The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  “I understand, and I thank you for not forcing me to choose between my children,” Seth replied.

  “We’ve all spent enough time apart, I think. This is our chance to rebuild, to heal. Jo needs you, and I need you. And so does Brett. If you can help him, then you mustn’t pass up the chance.”

  “Thanks.” Seth reached back between the seats and squeezed Quinn’s hand. “I love you, kiddo. And I’m so grateful you brought us all together. I never imagined being so blessed with children, and grandchildren. I’m a lucky man, in more ways than one.”

  “You and Kathy are all right, then?” Quinn asked. Seth and Kathy had been divorced when Quinn first met them, but Brett’s incarceration had brought them together in their shared pain, and they seemed to have recaptured something they’d lost all those years ago.

  “I’m going to ask her to marry me again,” Seth sad, smiling into the darkness. “I was a fool to let her go, a stupid, arrogant fool. Kathy is the best part of me, and regardless of what happens with Brett, we belong together. We are a unit, and always were, even when we were apart.”

  “I’m happy for you, Seth. Kathy is a wonderful woman. I couldn’t ask for a better step-mum.”

  “Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?” Seth said as he peeked at Jo, who was dead to the world. “A year ago, I had no idea I had a daughter, and now I have two.” Seth met Quinn’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Quinn, will you be putting your London apartment on the market once you move?”

  “Yes, that’s the plan.”

  “I’d like to buy it,” Seth announced.

  “What?”

  “I’d like to buy your apartment. I want to be a part of your lives, and I can’t do that from New Orleans. I need a base in London, and the apartment is perfect. It’s large enough for Kathy and me, and it has a spare bedroom should one of our lovely grandchildren wish to have a sleepover,” Seth replied, grinning. “What do you think?”

  “I think that’s a great idea. I’d love it if you were closer.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be closer all the time. I still have a business to run, and I’m nowhere near retirement age, but I would like to have a permanent address in London. A foothold, I should say,” he amended.

  “I’ll tell Gabe. He’ll be pleased. Now pull over and let me drive. You’re tired, and I’m feeling useless.”

  “All right,” Seth conceded. “We wouldn’t want you to feel useless.”

  Chapter 69

  May 1621

  Aboard the Constance

  Mary lay back on the hard berth and closed her eyes. The ship seemed to be rolling beneath her, and her stomach was rolling right along with it. She thought she was going to be sick again, but there was nothing left for her to vomit into the bucket that was her constant companion. She’d expelled everything she’d eaten, and then some. Her face was hot to the touch, blood pounded in her veins, and her heart thudded in her chest. She gulped air like a landed fish, but only a small portion of it seemed to reach her lungs.

  The sickness had set in shortly after they left Virginia and had grown worse over the past few weeks, making Mary’s life aboard a living hell. She’d lost weight, and her normally wholesome shape had been reduced to her round belly and stick-like arms and legs that ended in grotesquely swollen ankles and feet. Her only respite was sleep, which thankfully came easily enough. Dr. Paulson had been kind enough to give up his berth after seeing Mary struggle to get into her hammock. He now slept in the hammock, and swore he preferred it as the motion lulled him to sleep.

  “Mary, can you hear me?” Dr. Paulson asked as he reached for her wrist. He held it between two fingers, checking her pulse. He did this several times a day and his face grew grave as his suspicions were confirmed again and again.

  “Yes,” Mary muttered.

  “Mary, I’m going to have to bleed you again.”

  “No, please,” Mary whimpered. She felt so listless she could barely lift her head off the pillow.

  “If I don’t do something to relieve the pressure, you’ll suffer an apoplexy.”

  “Doctor, please. I feel so weak.”

  Dr. Paulson nodded. He’d attended her day and night, and he looked weary and frustrated with his inability to help. He put a cool palm on her forehead. “You rest now. I’ll have Collins bring you some broth. Let’s see how you feel toward the evening, shall we?”

  “The baby,” Mary mumbled.

  “The baby does not seem to be affected by your illness.”

  “I don’t want to lose the baby,” Mary pleaded.

  “It’s you I’m worried about,” Dr. Paulson replied kindly. “I only wish to help you.”

  “I know and I’m grateful,” Mary said. Her voice faded out as her eyes closed of their own accord. She felt as if she were falling, spinning in slow motion as she was sucked into some great vortex that threatened to swallow her whole. Strange images danced before her eyes and John’s face loomed before her just as she began to drop off to sleep, his eyes bulging, and his tongue protruding, the rope still around his neck. His wild gaze seemed to be fixed on her, accusing her of allowing him to be executed. She couldn’t see Travesty, but she heard her laughter. It was coming from a spot just behind Mary, and she knew with absolutely certainty that Simon was with her, chuckling with mirth as the rope tightened around John’s throat.

  “It’s not my fault,” Mary muttered. “It’s not my fault.”

  “Of course, it’s not your fault,” Dr. Paulson replied in his deep, reassuring voice. “Try to sleep.”

  Mary moved her head on the pillow, unable to chase away the horrid image. “Go away, John,” she mumbled. “Go away. There was nothing I could have done.”

  But John wouldn’t leave. He seemed to be haunting her from the grave, tormenting her. Mary’s mind conjured up an image of Walker, but when she tried to get to him, he moved out of her reach. Blood trickled from the wound in his side and a crimson stain bloomed on his chest, like a deadly bud opening its petals to the sun. He seemed to be hovering between life and death, between reality and fantasy.

  “Walker,” she mouthed. “Walker, come back. Please, don’t leave me.” But Walker hadn’t left her, she’d left him. She was halfway across the world, the distance between them growing with every mile. He was alive, but he was dead to her now, just like she was dead to him.

  “Mary, who is Walker?” Dr. Paulson asked gently.

  “A spirit that walks between worlds,” Mary muttered.

  “You can see spirits?” She heard alarm in the doctor’s voice, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The baby was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.

  What will happen to it if I die? Mary thought desperately as she fought the encroaching darkness. I must not leave my baby.

  Dr. Paulson slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and lifted her so she could take a drink. She tasted the cloying sweetness of laudanum on her lips and welcomed the oblivion it would soon bring. Dr. Paulson had a limited supply, but he gave her a few drops from time to time when she was particularly agitated and couldn’t settle down.

  “You sleep now, Mary. I will watch over you.”

  Mary tried to answer, but the opium was already taking effect. The all-consuming vortex seemed to have become a puffy cloud. Mary relaxed into its comforting folds and its softness enveloped her. She began to drift, her anguish forgotten. She felt so peaceful, so free. If only she could feel this way forever.

  Chapter 70

  A bracing wind tore at Mary’s skirts and freed tendrils of hair from her cap. She turned her face into the gust, eager to feel the wind’s cool breath on her face. She’d come up on deck early in the morning, desperate for a breath of fresh air after being confined to the cabin for nearly four days. Dr. Paulson had slept on the floor instead of retiring to his hammock, fearful of leaving Mary on her own. He genuinely wished to help, but Mary felt like she was drowning and the hand that tried to pull her out of the water was slippery and too feeble to hold on to her for
long. She had no fever, and no symptoms of any known illness. There were times when she felt well, and then quite suddenly, her face would become suffused with heat and her heart would start to hammer in her chest, rendering her almost breathless with the force of its beating. Her head often hurt to the point where her vision became blurred, causing her to rub her eyes in the hope of clearing away the fog.

  “Mary, you shouldn’t have left your bed,” Dr. Paulson chided her when he came up on deck, looking tired and disheveled. “You’re not well.”

  “I was desperate for fresh air. I feel better,” she added.

  The doctor nodded. “Don’t stay too long. You’re not strong enough. I think I can use a shave,” he added, running a hand over the coarse stubble shadowing his jaw. “Are you up to eating something?”

  “I think so.”

  “Excellent. I’ll wash up and then we can break our fast together.” He smiled and patted Mary’s shoulder in a fatherly way.

  “I don’t know what I would do without you, Dr. Paulson.”

  “I’m glad to be on hand. I must admit, I’ve never encountered a case such as yours. It’s most perplexing.”

  “Am I going to die?” Mary asked. Her voice trembled with fear.

  “Mary, I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. You have my word.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mary leaned on the rail and gazed out over the endless ocean. The sun was just beginning to rise, a shimmering semicircle of brightest pink skimming the horizon in the east. The sky, which had been a murky gray only a moment ago, blazed with crimson and gold as the new day dawned, bright and clear. Mary couldn’t tear her eyes away from the awesome sight, buoyed by the thought that she’d survived long enough to greet another day. She was certain her sickness would miraculously disappear as soon as she stepped ashore. A silky ribbon wound itself around Mary’s ankles and she bent down and scooped up the little cat.

  “There you are,” Mary crooned. “I haven’t seen you in days. Where have you been hiding, you naughty kitty?”

  The cat purred and burrowed deeper into Mary’s arms, frightened by the wind. Mary’s fingers stroked its head gently in an effort to comfort the frightened creature.

  Mary remained on deck for another half hour, enjoying her brief spell of well-being, then she joined Dr. Paulson for breakfast, which she ate with relish. She was hungry—no, ravenous. That had to be a good sign.

  Chapter 71

  February 2015

  Folkstone, Kent

  Quinn set aside Mary’s comb and glanced at Jo, who was sleeping peacefully in the next bed, her dark hair spread over the pillow like Medusa’s snakes. Seth’s room was just down the corridor, but he’d gone down to the pub to have a pint and something to eat. Jo had been tired by the time they arrived in Kent, having crossed the channel from France, so they’d decided not to continue their journey until tomorrow and give her time to rest. Jo had taken a shower and fallen into bed, too weary to go down for dinner. Quinn had decided to remain with her. She hadn’t been that hungry, and truth be told, she was tired as well after all those hours in the car. It had felt good to take a hot bath and stretch out on the bed, a soft pillow propped behind her head as she sank into the surprisingly comfortable embrace of the mattress. She hoped they’d get home tomorrow. She was desperate to see Gabe and the children. She longed to hold Alex in her arms and looked forward to spending some quality time with Emma. Quinn suddenly had an idea and grabbed her mobile off the nightstand. She Googled “One Direction tour dates.” Eureka! They would be performing in London in September, shortly after Emma’s sixth birthday. Quinn set a reminder on her phone to purchase tickets once they went on sale.

  Concert tickets would be the ultimate birthday present. Maybe Emma was a bit young, but Quinn would be an absolute rock star in her eyes if she took her to see One Direction. Maybe she’d even get an extra ticket and offer to take one of Emma’s friends. Maybe Maya, if they were still best friends. Emma would be so pleased—no, ecstatic. Quinn grinned to herself and congratulated herself on her proactive thinking. She was getting the hang of this mothering thing.

  Quinn set aside the phone and glanced over at Jo again. After several hours of rest, she no longer looked so wan, but they should have insisted she have something to eat before going to bed. She didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. Quinn wondered who would look after Jo once she got home, her heart squeezing with worry. Once they arrived back in London, she and Seth would take Jo to her flat and leave her on her own. Seth had booked into a nearby hotel, but he wouldn’t be with Jo round the clock. He’d decided not to offer to stay at Jo’s flat in case it made her uncomfortable. They seemed to be getting along and were getting to know each other, but Jo, by her own admission, was a woman who liked privacy, and enjoyed her space. At least Seth would be on hand to take her to see her GP next week and escort her to a London-based neurologist to follow up on the surgery. Dr. Stein had sent over Jo’s file before releasing her and personally made the appointment, to make sure that Jo received proper post-operative care.

  Quinn slid off the bed and tiptoed into the bathroom, where she filled the tiny in-room kettle with water. She could use a cup of tea, and thankfully, there were several packages of complimentary shortbread on the dresser; she was hungry now. Quinn made herself a strong brew and settled in a chair by the window, looking out over the twinkling lights of the town. She wasn’t at the end of Mary’s story yet, but the latest vision had been eye-opening. She didn’t need to consult a physician to understand what Mary was going through. Only six months ago, she’d been experiencing similar symptoms herself, but thankfully, they hadn’t been as severe as Mary’s. Mary was suffering from preeclampsia, possibly even combined with toxoplasmosis, which was carried by cat feces and could cause serious birth defects if the unborn baby became infected.

  High blood pressure, headaches, vomiting, and swelling of the ankles would all be telltale signs for a modern doctor, but Dr. Paulson wouldn’t have been familiar with the condition or its causes. He appeared to be doing his best to treat Mary, using methods available to him, such as bleeding and purging to relieve the pressure building up within his patient. Lowering Mary’s salt intake, drinking plenty of water, and getting fresh air and exercise would have helped, but like everyone onboard, Mary consumed mostly salted pork and hardtack, and drank ale, and not enough of it to keep her hydrated. She barely left her cabin, told by Dr. Paulson that she needed rest more than exercise. She also came into direct contact with the cat frequently enough to get harmful toxins on her hands, which she wouldn’t have washed regularly.

  Quinn sighed. The ship would arrive in England in a few weeks’ time, setting the stage for the gruesome final act of Mary’s life, which would play out either onboard or in the barely noticeable crevice in the Cornish cliff face where Mary’s mortal remains had been discovered.

  “Oh, Mary.” Quinn sighed deeply. Her heart went out to the young woman. What a short and unhappy life Mary had lived. The only bright spot had been Walker’s love for her, but fate had other plans for the star-crossed lovers. Walker had survived his injuries, probably because someone got to him in time to stop the bleeding, but timing was everything, and Walker and Mary’s timing had been off from the start. Perhaps he would have come for Mary once he was sufficiently recovered to undertake the long walk to North Carolina, or perhaps he would have sent someone to fetch her had he known she was about to be sent back to England, but given the frosty relations between the colonists and the Indians following the murders of the men who had accosted Mary, he likely had no inkling time was running out. He must have assumed that Mary was safe where she was until he could come for her, never imagining that he’d never see her again.

  Had his presence on the shore been pure coincidence, or a planned goodbye? Quinn would never know since she could only see events play out from Mary’s perspective. It was even possible that Walker had known of Mary’s imminent departure and chose not to intervene
. Perhaps he’d realized the danger he’d be in if accused of kidnapping a white woman, or perhaps he’d been ordered by the Powhatan chief to abandon his plans. Within a year, the Indians would massacre a quarter of Jamestown’s population, an act of war that was likely already in the making at the time of Mary’s banishment.

  Quinn swore softly under her breath. She’d completely forgotten to ring Colin. She didn’t think the DNA results would come as a surprise, but she needed scientific data to back up her suppositions. The combination of storytelling by a respected historian, lush and detailed visual presentation, and irrefutable science had made the program a runaway success. Quinn slipped from the room and walked to the end of the corridor, where she could speak privately. She called Colin and hoped he’d pick up.

  “Quinn,” Colin greeted her. “Excellent timing. Just finished my last cookery class. Duck à l’orange served with wild rice and asparagus, and crème brûlée for dessert. It was très magnifique, if I say so myself.”

  “That sounds delicious,” Quinn replied, suddenly wondering if Colin had carved the duck the same way he dissected a corpse. “I’ve been so focused on Jo, I completely forgot to ring you back regarding the DNA results on our mother and child.”

  “Ah, yes. The results were rather surprising. The woman was of Anglo-Saxon descent, born and bred on the coast of England, based on the analysis of the isotopes in her bone collagen, which gives us a snapshot of the person’s diet. The child, however, was of partially Native American descent. I’m not at all sure how a young woman whose remains were discovered in Cornwall might have copulated with an American Indian. Seems incongruous. Perhaps the samples were cross-contaminated, but I can’t imagine that there’d be many samples at a London-based lab containing the DNA of a Native American. The only conceivable explanation would be that our girl came into contact with one of the Native Americans who accompanied Pocahontas to England. Pocahontas visited England at the beginning of the seventeenth century, which ties in with the approximate timeline of our remains. Oh, and it was a boy,” Colin ended with a sigh. “A full-term baby boy.”