Page 54 of The Forgotten
“And do what?” Avery asked. He was smiling down at her, but Petra could hear the note of reproach in his tone. “I have no inherited wealth, and no skill that could earn me a living. Would you have me do menial labor when I have a place in Oxford, the seat of learning?”
“So, you are content to leave me?” Petra asked.
“Petra, I have no choice. Being with you has brought me such happiness, and knowing that you bore my son fills me with great pride, but I have nothing to offer you beyond what we have here and now.”
“And if I get with child?” Petra demanded, a note of anger creeping into her voice. He’d left her pregnant once, he could do so again. Did he not care what happened to her?
Avery’s smile was condescending as he shifted away from Petra, just enough that their bodies were no longer touching. He was putting a distance between them, physical as well as emotional, and letting her know that any future between them was out of the question. His answer, when it came, was as sobering as a bucket of icy water, leaving Petra in no doubt about Avery’s feelings for her.
“Then you accept Lord Thomas and pass the child off as his. He will be over the moon, having just the one daughter, and you will enjoy a life of comfort and security. It’s the perfect solution for all involved.”
“Is it?” Petra asked nastily as she sat up and reached for her clothes. Avery made no move to stop her. He was more than willing to let her leave. Petra pulled the shift over her head andbegan to roll on her stockings, her movements jerky and rushed. She suddenly saw Avery in a whole new light. She believed him to be incapable of falsehood, a man of God who struggled between his devotion to the Church and his love for her, but suddenly she saw him for what he was. He was a man who took what he wanted and left others to deal with the consequences of his actions. He’d left her with child once, going meekly where his father ordered him, and now he would leave her again, only this time of his own free will.
Avery would not sacrifice anything for her or their son. Not now, or ever. He had lofty ambitions of his own. He’d been sent to Dunwich as a punishment for his unorthodox views, so he decided to make the most of his exile, safe in the knowledge that Petra would never betray him. Regardless of what happened between them, he would walk away unscathed, the consequences of his actions no longer his to bear.
Petra quickly braided her hair and stuffed it beneath her headpiece, tucking in stray tendrils carefully. There was no mirror or any metal surface where she could see her reflection, but she couldn’t go home looking disheveled or angry. Maude would not give her a moment’s peace if she thought something was amiss. Petra suspected that her mother knew the truth of her relationship with Avery already, but hoped and prayed that Petra would come to her senses and see the error of her ways without having to give voice to her concerns.
“Sweetheart, please don’t be angry,” Avery cajoled as he looked up at Petra from their makeshift bed. “Surely you didn’t think that I would leave the priesthood?”
“The possibility did cross my mind,” Petra retorted. She was about to say something more but didn’t. There was nothing she could say that would alter Avery’s plans. He’d never intendedfor them to have a future. He simply took what was given to him and made the most of it. “I won’t be coming here again.”
“Yes, you will. I know you will,” Avery replied, reaching for her hand and pressing his lips to her palm. “I will wait for you on Thursday, and then on Tuesday. You will come,” he said again, as if trying to convince himself.
Petra threw on her cloak and stuck her feet into her shoes. “I have to go,” she said and fled into the night without a backward glance. How sure Avery was that she would come back, she fumed. How secure in her love. Petra brushed away tears of hurt and hurried home, her hand clasped around the silver bird Thomas had given her. She’d hidden it in her pocket before meeting Avery, not wishing to upset him with evidence of Thomas’s affection, when she should have worn the gift proudly, displaying a token of love from a man who was willing to give her everything, not just a part of himself the Church had no use for.
All was quiet and still, everyone’s shutters closed against the chill of the March night. The sky was full of stars, the twinkling dots forming strange patterns in the sky, and the moon hanging low over the sea, its yellow surface reflected in the pitch-black waters. A pathway of light shimmered on the surface, like a magic walkway, beckoning to unsuspecting travelers. Petra stopped walking and stared out over the moonlit sea. She felt hollow and unbearably sad, but the beauty around her marginally lifted her spirits, reminding her that every situation was made up of light and dark.
Petra pulled on her hood and rushed home, her head down and her steps brisk. She didn’t notice the hooded figure that stepped out of the shadow of the abandoned hut, nor did she pay any attention to the stealthy footsteps that accompanied her home.
FORTY-EIGHT
LONDON, ENGLAND
March 2014
Quinn set aside Petra’s cross and stared out the window. A light rain fell from a leaden sky, and a stealthy wind moved through the trees, but all she saw was the pitch-black stillness of the North Sea as it lay in wait, lulling the inhabitants of Dunwich into a false sense of security. The town was dark and silent by night, as any medieval town would be, but by day, it was a bustling metropolis with a busy harbor and numerous shops that did a brisk business during daylight hours. How much longer before the next devastating storm struck the town? Quinn wondered. She knew the years, but not the exact dates of the crippling storms.
But Petra didn’t die in a storm. She was murdered and buried face down on the fringes of the leper cemetery next to her young son, whose skull had been bashed in. Petra had been gone for centuries, but Quinn couldn’t help feeling a sense of dread as she watched her go about her daily life, desperately trying to find that elusive balance between love and duty. Surely, she made the wrong choice, but was one mistake enough to get her killed? And how did Edwin’s death fit into the puzzle?
What happened to you, Petra?Quinn asked the darkness.What went wrong?
“Can’t sleep?” Gabe asked as he turned to face Quinn. He was a light sleeper at the best of times, but since Emma’s arrival, he seemed to always be dozing rather than sleeping soundly.
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, I wasn’t sleeping. Were you thinking about Petra? You really mustn’t let her get to you, Quinn. It happened ages ago. It’s ancient history.”
“She died hundreds of years ago, but she seems so real, so alive,” Quinn replied. How could she explain to Gabe how seeing Petra made her feel? He loved history as much as she did, but the past didn’t live inside his mind, nor did the images march across his eyelids every time he closed his eyes. He could keep a sense of detachment and view history from the perspective of an academic, but the people Quinn saw were real, likable, and flawed. They loved the wrong people, struggled against the constraints society placed on them, and made grave misjudgments, which often lead to tragedy. Petra wouldn’t live out the year, Quinn knew that, but still she couldn’t quite see where the danger lurked or predict what would lead to Petra and Edwin’s violent end.
“What was Dunwich like?” Gabe asked as he turned onto his side and propped his head on his hand, sleep forgotten. “I wish I could see what you see. It must be fascinating to experience things as they really were and not as we imagine them. What I wouldn’t give to see the town as it was before it was swept out to sea.”
“It was vast for that time period. It looked like any other large medieval town, with people going about their business, merchants selling their wares, and women minding their children and running their households. Most houses were built of wattle and daub, with thatched roofs, but there were many stone structures, and some houses were quite grand. Lady Blythe’s home was spacious and comfortable, with rich furnishings and glazed windows. There were several parish churches and two chapels of ease.”
Gabe pulled Quinn closer and rested his head against hers. “Describe Petra to me as if she were still alive—someone you know.”
“She’s alive in my mind, Gabe. She’s as real as you and I. Those bones on a slab are not the person I see,” Quinn added. She couldn’t reconcile those ancient remains with the lovely, vibrant woman she saw only a few minutes ago. In Quinn’s mind, Petra’s face was rosy with cold as she hurried down the deserted streets of Dunwich, her heart contracting with disappointment as Avery’s cruel words churned in her head over and over, chipping away at her dream for the future. Quinn felt reluctant to talk about Petra, but she supposed it would help her to accept Petra’s fate if she talked things through with Gabe.
“When I look at Petra, I see a woman who hasn’t got long to live, and my heart breaks for her. She’s so young and has so much to live for. She’s hurt and disappointed in the man she loves, but her troubles are universal. People have been disappointed in love since the beginning of time, but most of them do manage to move on and build a life for themselves, given time. But that’s the one thing she doesn’t have. I don’t know the exact date of her death, but I believe that it’s imminent,” Quinn said, silent tears sliding down her face.
