The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2)

by Irina Shapiro

  Quinn grabbed her coat and handbag and fled the flat. She needed Gabe and Emma. She needed to be with those she loved, and to feel that she was safe in her time and her world. Her own baby was probably the size of a pea, but already she felt fiercely protective toward it, which made the murder of Edwin even more heart-wrenching. To watch your baby die was probably the worst thing that could happen to a mother. Quinn hoped that Petra was gone by the time Edwin was killed, and that she had at least been granted that last kindness by an indifferent God.

  Quinn headed toward the playground where Gabe had taken Emma an hour ago. They would be ready for lunch by now, and going to a warm, noisy place full of chatter and laughter was exactly what Quinn needed to force the awful images from her mind. Perhaps they’d go get a pizza, or maybe go to a pub. Quinn had a hankering for a steak and ale pie with mash and maybe she could talk Gabe into splitting a sticky toffee pudding with her. She rarely ate a big lunch because it made her sluggish, but she was suddenly hungry.

  “It’s all your fault,” she whispered to the baby in her belly. “Making your presence known already, you little rascal.”

  The park was a few streets away, but Quinn became aware that something was wrong as soon as she turned the corner. She saw the flashing lights of police vehicles and heard the crackle of radios as she rushed toward the playground. Several mothers were shepherding their children out of the play area, while two police officers interviewed the remaining parents. The mothers held on tightly to their children while they spoke to the coppers and seemed desperate to leave the playground. The children looked frightened and fascinated at the same time, curious as to what the adults were so upset about. A plain-clothes policeman, probably a detective, was sitting on a bench next to Gabe, who had his head in his hands.

  “Madam, you can’t go in there,” a female cop said, but Quinn ignored her and ran toward Gabe.

  “Gabe, what’s happened?” she cried. “Where is Emma?”

  Gabe’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice. He looked stricken, his eyes filled with fear and guilt as he met Quinn’s gaze. She froze in her tracks, understanding dawning with sickening clarity. The police were here about Emma.

  “And you are?” the detective asked gently.

  “I’m Quinn Allenby, Dr. Russell’s fiancée. Where is Emma?” Quinn pleaded.

  “Ms. Allenby, I’m DI Delaney. We don’t have a clear picture of what happened as of yet. Emma might have been taken, or she might have wandered off. We have our people scouring the streets, and we are questioning all the witnesses.”

  “I looked away for a moment,” Gabe choked out. “Just a moment. I got an email from work. It’s all my fault, Quinn. My fault,” he muttered.

  Gabe looked as if he were about to cry. His mobile was on the bench next to him, an innocent-looking object that was the cause of so much fear and self-loathing. Quinn pulled Gabe into her arms in a futile effort to hold him together. He was shaking badly. Gabe was always the calm, rational one. He believed that any situation could be resolved if approached with common sense and proper information, and that most mistakes weren’t fatal, just foolish. But this was different. Emma wasn’t a mistake to fix. She was a child — his child. Emma was a four-year-old girl who was currently out there somewhere, with someone, or alone, but not with her father, and Gabe was coming apart at the seams.

  “Gabe, they’ll find her,” Quinn said, taking his face between her hands. “They WILL find her.”

  “Dr. Russell, is there anything else you can recall? Did you notice anyone watching Emma, or anyone suspicious hanging about the play area? Is Emma prone to wandering off?”

  Gabe shook his head. “I didn’t notice anything odd. She was right there on the swing. There were plenty of other people about, but they were all still there when I noticed she was gone. She’s never wandered off before, but I’ve only had her for two months.”

  “Had her?” DI Delaney asked.

  “Emma lived with her mother in Scotland until her mother’s death. Emma came to live with us in January,” Quinn explained.

  “How has her mental state been?” the detective asked.

  Quinn opened her mouth to reply, then suddenly stopped, recalling a conversation she had with Emma only a few days ago. She’d helped Emma out of the tub and was toweling her dry. Emma normally loved having a bath, but that evening she had been preoccupied and unusually quiet. She didn’t even play with the Little Mermaid toy that she always took into the bath with her. She liked to make Ariel swim, but this time, she tried to drown her, holding her under with her foot and sighing with annoyance when the plastic figurine floated back to the top when released.

  “Quinn, will I ever see my Mum and Gran again?” Emma had asked. Quinn balked at the question. She had no idea what Jenna McAllister had told Emma of death, if anything at all. Nor did she have any idea if Jenna had been religious. Perhaps Jenna had mentioned Heaven, but she’d been a scientist, so it was quite possible that she hadn’t believed in an afterlife. On the other hand, she’d also been a Scottish Presbyterian, so must have accepted some notion of Heaven.

  “Perhaps someday,” Quinn replied, knowing that Emma wouldn’t let her get away with changing the subject.

  Phoebe and Graham had taken Emma to church while she stayed with them in Berwick, but Quinn and Gabe hadn’t really discussed Emma’s religious education, simply assuming that she would accept whatever they did. They were both Church of England, so Emma would come along to church with them when they went, which wasn’t often.

  “She’s still grieving, Detective,” Quinn said. “It will take time for her to accept that both her mother and grandmother are gone.” Detective Delaney nodded in understanding and stepped aside to speak to one of his officers.

  “How long has she been gone?” Quinn asked Gabe, who sank back down on the bench again as if his legs couldn’t hold him up.

  “About a half hour, but it feels like much longer,” Gabe replied, his tone flat and wooden. “It’s all my fault, Quinn. I’m not fit to be a parent.”

  “Stop talking rubbish,” Quinn replied, taking his cold hand in hers. “You are an amazing father, and you will be a great dad to our baby.”

  “I don’t deserve to have a baby,” Gabe mumbled. Quinn didn’t reply. She supposed that had the situation been reversed she’d be self-flagellating as well. Assigning blame was easier than thinking of what would happen if Emma wasn’t found. The longer she was gone, the greater chance of her disappearing forever. The thought made Quinn feel sick. She’d had moments of fear in her life, but she had never felt as terrified as she did at this moment. The thought of losing Emma, or of Emma suffering at the hands of some unknown person was so gut-wrenching that she couldn’t even bear to contemplate the idea.

  “They will find her,” Quinn murmured to herself, needing to hear the words.

  Quinn and Gabe sat side by side for what felt like hours, but was probably no more than ten minutes. Neither paid attention to the crackle of the police radios, but the atmosphere in the park suddenly changed. Gabe’s head shot up, having instinctively perceived the shift, and his eyes sought Detective Delaney, who was speaking rapidly into the radio.

  The detective smiled and gave Quinn and Gabe a thumbs-up. Gabe sprang to his feet as a tall, black officer strode into the park, carrying Emma in his arms. Emma’s face was streaked with tears, but she appeared to be unhurt. The officer set Emma down, and she threw herself at Gabe, burying her face in his chest as he lifted her up and held her close.

  “Are you all right?” Gabe asked as he stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. He looked like he would never let her go. “Please say you’re all right, Emma.”

  Emma nodded miserably. “I thought I saw Mum,” she whimpered. “I ran after her and called out, but she didn’t turn around. It wasn’t her,” Emma cried. “I just wanted to see my Mum.”

  “It’s OK, darling,” Quinn said as she wrapped her arms around Emma and Gabe. “No one is angry with you. We
’re just glad you’re all right.” Of course, all right was a relative term. Emma hadn’t been taken by a stranger, or come to any harm, but it would take years for her to truly be all right. She’d miss Jenna for the rest of her life, and have instances of sudden panic and overwhelming hope when seeing someone who resembled her mother. Emma hadn’t seen Jenna’s corpse, nor had she attended the funeral. In her mind, her mother was as she had last seen her, alive and well. Somewhere deep inside, she still believed that perhaps she was out there somewhere, and would return one day, suddenly and without a fuss.

  “She was standing on the corner, afraid to cross the street,” the officer said, smiling at Emma. “Smart girl not to go wading into traffic. She called out to us when she saw us cruising by.”

  “Emma, please, don’t ever do anything like that again,” Gabe pleaded with her. “We thought we’d lost you.”

  “I was scared,” Emma cried. “I was calling for you.”

  The officer smiled. “She just kept saying, “I want my Dad. I just want my Dad.” She was terrified.”

  Quinn didn’t need to see Gabe’s face to understand what those words meant to him.

  “I will never lose you again,” Gabe promised. “Ever.”

  “I don’t want to be lost,” Emma said. She held out her hand, putting her palm on Quinn’s damp cheek. “You’re my Mum and Dad now.”

  “I think it’s safe for us to leave,” DI Delaney said as he took in the little family. “All’s well that ends well.”

  “I love you, Emma,” Gabe whispered into Emma’s hair.

  “I love you too, Daddy.”

  “Let’s go home,” Quinn said. Her legs seemed to have turned to jelly, and she was shaking with relief.

  “I’m hungry,” Emma protested, making them laugh.

  “Of course, you are. Where would you like to go?”

  “I want pizza and ice cream.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gabe said as he turned to walk out of the playground.

  The police cars had sped away, and the onlookers were dispersing, smiling with relief that there had been a happy ending to this family drama. Gabe wrapped his free arm around Quinn. “Are you all right?”

  Quinn gave Gabe a wan smile. “I never understood until today how vulnerable becoming a parent makes you.”

  “Me either. Life will never be the same again, will it?”

  “No, but I’m glad of it. I’m ready, Gabe.”

  “So am I.”

  Quinn followed Gabe into a pizza restaurant and sat down, glad to be off her wobbling legs. She was ready and excited for the future, but there were still two things she needed to do before the baby was born. She needed to find her biological father and finish out her contract with the BBC. Once that was done, she would never delve into anyone’s past again, not in a personal way. She’d been handed this gift/curse, but she didn’t have to use it, not unless she really wanted to, and watching Elise’s and Petra’s tragedies unfold had convinced her that she was more than ready to relinquish the sight.

  Epilogue

  April 1347

  The sea was as calm as a puddle after the rain, its blue-gray surface reflecting the puffy white clouds as they drifted across the aquamarine sky. A chill breeze moved through the newly greening branches, but there was a whiff of spring in the air. Avery stood on a cliff by the priory, gazing out over what remained of Dunwich. The devastation was unspeakable. Hundreds of houses had been washed away by twenty-foot swells, and St. Leonard’s was lost to parishioners forever. It was partially submerged in water, its tower rising out of the sea like the arm of a drowning man, begging for help that would never come.

  The streets had been blocked by debris and silt for weeks, and many townspeople were still unaccounted for and presumed dead. For days after the storm, people wandered about, unsure of what to do now that they found themselves homeless and completely dispossessed. They searched for victims and anything that could be salvaged, but the sea had been cruel, leaving nothing but destruction behind. The waters had eventually receded, but not all the way. A substantial portion of the town was still underwater, the coast so eroded by the power of the storm that it simply vanished beneath the waves.

  Avery pulled on the hood of his robe and began to walk toward what was left of Dunwich. He had two stops to make before he left for good. With Petra and Edwin gone, the bishop had been more than willing to forgive his indiscretions and allow him to return to Oxford after a period of further prayer and contemplation, but Avery refused. He no longer had any desire to be a priest, nor did he have any ambitions for the future. His carelessness and arrogance lead to Petra and Edwin’s death, and although he still saw the taking of one’s life as a mortal sin, he no longer felt that his life was his to live.

  Avery knocked on the door of Petra’s house. It had survived the storm, but needed extensive repairs. The water had reached the house and flooded the ground floor, reaching almost to the loft and carrying off household goods and bits of furniture. Chunks of daub were missing from the walls facing the street, while the back walls were still damp even after all this time. Maude was in the house. She tried to restore order to what was left of her home, but her heart wasn’t in it, and the place looked a shambles. Elia and Ora were outside, hanging up laundry, their faces solemn and gray and their eyes downcast. They’d lost much the day of the storm, and neither girl would ever forget the sight of their mother and brother murdered by an angry mob. They were lucky to have been spared, and they both knew it.

  Avery greeted Maude and stepped inside, but remained by the door. Lord Devon sat at the table, eating a bowl of pottage. His face was still bruised and swollen, and his right arm rested in a makeshift sling and splints, having been broken in two places. He limped when he walked due the damage caused to his knee by a blow from a cudgel, but he was on the mend, physically, if not mentally.

  “What do you want?” Lord Devon asked, failing to invite Avery to sit down. He now knew, as did everyone else who survived the storm, that Edwin had been Avery’s son and that Petra had been his lover, both before he left Dunwich and after he returned. There was no love lost between the two men.

  “I’ve come to say goodbye,” Avery said. “I’m no longer a priest; just a simple Franciscan friar. I leave Dunwich today.”

  “Where are you bound?” Maude asked.

  Unlike the rest of the townspeople, she didn’t blame Avery for what happened, at least not completely. Her daughter had loved him, and Avery genuinely tried to help his son. He should have been stronger, and truer, and more honest, but that could be said of many men. Petra and Edwin’s deaths had been brought about by fear and superstition, and not only as the result of Avery’s mistakes.

  “I’m bound for the Holy Land,” Avery replied. “Pope Clement VI granted the Franciscan friars Custodia Terrae Sanctae nearly five years ago. I will go to the monastery that was built near Mount Zion and spend the rest of my life trying to atone for my sins.”

  “As you should,” Thomas replied. “You don’t deserve to be a custodian of the Holy Land, you immoral parasite.”

  “Lord Thomas, please,” Maude pleaded. “He’s suffered enough.”

  Thomas ignored Avery’s pallor and the shadows under his eyes. He’d lost more than a stone since the storm, and the robe hung on him as if he were no more than skin and bones.

  “No amount of self-flagellation can atone for what he’s done. He killed them, as surely as if he’d thrown the stones himself.”

  Avery backed toward the door. He didn’t look at Lord Devon, nor did he respond. He had killed them, and nothing the man accused him of was any worse than what he’d accused himself of already. Lord Devon had every right to despise him, especially when he’d actually tried to help Petra and Edwin and wore the scars to prove it. He’d been beaten nearly half-to-death, and suffered not only broken bones, but the loss of the woman he loved and planned to marry, and the knowledge of her betrayal.

  “Go in peace, Avery,” Maude said, making the s
ign of the cross in front of Avery. “Lord Devon will take care of us. He has promised to provide a dowry for the girls when the time comes and will allow me to remain under his roof in my old age.”

  “And Lady Blythe?” Avery asked carefully. The last he’d heard, Lady Blythe had not been accounted for.

  “My mother perished during the storm, as did my daughter and her husband,” Thomas spat out.

  “What of your brother’s family?” Avery asked.

  “They are safe, and their home suffered minimal damage,” Thomas replied. “Safe journey, Friar Avery,” Thomas said, his tone laced with sarcasm. He wouldn’t be too upset if Avery’s ship went down in a storm. It would be a sort of justice, in his estimation.

  “God be with you all,” Avery said and took his leave.

  He walked slowly toward the Leper Hospital of St. James. His legs felt as if they were weighed down with stones, but this was a pilgrimage he needed to make. Avery broke off two evergreen branches and carried them toward the cemetery, where two fresh graves were visible just beyond hallowed ground. Avery laid the evergreen branches on the graves and fell to his knees, tears running down his face. It wasn’t bad enough that the townspeople had executed — for there was no better word for what they’d done — Petra and Edwin, they’d refused them a Christian burial, tossing their remains face down in unmarked graves just beyond the leper cemetery. Avery had pleaded with the bishop, but he refused to relocate Petra and Edwin’s remains.