day, and I think my mother is ready for a rest. She seems unusually snappish today. Due to fatigue, no doubt,” he added in response to his mother’s sharp glance.

  “Do not presume to shut me up, boy. I don’t pay Mistress Ordell to go prancing about with my son,” Lady Blythe countered, but was ignored.

  “Come, let’s put some color in those cheeks,” Thomas said as he took Petra’s hand. “Nan, see to my mother until Petra returns,” he ordered the servant, not even sparing her a glance.

  “I think she hates me,” Petra said as Thomas helped her on with her cloak.

  “Don’t give it another thought,” Thomas replied, smiling into her eyes.

  Easy for you to say, Petra thought, but smiled back and tied the cloak’s strings beneath her chin before accepting Thomas’s arm and stepping out into the mild February afternoon. It felt wonderful to be outside during the day. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be out during the daylight hours. Petra inhaled deeply, enjoying the tang of the sea and the brisk spring air. The normally-gray waters of the North Sea sparkled in the afternoon sunshine, seagulls wheeling overhead as they dove for fish. The docks bustled with activity. Several ships were in the process of being outfitted for the first voyage of the spring, and men called out to each other cheerfully as they went about their business. Several women passed by, chatting easily as they returned from the market, baskets slug over their arms. Some merchants lowered their prices toward the late afternoon, eager to sell off their daily inventory, so many thrifty wives waited until later in the day to do their marketing. The leftover produce and cuts of meat were not as fresh after sitting in the stall since the early hours, but in the colder months, it was safe enough to wait.

  Thomas turned Petra away from the center of town and began to walk in the direction of Blackfriars. The street grew less crowded, allowing them to have a private conversation.

  “Petra, which church do you attend?” Thomas asked, as they walked past the harbor. He did not take her arm, since that wouldn’t be proper, but he walked closer to her than was strictly necessary, inviting the curious looks of passersby.

  “St. Leonard’s,” Petra replied, wondering why he wished to know.

  “I thought I might join you for Sunday Mass. Meet your family,” he suggested. He was still smiling, but his eyes were anxious, waiting for her to reply.

  “If you wish it, Thomas. My mother and children would be honored to make your acquaintance,” she replied. This was it. If she refused to allow him to come to Mass and meet her family, he’d take it as a rejection of his proposal, leaving her at the mercy of Lady Blythe, who would instantly dismiss her and probably spread the word that she’d stolen something, or gave offense in some other way, therefore preventing anyone else from giving her honest employment.

  “I’ve asked my mother to accompany me on Sunday. That’s how hopeful I was that you wouldn’t object,” he said, grinning broadly. “I’d even offered to hire a litter for her, since it’s too far to walk.”

  Petra smiled. “I fear to ask what her reaction was. She’s very openly against our union.”

  “I am perfectly capable of using my legs,” Thomas said, doing a credible impersonation of his mother. “And, why should I attend a different church after decades of praying at St. Martin’s?”

  Petra laughed, and Thomas laughed with her, his happiness making him look a decade younger as he gazed at her. He was amused by his mother’s rebuke, and indifferent to her opinion. He’d married a woman of her choosing once, and he wasn’t about to do so a second time.
And marry he would.

  “Petra, I brought you a small gift. I hope you will accept it as a token of my affection,” Thomas said as he reached into the pocket of his breeches. He drew out a small leather pouch and held it out to Petra, like a child bringing his mother a spring flower that he picked just for her.

  Petra accepted the pouch and held it in her hand for a moment before opening it, enjoying the feel of smooth leather and the promise of the solid object within. Her heart thudded with nervousness and excitement. No one had ever given her a gift before. Cyril had paid for things that were necessary, but he’d never bought her presents. He thought that trinkets were frivolous and a waste of good money, which could be spent on more important things, such as tankards of ale at the tavern. Petra opened the pouch with trembling hands and drew out a small bird. It was crafted of silver, the detail so exquisite that it looked as if it might spread its wings and take flight. The eyes were made of sapphires and there were several tiny rubies twinkling in the plumage of its tail.

  “It’s a clasp for your cloak,” Thomas explained. “May I put it on for you?”

  Petra nodded as tears pricked her eyes. He was so kind, and so generous. But would it last?

  “It’s exquisite,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

  “A bird is a symbol of freedom,” Thomas said, as he deftly pinned the clasp to her cloak. “I wanted to reassure you that you will not lose yours if you agree to marry me. I have no wish to own you, Petra. I’m at a point in my life where I wish for companionship and affection, not blind obedience.”

  “Did your wife give you blind obedience?” Petra asked, curious about Thomas’s marriage. He never spoke of his wife, or even his daughter, who expressed little desire to see him since her marriage.

  “She did. She never questioned my judgment or argued with me. My word was law.”

  “How fortunate for you,” Petra mumbled as they resumed their walk.

  “It was very dull, if you must know. I enjoy a spirited argument.”

  “Would you not have beaten her if she challenged you?” Petra asked. Cyril beat her mercilessly the few times she dared express an opinion different from his.

  Thomas’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Of course not. A wife should respect her husband and defer to him, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t permitted an opinion of her own. God knows my mother always had something to say on every subject,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting in mirth. “My father always said that my mother was twice as cunning as any man. He heeded her counsel on many an occasion, and was never ashamed to admit it.”

  “Sadly, my husband did not share your view of matrimony,” Petra replied.

  “I’m sorry for that. You mustn’t fear me, Petra,” Thomas added. “I have no wish to hurt you.”

  “I know, Thomas.”

  No, Thomas had no wish to hurt her, but she was hurting nonetheless. Thomas could offer her not only a comfortable life, but a safe and prosperous future for her children. He would provide a dowry for her daughters when the time came, and perhaps school her son in the business and make him a partner. Wool-trading would be a safe enough occupation for Edwin. Maybe Edwin would even be able to take a bride. He’d need someone to look after him once he was a man grown. Marriage to Thomas would solve Petra’s every problem, but having Avery back in her life changed everything.

  She was tempted to throw away a gilded future to spend time with a man who could never give her a life. After twelve years of denial, the passion had come back like an insatiable hunger, one that wouldn’t be satisfied with a few stolen hours. Petra ached for Avery every hour of the day, counting the moments until she could finally escape the mind-numbing boredom of Lady Blythe’s company and meet Avery for a brief rendezvous before returning to her own hearth. Avery had discovered an abandoned house close to the beach. The house was a one-room hovel with a packed dirt floor and a leaky thatch roof, but it served its purpose — it kept them safe from prying eyes.

  In fact, there were quite a few empty dwellings in town, since the more cautious inhabitants of Dunwich moved further inland after the last big storm. Even the monastery had been moved from its original location at the end of the last century, the friars fearful that their house of worship would get swept out to sea. It would be too risky to meet in town, but the house by the beach was far enough from the nearest neighbor to guarantee privacy and lack of curious passersby.

  Avery waited for Petra at their secret place twice a week, and Petra nearly howled with frustration when Thomas chose those days to escort her home. Having him away had been a blessing of sorts, but now he was back, and he wanted an answer. The rational part of Petra wished that Avery would just return to Oxford. The longer he remained in Dunwich, the greater the chance that they would be discovered, but the emotional part of her wished that he’d stay forever. She was truly happy for the first time since she was fifteen, and the thought of giving Avery up once more made her heart contract with sorrow. But there were dangers, and not only from without. She’d fallen pregnant once, and she might do so again. How would she explain away a pregnancy when she was a window meant to be in mourning for her husband? The risk was too great.

  Thomas stopped walking and turned to face Petra. His lean cheeks were ruddy with cold, and his eyes shone with hope as he gazed down at her. “Petra, I promised myself when we set out on this walk that I would just give you your present and not demand an answer from you, but truly, I can’t wait any longer. I think you already know what your decision will be, so there’s no sense in putting this off. You either wish to share your life with me, or you don’t. No amount of waiting is going to change that. What say you?”

  “I say yes, Thomas,” Petra replied, her voice firm and clear despite the turmoil raging in her heart. Had she been free to choose, she would have thanked him for his kindness and gently rejected him, but what choice was there? Refusing Thomas meant poverty, uncertainty, and possible disgrace. She’d had a few weeks of joy, now it was time to face real life again and think of her children.

  Chapter 43

  February 2014

  London, England

  Quinn smiled happily as she walked toward the Institute. It was warm for February, and the rain of the past few days had given way to pleasant sunshine, reminding her that spring wasn’t far off. She was due to meet Gabe in a half hour to register Emma for the nursery school they’d chosen. It was close to the Institute, which was convenient since Gabe would be able to drop Emma off and pick her up on his way home. The school was charming, and the staff left a very favorable impression on both Quinn and Gabe. Now that they had chosen a school, Quinn felt more at ease. It seemed utterly overwhelming at first, but things were starting to come together, and the initial panic of suddenly having to raise a child was slowly giving way to a sense of order.

  We can do this, Quinn thought as she strolled along. Perhaps she could even talk Gabe into having a celebratory dinner at that Mediterranean place they both liked, since it might be their last for a while. They were going to pick up Emma from Gabe’s parents tomorrow. Phoebe and Graham were a little forlorn at having to part with Emma. She’d brought a ray of sunshine into their lives, but they saw the necessity of Emma being with her father and settling into a life in London. They called every night and put Emma on the phone to speak with Quinn and Gabe. Gabe dutifully reported on the progress of Emma’s room, and Quinn told her about the nursery school, describing it in the most favorable terms possible.

  “I want my old school,” Emma wailed. “I miss my friends.”

  “You will make new friends,” Quinn promised.

  “What if no one likes me?” Emma breathed.

  “Of course, they’ll like you,” Gabe assured her. “Why wouldn’t they?”

  “Because I have a funny accent,” Emma replied. “Mrs. Edwards at the post office said so. She said I sound like a proper little Scot, and she can barely understand me.”

  “Ah, Mrs. Edwards,” Gabe replied, clearly annoyed. “Y
ou pay no attention to her.”

  “That’s what Granddad said,” Emma said. “He said she has a face like a smacked bottom.”

  Quinn covered the mouthpiece, and snorted with laughter. Leave it to Graham to make the most inappropriate observation in front of a four-year-old. Quinn was sure that Emma would store that phrase and use it at the first available opportunity, most likely at nursery school. Quinn expected Gabe to say something very correct, but instead he burst out laughing and said, “She certainly does, and that’s on a good day.”

  Emma’s tinkling laugh came over the line. She felt better, and that was that mattered. “All right. I’ll give it a go,” she promised. “Would Mum have liked this school?” she suddenly asked.

  “I really think she would have,” Gabe replied.

  “All right,” Emma said again, more subdued now. “I’m going to have my bath now. Bye.”

  “I have to go,” Phoebe said after Emma ran off. “But, just so you know, Mrs. Edwards has been dealt with.”