He led her to the lab, where their skeleton was laid out on a table, bright lights illuminating its grinning countenance.
“I didn’t expect you to get back to me so quickly,” Quinn said as she stood next to Colin, looking down at the remains.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have much to share with you, hence the rapid turnaround time. There’s very little to go on.”
“Surely you must have learned something from the remains,” Quinn protested.
“Yes, but not nearly enough to build a picture of this person’s life and death. What we have here is an adult male. He could have been anywhere between mid-twenties to mid-thirties at the time of death. Carbon-14 dating indicates that he lived roughly two hundred to two hundred and fifty years ago, so the latter part of the eighteenth century. The ridges on his wrists and ankles would indicate that he worked with his hands and probably did a lot of walking. He’d broken the radius bone in his arm at some point, but it had healed cleanly, so it would have been years before his death, possibly when he was still in his teens. Given his height and the condition of his teeth, I’d say he enjoyed a plentiful diet. Mostly meat based. He was in reasonably good health before he died.”
“What? Is that it?” Quinn asked, gaping at him.
“I’m afraid so. I wasn’t able to extract any usable DNA. Having been buried without the benefit of a coffin and in soil that’s moist and rich in nutrients, the body would have decomposed quickly, all organic tissue and hair completely broken down within a year.”
“And the nails?”
“Rotted away.”
“But he has a mouthful of teeth,” Quinn persisted.
“Extracting DNA from a tooth is a time-consuming and costly procedure. Rhys was unable to authorize funding. Budget cuts.” Colin smiled at Quinn in a sympathetic manner. “I know it’s not much to work with.”
“What about the manner of his death?”
Colin shook his head. “I can’t say with any certainty what killed him. Most of the ribs are fractured and the pelvic bone is splintered. I think the damage was done postmortem, by the spreading roots, but I can’t be certain. The arms and legs are intact, as is the neck. There is something I found, but again, I don’t know if this happened before or after death.”
“Show me,” Quinn said.
Colin reached out a latex-clad hand and pointed to the left temple. “There’s a hairline fracture right here. Do you see it?”
Quinn leaned in and peered at the skull but couldn’t see what Colin was pointing to.
“Here,” Colin said, handing her a magnifying glass. “Look again.”
Quinn could see a tiny crack, the width of a hair. “You think this is significant?”
“It could be. A blow to the temple can lead to an intercranial hemorrhage, which can be fatal; however, I have no way to ascertain when the skull was fractured.”
“This doesn’t look like much,” Quinn said. “Would this really be enough to kill someone?”
“You don’t need to cave in someone’s skull to kill them, but I can’t confirm this was the cause of death. The skeleton is too badly damaged to allow for anything more than an educated guess.”
“Thanks, Colin,” Quinn said as she handed back the magnifying glass and accepted the nearly empty file folder from Colin. All his findings fit on one sheet of paper.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” Colin said. “Let me know if you find anything that was buried with the body.”
“There was nothing. He must have been buried naked, which is odd.”
“Why do you say that?” Colin asked as he walked Quinn to the door.
“Historically, people were uncomfortable with nudity, especially in England. They bathed, made love, gave birth, and were examined by doctors while almost fully covered up. It’s only in films that you see characters in historical dramas disrobing without a second thought. Nudity was synonymous with sin, and shame. To bury someone naked would be a sign of disrespect, indifference, or even hatred. Whoever this person was, he hadn’t endeared himself to those who’d been left to bury him. No clothes, no proper grave, no marker.”
“It’s as if they’d wanted to erase him,” Colin said.
“Precisely. One day he was there, and then he wasn’t.”
“Well, that should tell you something, I suppose,” Colin said. “Not a pillar of the community, or a beloved husband or father. Or son. Someone who wouldn’t be missed.”
“Sometimes I think that’s the most tragic fate of all,” Quinn said, forcing a smile to her face when she spotted Shannon and the children at the end of the corridor, walking toward them. Mia had chocolate smudged on her cheek, and Alex looked almost relaxed.
Shannon handed Quinn a half-empty packet of M&Ms. “Don’t worry, Mum. I didn’t give them too much. Only four pieces each. And I might have had a few,” she added, grinning impishly. “Could never resist chocolate, me.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Got what you came for?” Shannon asked.
“Not nearly as much as I’d hoped for, but yes. Thank you both,” Quinn said, and pushed the buggy toward the exit, the folder beneath her arm. Rhys would not be too happy with the lack of factual information, but Quinn had enough to update Katya. She took out her mobile and selected her number.
“Quinn, hi,” Katya said cheerily. “How are you?”
“I’m all right,” Quinn said. “Actually, I was just leaving the mortuary.”
Katya’s voice instantly changed. “Was Dr. Scott able to learn anything?”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you bring Vanessa by for a playdate tomorrow afternoon, and you and I can chat? How does that sound?”
“Sounds great, actually. I’m going mad with boredom. This stay-at-home mum thing is not quite what I had envisioned.”
“It does get lonely,” Quinn agreed.
“See you tomorrow,” Katya said.
“Vanessa is coming over to play tomorrow,” Quinn announced, getting happy smiles from the kids. “Now, let’s go home and get dinner started. Daddy and Emma will be home soon.”
Chapter 16
“Nothing?” Gabe asked as he stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. The children were in the lounge, watching Trolls, with Emma in charge. For the moment, all was quiet.
“He says the skeleton was too badly damaged by the roots to be able to determine the cause of death.”
“Well, we did think as much,” Gabe said, his expression thoughtful. “I suppose we can work backwards.”
“How so?” Quinn asked.
“We did not find a bullet buried with the skeleton, which means he wasn’t shot,” Gabe theorized.
“He may have been. Without soft tissue, we have no way of knowing if there was an entry or an exit wound.”
“True. Well, we know he wasn’t hanged,” Gabe suggested, smiling guiltily because he knew that was another erroneous supposition.
“We don’t. Not every hanging breaks the neck.”
“So, what do we know?” Gabe asked.
“Absolutely nothing. Impossible to make out if there are nicks from a sword or any evidence of a knife wound. If he was shot, he may have died instantly or bled to death. If he was hanged, we have no tangible proof, and if he died of any other cause, such as a fever, poisoning, or even a heart attack, we have no way to discover that either. All we know at this stage is that he was a well-fed, youngish man who was most likely not of noble birth, given the ridges on his wrists and ankles.”
“But you think the remains we’ve excavated are those of Ben Wilder?” Gabe asked. Quinn had filled him in on everything she’d seen in her visions.
“Or Derek. They wore identical rings, and even though I’m seeing Ben’s version of events, it’s entirely possible that Derek had been wearing his brother’s ring at the time of death. They could have easily mixed them up.”
“Yes, I suppose so. But what would a farmer from Long Island be doing in Hertfordshire?”
“That is the million-dollar question,” Quinn replied.
“And I might have the answer,” Gabe said, leaning against the worktop, his arms crossed as he ran with his theory. “If either brother was a royalist, he might have been forcibly sent back to England. Many royalists were victims of a mob. They were dragged from their homes and forced onto a departing ship in nothing but the clothes they stood up in. They arrived in England with not a penny to their name and a substantial debt for their passage and meals.”
“Milford was a small colonial town. It had no port, hence no departing ships,” Quinn pointed out.
“No, but there’s nothing to suggest one of the brothers might not have been taken in New York. Were they involved in anything untoward, do you think?”
“I haven’t seen enough to make that determination. All I saw was an ordinary family that happened to be living through a turbulent time in their country’s history.”
“And Alice? Any ideas about her?” Gabe asked.
“Not yet. I should ask Colin what percentage of people who develop amnesia as a result of blunt force trauma recover their memories.”
“It would have to be a significant number, or a good portion of the population would have no recollection of having lived before getting struck on the head.”
“Do you think that many people sustain head injuries?” Quinn asked.
“More than you imagine. I have,” Gabe said, grinning.
“When was this?”
“When I was fourteen. On a school trip to Berwick Castle. My mates and I were roughhousing and then a real scuffle broke out. I don’t even remember what brought it on. All I know is that this boy named Billy Barnes shoved me with all his might, and I went crashing down onto the stone walkway. I hit my head pretty hard. Had to be taken to A&E. My mum was frantic.”
“Did you lose your memory?” Quinn asked, surprised she’d never heard the story before.
“No, but I remember feeling stunned. I wanted to call out, but my mouth just wouldn’t cooperate. I couldn’t make a sound. And there was this weird silence. I could see people looking down at me, could see the teacher’s mouth opening and closing, but it was as if the sound had been muted.”
“How long did it take for that to pass?”
“By the time the ambulance arrived, my hearing had begun to come back, but it took me about an hour to finally say something. My parents were terrified I’d sustained permanent brain damage.”
“What happened to Billy Barnes?”
Gabe’s satisfied smile said it all. “He got grounded for a month. No TV, no hanging out with his mates, no football practice. He blamed me, of course. We never made it up, Billy and I. Kept our distance from each other until I left for uni.”
“Well, we don’t know how hard Alice was hit, or with what. And she came near to drowning. That might play a role, as well. She’s fighting hard to recall any small detail she can, though, I can tell you that.”
“I suppose we’ll just have to let her story play out and see what develops,” Gabe said.
Quinn chuckled. “And so we should. If only Rhys didn’t ask for hourly updates.”
“Sod Rhys,” Gabe said with a grin. “He’ll just have to wait. He’s getting awfully territorial over this skelly. You’d think he was the one who buried him.”
“He’s just worried about Katya.”
“Do you really think that learning what happened to this person will put Katya’s mind at rest?”
“Probably not.”
“I am looking forward to hearing more of what happened,” Gabe said eagerly.
“Give the children a bath, and I’ll have the next installment for you by the time they’re asleep,” Quinn offered, grinning at him.
“You’re on!”
Chapter 17
October 1777
Long Island
Alice had barely enough time to grab for the chamber pot before her stomach emptied itself. It had been more than a week since the shipwreck, but she still felt unwell, her head aching and her body sore and strangely unfamiliar. She tended to feel better toward the evening, but her head injury made itself known in the morning, after she’d been lying down during the night, unwittingly putting pressure on the still-fresh bruise. Despite the bouts of sickness that came several times a day, she felt hungry and secretly relished Hannah’s attempts to feed her up. She wasn’t terribly thin, but her pallor and weakened state were enough to convince Hannah that all would be well if Alice would only eat.
Putting on her own gown over Hannah’s spare chemise, Alice gingerly brushed her hair and plaited it loosely, so as not to pull on the skin at the back of her head, then made her bed and presented herself downstairs. She was surprised to find a visitor waiting in the parlor. He was enjoying a cup of tea and one of Hannah’s corn muffins.
“Alice, this is Lieutenant Reynolds,” Hannah said. “He’d like a word.”
Hannah patted Alice’s arm reassuringly but did not follow her into the parlor, returning to the kitchen instead to allow them to speak privately. Alice wished Ben or Derek were there, but they must have already eaten and left, given that only Josh’s piping voice could be heard coming from the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Alice said. She felt a flutter of nervousness as she stood across from the man. What did a British officer want with her?
The man brushed crumbs off his hands and stood, bowing to her politely. He would have cut a fine figure in his red tunic and white breeches if only someone had thought to place a bucket over his head. His dark eyes bulged like those of a bullfrog, and he had pockmarked skin, a souvenir of some adolescent illness, no doubt, probably smallpox. His long, thin nose formed an almost perfect triangle if viewed from the side. He also seemed nervous in her presence, which made Alice feel marginally less afraid.
“Mistress…eh, well, Alice,” he began, not knowing her surname. “Won’t you have a seat?”
Since the lieutenant stood before the settee, Alice perched on the wingchair Derek favored. Her fingers nervously smoothed down the fabric of her skirt as she waited for the officer to state his business. She had no reasonable cause to fear him, but something about that bright-red tunic made her uneasy.
“I trust you’re feeling better,” Lieutenant Reynolds said, watching her intently.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“That must have been a terrible ordeal for you,” he said, shaking his head as if envisioning what Alice had gone through.
“I suppose it must have been, but I don’t recall anything that happened before waking up in the room upstairs,” she replied carefully.
“Nothing at all?”
“Nothing.”
“Shame. I was hoping you might at least be able to tell me the name of the ship you’d been traveling on.”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I can’t even remember my own name, much less the name of a ship.”
“Do you think you might recognize the name of the ship if you heard it?” he tried again.
“I can’t promise anything,” Alice said, wishing the man would just leave. What was he after?
“Essex?” Lieutenant Reynolds asked softly. “Lady Anne?” he tried again.
“Sorry, no. They don’t sound familiar at all.”
“Peregrine?” the major intoned, his gaze pinning her head to the back of the chair.
Something inside Alice recoiled, a cold dread spreading from her belly to her extremities. Peregrine. There was something about the name that frightened her and caused her to suck in her breath as her heartrate accelerated, her palms sweating.
“Are you all right, Mistress Alice?” Lieutenant Reynolds asked.
“You must excuse me, Lieutenant. I haven’t been well. I fear I’m going to be sick,” she mumbled, and bolted from the room. The major found her around the side of the house, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She felt marginally better but needed to lean against the wall for support.
“I do apologize,” he said, sound
ing genuinely contrite. “Mistress Wilder informs me you’re still suffering the ill-effects of the tragedy.”
“I am,” Alice said, wishing fervently her legs didn’t feel like jelly.
“Can I help you back inside?”
“Thank you, but I think I’ll stay out here for a few minutes. The fresh air helps.”
“As you wish. I’ll bid you a good morning, then.” He bowed from the neck and turned on his heel, walking away as if on parade, his hat beneath his arm.
Odious man, Alice thought as she watched him put his hat on his head and mount his horse before cantering out of the yard. She waited until he disappeared from view, then reentered the house.
“Are you quite all right, Alice?” Hannah asked when Alice walked into the kitchen. “Did Lieutenant Reynolds upset you?”
“Not at all,” Alice lied. “I wasn’t feeling well when I woke up.”
“Let’s get some breakfast into you, shall we?” Hannah said, setting a bowl of porridge before Alice and adding butter and honey without asking. “Cup of tea?”
“Yes, please,” Alice replied, spooning some porridge into her mouth. She began to feel better as soon as the warm mass reached her stomach, settling with a comforting weight.
Hannah poured them both tea and sat down across from Alice, watching her eat.
“Where is everyone?” Alice asked.
“Derek went into town, and Ben is fixing the fence in the lower pasture. Josh was meant to be helping him, but he came back saying his belly hurts. He went upstairs.” Hannah took a sip of tea and set the cup carefully on the table. “You don’t seem to be getting any better,” she said.
“I am,” Alice protested. “My head doesn’t hurt as much,” she lied. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt the need to reassure Hannah that she was improving.
“I think perhaps the blow was more severe than you imagine. A head injury can often cause nausea and headaches for months afterward. My brother fell out of a tree when he was twelve. Hit his head on a boulder that was half-buried in the ground. He never lost his memory, as you have, but he became temporarily blind.”
The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9) Page 7