Page 7 of The Forgotten
“Edwin can wear Cyril’s clothes. I know he’s much thinner and shorter than Cyril was, but you can take in the garments to make them fit. Leave enough room for him to grow into them. And I will go to the cobbler and see if I can trade Cyril’s boots for shoes for Elia and Ora. They won’t be new, but they’ll last through the winter at the very least,” Petra said. The cobbler was a good man and would trade Cyril’s worn boots for two pairs of used boots for the girls, Petra was sure of it. Perhaps the laces would need to be replaced, but the leather would still be good, and the boots would come up above the ankle, keeping the girls’ feet dry during the winter months. Maude nodded, pleased by her daughter’s pragmatic thinking. She’d taught her well.
“I’m for my bed,” Petra said, desperate to put an end to the unsettling conversation. It was one of many, and her head ached with tension brought on by constant fretting. They’d never been well-to-do, but she supposed they’d been comfortable enough. They dined on beef or pork at least once a week, and Cyril grudgingly allowed Petra to buy cloth once a year to make a new gown for herself. She even had a cloak trimmed with vair, an extravagance she permitted herself on her twenty-fifth birthday, with Cyril’s blessing, of course.
Her old gowns were recut into clothes for the children, but Petra insisted on buying a length of linen to make new undergarments for the family. After a year’s wear, the shifts and braies were worn through, and the children did grow, making new garments necessary. Cyril was less generous when it came to shoes, decreeing that the children wear their shoes until there were holes in the soles. Cyril inserted bits of leather to cover the holes, therefore squeezing a few more months of wear before finally agreeing to new footwear. Petra hated those little economies, but now she realized that they had been necessary, and were nothing compared to what she’d have to give up if she didn’t find a source of income. There would be no new gown or undergarments this year. Cyril’s much-worn and darned hose would have to find new life with Edwin, at least until the winter was over, and the girls would have to make do with their old shifts. They were too short and threadbare but would have to last a while longer.
Petra climbed wearily to her loft. She would have to find something for Edwin, and soon. He would need a way to support himself once he came of age, and possibly his sisters as well should anything happen to Petra. The girls were still young, but in a few years’ time, they would be of marriageable age and would need to be dowered. Where would she find the money to make them desirable to a prospective husband? They were comely of face and docile of manner, but that wasn’t enough to secure their future. If Petra hoped to marry the girls off to journeymen, she needed to offer something worth having, something that had value. Everyone was poor and had no desire to be poorer still. Love was a luxury few could afford. Even the wealthy married to further their family’s goals and forge alliances. Children were nothing more than a commodity to be traded for the best price.
Petra removed her headdress and gown and unbraided her hair before climbing into bed in her shift and hose, shivering fromthe cold. A bitter draft seeped right through the walls, making her blanket feel woefully inadequate. Petra would have been better off sleeping in her woolen gown, but she couldn’t afford to put extra wear on the garment, so she hugged her knees to her chest and shivered pitifully until she finally fell asleep.
SEVEN
JANUARY 2014
London, England
Gabe tossed his mobile onto the desk and buried his head in his hands. He was shaking, his mind momentarily paralyzed by what he’d just learned. How was it possible for a person’s life to change so drastically in a matter of moments? In his line of work, he dealt with the unraveling of people’s lives on a daily basis, but history was academic, not personal. He knew only too well of settlements that had been burned down to the ground, their entire populations slaughtered, but not before the women were raped, the brutality witnessed by their husbands and children who cried in helpless frustration. He’d read of ships sinking, their crews and passengers swallowed by the sea, and, of course, he was well-versed in the casualties of war. But this was his life, and this time the events were happening to him and to Quinn. Gabe growled with despair, startling his PA, who’d just walked in.
“Dr. Russell, are you quite all right? You look a bit peaky,” Sherry Lee said as she deposited more paper into Gabe’s already-overflowing in-tray.
“Ah, yes. Thank you, Sherry,” Gabe muttered as he jumped up and grabbed his coat. “I just need some air.”
He strode out of the office and ran down the stairs, desperate to get outside. The cold, smoggy air assaulted him as he exited the building, but it was a welcome respite from the stuffy, overheated fug of his office. Gabe began to walk. He was almost running, but he had no idea where he was going. He didn’t want togo home. What he needed was a drink and someone to talk to before he went home to break the news to Quinn.Oh God,Gabe thought miserably.What will Quinn make of all this?
Gabe couldn’t recall exactly when he stopped walking, but he found himself sitting on a bench in Hyde Park. He had no recollection of getting there, or of purchasing a bottle of whisky from the off-license. Gabe unscrewed the cap and took a sip, enjoying the feel of the fiery liquid as it slid down his throat. It had just gone 10 a.m., but he didn’t care; he was desperate. What he felt was so convoluted that he couldn’t even begin to put it into words. He was shocked, upset, frightened, and very apprehensive, but he was also excited, curious, and filled with a longing that left him nearly breathless.
Gabe lowered the bottle when he saw a young woman with a small girl walking along the path. The woman looked bemused as the little girl bombarded her with questions, not waiting for an answer before moving on to the next topic. The girl had golden hair that escaped from her pink hat and wide blue eyes. She looked like a character from some children’s book that he couldn’t quite recall. Was itThe Secret Garden? No, she reminded him ofAlice in Wonderland. Well, he’d just tumbled down the rabbit hole, so it made perfect sense. Gabe lifted the bottle to his lips and drank deeply.
EIGHT
JANUARY 2014
London, England
Quinn looked up from her book on medieval Dunwich when she heard the scrape of the key in the lock, surprised that Gabe was back so early. It was just past noon, and he rarely got home before six. She cast her mind over the contents of the fridge. He’d be hungry. Perhaps she could make him some pasta or a salad. She’d been planning to pick up some chops from the butcher’s down the street but thought she had a few hours to spend on research before it was time to prepare dinner.
“You’re home early,” she called out. “Would you like…?” The rest of the question died on Quinn’s lips when she noted Gabe’s appearance. He looked strangely pale, despite the biting cold outside, and his gaze wasn’t focused on anything in particular. Quinn went to kiss him but drew back when she smelled the liquor on his breath.
“Gabe, have you been drinking?”
Gabe enjoyed the occasional pint or a glass of wine, but he wasn’t a serious drinker, not like some who started as soon as the sun was over the yardarm. Gabe was a social drinker who always stopped before he reached his limit. Quinn had seen him tipsy a few times, in his younger days, but never stinking drunk, as he appeared to be at that moment.
“Yes, I have,” Gabe replied as he collapsed into a wing chair. “And I’d like to keep drinking, except that I ran out ofwhisky.” He pulled an empty bottle out of his pocket and looked at it in confusion, almost as if he expected more whisky to materialize out of thin air. He shrugged in resignation and set the bottle on the floor before leaning against the back of the sofa and closing his eyes against the bright light streaming through the window.
“Gabe, what’s wrong? Is it your parents?” Quinn cried. She couldn’t think of anything else that would send Gabe into such a tailspin. His parents were elderly. Things happened. Gabe shook his head but didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to look at her.
“Mum and Dad are well, as far as I know,” he finally replied, slurring his words ever so slightly.
“Did you get sacked?” Quinn tried again. Losing his job would upset Gabe terribly, but she knew of absolutely no reason why that should happen. Gabe was good at what he did and had the respect of colleagues and students alike.
“Not yet,” Gabe muttered, his mouth curling into a mirthless smile. He finally opened his eyes but refused to make eye contact, staring off into the distance instead.
“Then what is it? What’s happened?” she pleaded, now really worried. Gabe was the calmest, most rational person she knew. Gabe didn’t drink in the morning or stare into space as if he couldn’t quite remember where he was supposed to be. Quinn couldn’t begin to imagine what might have driven him to this type of a breakdown.
“I’m not sure where to start,” Gabe mumbled.
“At the beginning,” Quinn retorted. “But first, you will have some coffee.” She raced into the kitchen and turned on theespresso machine, making Gabe a double espresso. He accepted the cup gratefully, took a sip, and grimaced with distaste.
“You could have added some sugar,” he complained.
