“So, you married her,” Quinn said, wondering what this had to do with the paternity test.
“I did. She didn’t love me. Not in that way. I was a poor substitute for Jack, but Rhoda was desperate, and marrying me seemed like the best way out of a bad situation. I knew it, but I had an agenda of my own. I am sterile, you see. I was married before Rhoda, and when my wife and I failed to conceive, she sent me for a test. I found out then. Jack’s kids were the closest I’d ever come to having my own children, and I’ve been a good father to them. They love me, my girls,” Stephen said, a trifle defensively.
“I’m sure they do,” Quinn agreed, eager for Stephen Kane to get to the end of his story.
“We didn’t get on, Rhoda and I. Sex is the glue that holds a marriage together, but Rhoda just wasn’t interested. We stayed together for the children, and for financial reasons. Rhoda poured her love into the children, but I strayed from time to time. I needed to feel wanted and desired, and I wasn’t about to get that at home. That’s where Sylvia came in. We had a good time, she and I, but when she got pregnant, I knew it couldn’t be mine,” Stephen Kane said as he stubbed out his cigarette.
“Actually, my affair with Sylvia brought things to a head with Rhoda. She was angry and bitter when she found out, so I told her that she should either be a proper wife to me or agree to a divorce. We’re still together, as you can see, so it’s not all sour grapes.”
“Is that why you turned Sylvia away when she came to you for help?”
“What else was I supposed to do? If I helped her, I’d be as good as admitting to the whole village that I shagged a minor and that her child was mine. I told her to ask the real father for help. It wasn’t my problem.”
“Right.”
“Let’s get this over with then, if you’ve no objection. I have a pub to run.”
Quinn took the package out of her handbag and extracted the cotton swab. She handed it to Steven Kane and asked him to scrape the inside of his cheek, which he did. Quinn sealed the swab in a tube and replaced it in the package. She was more than ready to leave.
“Thank you, Mr. Kane. I appreciate your candor and your willingness to help me.”
“I’m sorry, lass. It’s not a pleasant thing, traipsing all over the country, asking strange men if they are your father, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”
In fact, it’s quite demoralizing. There are days when I wish that I could go back to not knowing anything about my true parentage. I think I was actually happier then, Quinn thought bitterly.
Steven Kane got to his feet, signaling that the interview was over. “Would you like a spot of lunch? Rhoda just made the steak and ale pies, and they’re delicious. You look like you need a bit of time to just sit quietly and think.”
Quinn’s stomach growled at the mention of food, but she shook her head. She had no wish to spend any more time in Leicester. She felt disappointed and angry. She knew what happened with the other three men, but Sylvia had actually had a relationship with Stephen Kane. Quinn had hoped that the man cared for her somewhat, but he’d simply taken advantage of her, using her to satisfy needs that weren’t being taken care of at home. Sylvia might have been ‘aware’ as he put it, but she was still a girl, and he’d been a grown man; a man who refused to help her when she came to him. The baby might not have been his, but he still could have been a little less indifferent, a little less selfish.
Quinn walked out of the pub without sparing Rhoda, who was staring at her from behind the bar, a glance. She wished the two of them joy of each other. They might have remained married, but the downward turn of Rhoda’s mouth suggested that she wasn’t a happy woman, or a fulfilled one. Quinn was in no position to judge, but she simply wanted no part of these people. She wanted to go home and throw her arms about the man who loved and desired her. She knew she was lucky, but hearing about the Kanes’ loveless marriage made her that much more aware of her own good fortune.
Quinn sat up and looked out the window as the train approached London. It was nearly dark outside, the rain coming down in a torrent that made the houses along the tracks look like dark, fuzzy blobs. Now that she’d had a little time to think, she felt marginally better. The meeting with Stephen Kane hadn’t been a complete waste. She’d still give his sample to Colin Scott, just to make sure that Kane had been telling the truth. If he was, then there was only one man left on the list — Seth Besson, if Sylvia could be believed. She’d proven herself to be less than honest, and Quinn wondered if there were going to be any more surprises. Her rational side told her to let go of her hopes and terminate her relationship with Sylvia. The woman had done nothing but mislead her, but she was her birth mother, and as Gabe pointed out, we didn’t get to choose our parents.
Quinn grabbed her bag and made her way toward the door as the train eased into St. Pancras station. She’d forgotten to bring an umbrella, so she would get soaked by the time she got her turn at a taxi. Quinn stepped onto the platform and began to walk toward the nearest exit. Her mobile vibrated in her pocket, reminding her that she’d forgotten to call Gabe. He was probably worried sick. Quinn took out the phone and looked at the screen. There was a picture of Emma, wearing her yellow wellies and a matching raincoat. She was holding a Disney Princess umbrella over her head, which she appeared to be twirling happily. The caption said, “Your carriage awaits.” Quinn smiled, her melancholy forgotten. No day could be described as being bad if Gabe and Emma were waiting for her at the end of it.
She found the exit Gabe indicated in his text and spread her arms out to Emma, who catapulted into her, a huge smile on her face. Gabe kissed Quinn over Emma’s head, his eyes searching her face for a hint of how her day went.
“All right?” he asked, and she nodded, thankful that he hadn’t uttered a word of reproach about her not calling.
“You two wait here, and I’ll get the car,” Gabe said. “It’s really coming down.”
“Do you want my umbrella, Gabe?” Emma asked.
“No, I’m all right, sweetheart,” Gabe replied, smiling at the little girl. “You hold on to it.”
“Ok,” Emma said, clearly relieved not to have to give it up.
“Did you have a good day at school?” Quinn asked once they were in the car, and Emma was strapped into her seat.
“We had Show and Tell,” Emma replied.
“So, what did you show?”
“I brought Mr. Rabbit and told them that my mum bought it for me when I was a baby,” Emma replied sadly. “I didn’t tell them she died.”
“You don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to,” Gabe said. “What did the other children bring?” he asked in an effort to distract Emma from her sadness. She went into a litany of items, describing each one in detail. Quinn’s mind began to drift as she rested her hands on her handbag. Stephen Kane’s DNA was inside it, but there was also a pregnancy test that she’d picked up at Boots before boarding the train. It was time to confirm her suspicions and share the news with Gabe if the test was positive. Maybe she’d even do it tonight.
Chapter 54
“So, what was Stephen Kane like?” Gabe asked after reading Emma a story and tucking her into bed. He sat down next to Quinn on the sofa and pulled her into his arms. They hadn’t been able to talk about Quinn’s visit to Leicester with Emma in the room, but Quinn felt Gabe’s gaze on her all through the evening, gauging her mood and offering silent support.
“He was all right. More forthcoming than he needed to be, actually. He said that he’s sterile and couldn’t possibly be my biological father.”
“Do you believe him?” Gabe asked.
“He gave me a sample readily enough, which leads me to believe that he was telling the truth. I’ll verify it with Colin, of course. He also said that Sylvia had been a willing participant in their affair. He called her ‘aware’. Said she knew what she was about,” Quinn said.
“Not an innocent victim then, as she’d like you to believe?”
“We
ll, it’s his word against hers, as it is with all of them. I don’t think anyone would readily admit to taking advantage of a young girl. And people do tend to rationalize their actions in their minds, turning the facts this way and that until they fit with what they wish to believe of themselves.”
“That’s certainly true.” Gabe nodded and looked away, his gaze fixated on nothing in particular. She knew him long enough to recognize it as a gesture of avoidance. He was bursting to say something, but was desperately trying not to influence her one way or the other, and if she stared him down, he’d crack.
“Gabe, I know what you are thinking, so you might as well look at me,” Quinn said.
“Do you?” Gabe asked, still not making eye contact.
“Yes. You are thinking that Sylvia lied to me again and again, and that she might have manipulated the facts to gain my sympathy.”
“Well, it is possible, is it not?” Gabe replied, turning to face Quinn, eyes narrowed in speculation. Someone who didn’t know Gabe would think that he disliked Sylvia and chose to blame the victim, as many would, but with Gabe, it was nothing personal. He believed in facts which could be supported with solid proof. And, more than anything, he wanted to protect Quinn from getting hurt.
“Yes, it is. Rhys didn’t dispute what happened that night, but then again, he is still guilt-ridden by the whole thing because he was ashamed about being coerced by his friends into doing something he clearly hadn’t been comfortable with, with a girl who was too drunk, or drugged, to put up much of a fight.”
“Look, Quinn, Sylvia might have been pure as the driven snow, or she might have been the village slag; you’ll never know the truth, and ultimately, it’s for you to decide if you want to judge her or just chuck it all up to ancient history. She is, without question, your biological mother, and somewhere out there is your father. Of course, whether Seth Besson raped her or shagged a girl who was a willing partner makes a big difference to any possible relationship you might have with him. So, if or when you meet him, perhaps you should give him a fair chance, since you don’t actually know if he’s guilty.”
“So, now you approve of me meeting him?” Quinn asked, trying to hide her amusement.
“I know that you won’t rest until you do, so I will keep my opinions to myself and follow you to the ends of the earth, or to the United States, in this case. I will help you see this to the bitter end.”
“Thank you, Gabe. That means the world to me.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I want you to be happy, and I know that finding out the truth about your heritage and your gift will bring you peace. And whether you choose to have a relationship with your birth parents or not, you will be a happier person for knowing where you came from.”
“And speaking of being a happier person,” Quinn said, smiling into Gabe’s eyes. “I have something to tell you. I’m pregnant,” she said and watched Gabe’s eyes light up with joy. It wasn’t until that moment that she knew that she was truly happy about her news. She’d taken the pregnancy test while Gabe was with Emma, and the proof now lay at the bottom of the rubbish bin. The test came back positive, just as Quinn knew it would. And she was glad.
Gabe pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Oh, that’s wonderful news, love. I’m thrilled. Sometimes I don’t know who is more psychic, you or my mother.”
“What do you mean?”
“I spoke to her this afternoon and she asked me when you were due.”
“What?! How could she possibly know?”
“She said that she saw it in your eyes when we came to collect Emma. She said you can always tell, if you know what to look for.”
“That’s witchery, that is,” Quinn laughed. “So, what did you tell her?”
“I told her that I would let her know as soon as you finally decided to tell me.”
“You knew?” Quinn demanded, amazed that he hadn’t let on.
“I suspected.”
“How?”
Gabe arched an eyebrow, making Quinn laugh. “Well, for starters, your period is late. You’ve blanched the last two times I ate a bacon butty in your presence, and you have declined offers of wine, which is a flashing neon sign in itself to someone who is familiar with your boozy habits.” Quinn playfully smacked his arm, acknowledging the truth of everything he said.
“You’ve also been more tired lately, and often close to tears for no apparent reason.” Gabe cupped her cheek and met Quinn’s gaze. “You didn’t seem pleased with the possibility, so I thought I’d give you a little time to sort your feelings out, if it proved to be true. And it seems that you have.”
“You really notice things, don’t you?” Quinn asked as she touched Gabe’s cheek. “You really care.” Luke wouldn’t have noticed a thing; he’d been too absorbed in himself, and his reaction to this type of news would have been displeasure and some sort of a rebuke, blaming her for allowing it to happen. Luke wouldn’t have cared how she felt, only how the situation would affect him.
“Don’t you ever doubt it,” Gabe replied, covering her hand with his own. “I love you, and I love our baby.”
“I love you too, Gabe. More than you’ll ever know. There’s no one else I’d rather have a child with.”
Quinn leaned into Gabe and he put his arm around her, pulling her close. “We’re not making it to the altar, are we?” Quinn giggled. “I’m not waddling down the aisle, looking like a cream puff.”
“We have a few months before you begin to show, don’t we? I really would prefer to do this right, Quinn. I know it sounds old-fashioned, but I want our child to know that we were married when he was born.”
“He?”
Gabe laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“What’s so funny?” Quinn demanded.
“My mother asked when ‘he’ is due. Phoebe Russell hasn’t been wrong in forty years, so yes, it’s a boy.”
Quinn laid her hand gently over her flat stomach. A boy. A son. The idea made her unbearably happy. She would be just as happy with a girl, but the notion of a boy felt right somehow, as if some Earth Mother instinct was alive and well within her.
“So, what are you saying?” Quinn asked, her mind reluctantly returning to their conversation.
“I’m saying that we should set a date. April would be too soon, but maybe in May? Call your parents and tell them to book a flight, and if you don’t feel like dealing with the details of planning a wedding, there’s nothing my mother would enjoy more. Just tell her what you like, and leave it in her capable hands. All you have to do is buy a dress and show up at the church. What do you say?”
Quinn considered this for a moment. Was it really that simple? She’d always imagined a big, white wedding, but what she wanted at this stage of her life was a small, intimate affair with only friends and family. Suddenly, getting married in Berwick seemed like a lovely idea. They could have a wedding reception at the house or out in the garden if the weather was fine. In May, everything would be in bloom, and with any luck, the sky would actually be blue rather than that particular shade of English slate-gray.
Quinn reached for her mobile and opened the calendar. “May 24th,” she proclaimed. “I will be about four months pregnant then. With the right gown, I can pull it off.”
“May 24th,” Gabe agreed and kissed her tenderly. “Shall we put General Russell in charge?”
“I think your mother has just been promoted to Brigadier. I’ll draw up a list of ideas and discuss it with her, and I’ll ask Jill to find me a dress. She’ll know exactly what I’ll need.”
Gabe removed the phone from Quinn’s hand and pushed her down onto the sofa.
“Oh no, you don’t. Emma can walk in at any moment.”
“Right,” Gabe chuckled. “I keep forgetting we have to act like respectable, law-abiding citizens.”
He stood up and scooped Quinn into his arms, easily carrying her to their bedroom and kicking the door shut with his foot. Quinn’s last coherent thought w
as that she quite liked being respectable.
Chapter 55
March 1347
Dunwich, Suffolk
Prior Jacob rose earlier than usual. It would be another three hours before daylight finally chased away the shadows of the night, but he couldn’t wait. He was determined to get the unpleasant task over with, even if he had to miss Terce. He never missed a prayer, not even when he was ill; this morning would be the first time since he’d joined the order. The cell was freezing. Prior Jacob’s breath came out in vaporous puffs as he slid his feet into his shoes to avoid touching the icy stone floor with his bare feet. He pulled the coarse robe on over the linen shirt he wore to bed and belted it with a rope before genuflecting to the crucifix above his cot and leaving his cell. The leather soles of his shoes made a slapping sound against the floor as he hurried down the dark corridor.
Father Avery and his lover had sinned, and their son was clearly possessed of the devil, but Christ had healed the sick and forgiven the sinners, so Prior Jacob could not bring himself to condemn them. He would do his duty, but allow someone else to sit in judgment of the accused. Prior Jacob opened the door to his study and was greeted by utter chaos. Scrolls were scattered across the floor, and the chair was overturned, as was the inkwell. The ink pooled like bile on the surface of the desk and dripped onto the floor where it reached the edge. Prior Jacob had to grab on to the door jamb as a strong gust of wind nearly blew him out of the room. The shutter had been torn from the window and a gale seemed to be blowing off the sea.
The prior bent his head into the wind, picked up the shutter, and forced it back into the window, blocking out the wind. Mere seconds later, the shutter exploded out of the frame, nearly knocking him off his feet. Prior Jacob grabbed whatever documents he could carry in his arms and left the study, crossing to an empty cell across the corridor, where he deposited the scrolls. The narrow window faced in the opposite direction, so the scrolls would be safe. The prior stood in the middle of the corridor, suddenly plagued by indecision. He couldn’t just leave without warning the others of impending danger, so he headed back toward the friars’ cells. Several brothers were already up, calling for the others to wake as they moved down the corridor. They cupped their hands around the flames of their candles to keep them from going out in the strong draft. The meager light illuminated only the bottom portion of their faces, making them look otherworldly.
The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2) Page 29