Page 19 of The Forgotten
Quinn glanced at her traveling case. She hadn’t brought anything smart enough to wear to a cocktail reception. She’d have to pop out to the shops and pick up a dress and a pair of shoes, but she’d mention that to Gabe later. He was nervous enough about spending time with Emma, and it was time for her to get ready.
Quinn selected a pair of leggings and an oversized Shetland wool sweater, glad she’d brought something really warm. The day was sunny, but the temperature had plummeted during the night, and the wind had picked up, moving silently through the trees outside the window. Quinn ran a brush through her hair and applied a little makeup while Gabe dried his hair and got dressed. There was a tightness around his eyes and mouth that suggested that he was a lot more nervous than he was letting on. Quinn put on an appearance of calm, but she was anxious as well. Without Mrs. Lennox as a buffer, they would be on their own with Emma for the first time, and the prospect was daunting. What did one do with a child to fill the hours? Emma would visit the school for two hours, but then they’d have to entertain her for the rest of the day.
Quinn sighed and did what any modern-day woman would do. She went online and entered the search: “Things to do with children in Edinburgh.” Several results popped up on the screen, listing every possible form of entertainment, including parks, museums, cinemas, and the Edinburgh Zoo. Armed with the information, Quinn felt somewhat less worried.
“Ready?”
Gabe nodded as he reached for his coat. “Yes. I’m sorry, Quinn,” he said, returning to their previous conversation. “I have no right to judge. I’d probably do the same if I were in your situation. Let me know if you need me to do anything. I can be the Clyde to your Bonnie.”
“Thank you, but I’m not planning on shooting the place up. I just want to talk to the man,” Quinn replied. Gabe’s support meant the world to her, and to know that he understood made what she intended to do slightly less shady.
EIGHTEEN
FEBRUARY 1347
Dunwich, Suffolk
Petra woke well before dawn, her mind instantly alert. She was as jittery as a bride on her wedding day. Today was the day she was going to see Avery. The thought left her feeling nervous and excited at the same time. He was a priest now, a man of God, but she couldn’t help the feelings she’d harbored for him all these years. Perhaps he’d forgotten all about her and embraced his new life, but he didn’t have her child to remind him day in and day out of the love they shared when they were young. Did he remember her? Did he ever think of her? Had she been his only experience of physical love? Avery had gone directly to the seminary after leaving Dunwich, so it was entirely likely that she had been the only woman he’d ever lain with.
Petra hastily dressed, climbed down the ladder, and set about lighting a fire in the hearth, so that the house would warm up a little before her mother and the children woke up. There was no need for them to suffer the cold, especially Maude, whose joints ached and swelled during the winter months, slowing her down and making her moan with agony by the end of the day. Maude had painful chilblains on her hands and feet as well. In more prosperous times, Petra rubbed them with lavender oil, but Maude refused to spend their few precious coins on a medicine for herself. “I’ll be all right, girl,” she said time and time again. “A bit of lard works just as well.” It didn’t, but Maude would brook no argument.
Petra’s hands shook with cold as she tried to get the fire going, but the kindling refused to catch, no matter how many times she struck the tinder and flint. At last, a tiny tongue of flame appeared and began to grow, devouring the dry sticks and giving off some measure of warmth. Petra added two logs once the fire had taken hold, set some water for washing to heat, and sat down in front of the hearth, holding out her hands and feet to the glowing flames. She had a few minutes before the children awoke, and she planned to enjoy them in front of the fire. As she stared into the leaping flames, her thoughts instantly returned to Avery.
Did priests forsake their physical needs without any difficulty? She imagined not. Petra had known only her husband since Avery left, but she had several female friends who spoke frankly of such matters when they were alone, and they all shared a similar experience to that of Petra. Their husbands exercised their rights regularly, never tiring of the act or caring if the woman beneath them enjoyed it. It was a hunger that needed to be fed, day after day, year after year. Did that hunger fade in men of the cloth or did it die down for a time, only to reawaken when they least expected it?
She had no desire to stir feelings of love in Avery. She only wanted to talk to him, to know that he was well, and perhaps to tell him about Edwin. Would it cause him torment to know that he’d fathered a child? Would he wish to see his son? Petra had no way of knowing. The man who returned to Dunwich was a stranger to her.
Petra reluctantly left her spot by the hearth and turned her attention to making breakfast. The children were stirring, and she could hear Maude coughing behind the curtain of her alcove. At least she wouldn’t have to wash with cold water, which would aggravate her chilblains. Petra sliced some leftover bread and spread it thickly with fat before setting the slices close to the fire.By the time they were ready to eat, the bread would be hot, with melted fat soaked into the stale dough to make it more palatable.
Edwin was the first to rise, as usual. He pulled on his breeches and hose as he hopped from one foot to the other on the freezing dirt floor, before stuffing his feet into shoes and donning his jerkin.
“Do you need me to fetch some water, Mother?” he asked.
“There’s enough for now. Come and have a wash. I warmed it up.”
Edwin smiled gratefully as he washed his hands and face and took a seat at the table, accepting a slice of warm bread and a cup of ale. Petra ruffled his hair affectionately and went to rouse the girls, who tried to remain abed for as long as possible. Petra suddenly smiled to herself, realizing something that had eluded her until now. Edwin had not suffered a single fit since Cyril died. Was it possible that his fits were brought on by fear of his father? If so, he was cured. Petra felt a moment of pure joy when she imagined that that her son might no longer be afflicted. She would monitor him carefully, and if there were no more fits, she’d see to finding him a suitable apprenticeship, perhaps with the help of Lady Blythe.
Petra was in a state of nervous anticipation as she hurried toward Lady Blythe’s house. She didn’t expect to see Thomas, since he mentioned that he’d be going out with Robert first thing in the morning, and she was glad of it. She was still reeling from their last conversation and needed a bit of time to adjust her thinking to this new, if unlikely, possibility. Thomas and Robert were off to inspect a new location for a wool-picking shed and wouldn’t be back until much later in the afternoon, since the property was some distance from the town. The wool-picking shed they’d been using for the past decade was no longer big enough to accommodate allthe wool Thomas was buying, so they needed to expand and hire more wool-pickers as well.
Petra hated to even think about putting the girls to work, but if her income wasn’t enough to sustain them, she might have to ask Thomas to take on Ora and Elia as wool-pickers come spring. It was tedious, dirty work, but it was something the girls could easily do. Their earnings would help significantly and maybe they’d have enough left over to put something by for next winter. And if she could hold off on finding Edwin an apprenticeship for a year, he could work as a pack-whacker for a spell. He was too young to go out on his own, but there were at least two men to every pack of donkeys, and although pack-whacking didn’t pay much, there were hidden benefits, according to Robert. Pack-whackers usually followed the same route, so got to know the people along the way and were frequently asked to do small favors which were handsomely repaid in food and other goods. A chunk of cheese, a length of cloth, or a bag of flour went a long way to helping a family cope. Petra smiled as she pulled her cloak tighter about her and bent her head into the wind. She felt more hopeful this morning than she had in months. It was a heady feeling, and one she wasn’t accustomed to. She finally reached Lady Blythe’s house and knocked on the door, which was locked. When Nan opened the door, her face looked like curdled milk.
“What’s amiss, Nan?” Petra asked as she removed her cloak and hung it on a peg by the door.
“Her ladyship is unwell. She was up all night with a bilious attack. Not a moment’s rest did she allow me, that old…” Nan wisely refrained from finishing that remark, but Petra was fairly sure she was about to say “besom,” a term remarkably fitting, in Petra’s opinion.
“And Lord Thomas?”
“Slept like the dead, thank the Lord for small mercies. At least I didn’t have him ordering me about. I know how to look after his mother, been doing it long enough,” Nan replied with an eloquent scowl. She’d been in Lady Blythe’s service since she was ten and knew her employer like no one else. Nan looked pale, with dark smudges beneath her eyes—a testament to her sleepless night.
“Why don’t you go lie down for a bit, Nan? I’ll look after Lady Blythe.”
“Thank you, Petra. I owe you. I’m so weary, I can barely see straight.”
“You owe me nothing. Get some rest. I’ll come and fetch you in two hours.” Nan nodded and shuffled off, desperate for her bed.
Petra made her way up the stairs with a sinking heart. She’d pinned her hopes on seeing Avery, but it seemed that Lady Blythe would not be up to entertaining this day. Petra nearly gagged as she stepped into the darkened bedchamber. It reeked of vomit, sweat, and worse. Lady Blythe lay huddled under the counterpane, her face waxy and drawn. She was shivering despite the roaring fire, her teeth chattering loudly when she tried to speak.
“Where’s that slattern?” she demanded, referring to Nan. “I told her to take out this chamber pot ages ago, and I need a clean shift. This one is soiled,” she added miserably.
