Page 68 of The Lovers
“What of Lucy? My maid. She’d been exposed to the plague. Had she taken ill?” Elise persisted.
“I told you, I don’t know. I can’t be bothered asking after a servant.”
“No,” Elise said quietly. Edward did not know most of the servants by name. To him, they were faceless, ageless puppets who saw to his every whim and had no right to expect any kindness or understanding in return. He gave them a home and a meager salary, and in his eyes, that was more than enough.
“Edward, have you heard anything of Molly and her family?” Elise asked.
“Molly who?” Edward growled, annoyed by her questioning. His eyelids were drooping again, but Elise saw a spark of recognition when she mentioned Molly. He knew exactly whom she was referring to.
“Molly, your daughter.”
“Get out and leave me in peace,” Edward roared. “And send up that ale.”
Elise left the room, her insides burning with rage. She knew that men often failed to look after their bastards, but what difference did it make whether a child was born in wedlock or not? They were still their flesh and blood, still their children. How did a man justify turning away from a child they had fathered, convincing themselves that they had no responsibility to either mother or child just because the union hadn’t been sanctioned by the Church? How easy society made it for them. They sowed their seed wherever they pleased and then just walked away, free of any responsibility to live their life while some poor woman was left to raise a child in near poverty with no claim on the father.
She supposed that Edward’s decision to look after Molly and James would be viewed by others of his class as an act of ultimate kindness and sacrifice, but Elise saw it nothing less than his duty. Edward had found a use for James, but Molly was of no interest to him, nor were her children, who were his grandchildren. Edward cared not a jot if they all died. He’d probably be moreupset if one of King Charles’s dogs died, mourning with his sovereign as if the creature had been a beloved child.
Elise sent Peg up with the ale and vowed not to see Edward again until the doctor came. Instead, she fetched her cloak and went out, making sure that no one saw her leave. The walk to the beach took her nearly a half hour, but she didn’t mind. She liked walking by herself. It was a beautiful June morning, and the path was alive with birdsong and the rustling of small creatures as they went about the business of living. The ground was dappled with sunlight, the trees overhead forming a green tunnel above Elise’s head. She’d never felt such peace or seen such unspoiled beauty in London.
The air became a trifle cooler as she neared the sea. James said that the water was always cold, no matter how warm the summer days might be. The currents carried water from up north, where it was cooler even during the summer months. Elise walked down the beach, carefully stepping on shingles and keeping far enough from the surf to keep her feet from getting wet. There was a desolate beauty, the relentless crashing of the surf disrupted only by the screaming of seagulls. She liked it and wished that she could keep walking until she was far away from this place and her unfeeling husband. She tried to tell herself that things would improve once the child was born, but she knew full well that she was deceiving herself. Edward felt no love for her and might not even care for the child since it wouldn’t be truly his. He needed a son and heir, but there was no guarantee that he would be kind to the child. He might ignore the babe as much as he ignored Elise, using it only to fulfill his ambition. Would she spend the rest of her life hidden away and used only to serve her husband’s purpose?
Elise had always pitied women who were widows, thinking them unfortunate and lonely, but now the idea of widowhood didn’t seem so grievous. She didn’t wish Edward to die—that would be unchristian of her. But she did long to be free of him.What she wouldn’t give to sail away from these shores and live a life with James and their baby. Would Edward care? Would he pursue them? She was his property, and so would be the child. He would not let them go, if only out of principle. Having a runaway wife would not look good in front of the king he so worshipped. Or did he? Elise often wondered why Edward spent so much time at the palace. Was it because he was truly devoted to His Majesty, or did he have some other agenda?
Elise put Edward from her mind when she saw James walking toward her. He looked handsome in the golden morning light, his dark hair ruffled by the wind, and his eyes fixed on her as if he was trying to memorize her every feature. He smiled in greeting, but Elise could sense the tension in his shoulders and the determination in his gait. He’d come to say goodbye, she was sure of it.
FORTY-NINE
DECEMBER 2013
London, England
Quinn stopped in front of the building, suddenly unsure if she should go in. She’d spent the past few days agonizing about what she’d learned from Sylvia Wyatt, going from pitying the woman, to raging against Sylvia’s gullibility and lack of courage, to wondering if she might have made the whole story up. Quinn came close to calling Sylvia several times, but Gabe talked her out of it, remaining steadfast in his opinion that she should wait until she knew more.
“Quinn, find out the facts before you make any decisions. This woman might be the genuine article, or she might be an opportunist who found information about you on the Internet and decided to take advantage. Perhaps she thinks you have money, or you can do something for her.”
“I do resemble her to some degree,” Quinn countered, but Gabe wasn’t persuaded by her argument.
“I’ve met people who’ve resembled me, but as far as I know we were not related, not even distantly. You are a scientist, and scientists deal with facts. I’ve called Dr. Scott, and he’ll be expecting you. He’ll run some discreet tests, and then you can know for certain what you’re dealing with.”
“Gabe, what if she really is my mother? Where do we go from here? Where do we start?” Quinn cried, suddenly alarmed by the possibility that Sylvia might be telling the truth. Wishing tofind your birth mother was one thing; being confronted by one was a whole different thing entirely. “She has two sons,” Quinn added. “They might be my brothers.”
Gabe pulled Quinn close and kissed her on the temple, making her feel like a little girl. He’d been very protective of her since Sylvia’s visit, and Quinn had to admit that his concern for her made her feel somewhat better about the whole situation. He was there, and no matter what happened with Sylvia, he’d catch her if she fell.
“If she is your mother, then you start slow. I know you want to believe that she will do anything to make up for lost time, but you don’t know her at all, and she doesn’t know you. You have to learn to walk before you can run, sweetheart.”
Quinn nodded and squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Gabe. You are right, of course. I can’t seem to think rationally these days.”
“You’ve had a lot to take in. Go see Dr. Scott. He’s the first step in determining what needs to be done.”
Quinn yanked the door open and walked into the morgue. The smell of carbolic and decay assaulted her immediately, making her wish that she hadn’t had to come here and could have met the doctor outside, but Dr. Scott was busy, and he was doing her a favor.
“Quinn, a pleasure to see you again.” Dr. Scott beamed as he set aside a file he’d been working on. Thankfully, he wasn’t in the middle of an autopsy, and his green scrubs were clean. “Hand it over,” he said with a grin. “I hope you don’t mind, but Gabe told me something of what this is about. I can only imagine how anxious you must be to get the results.”
“Yes and no,” Quinn confessed.
“Understandable. Your life will never be the same if these tests show that these two are your biological parents.”
“Dr. Scott, may I ask you a question?”
