Page 44 of The Unforgiven
Amelia shook her head. She removed her hands from her puffy, tear-stained face and turned to face Madeline, her eyes full of anguish and fear. “The physical pain will go away, but not the pain in my heart. This is the third baby I’ve lost, Madeline. And now I’ve lost George as well.”
“You haven’t lost George. He loves you.”
“A man rarely loves a woman who can’t give him what he wants, and what he wants is a child.”
“You’ll have another baby, a living baby,” Madeline insisted.
Amelia shook her head as tears slowly slid down her pale cheeks once again. “Madeline, you are too young to understand, and I probably shouldn’t be using my pain as an excuse to disillusion you, but girls like you and I are only good for one thing. We are bred for only one purpose. We are a bridge to the next generation. None of this is worth anything”—Amelia made a sweeping gesture—“if there’s no one to leave it to. George is the last Besson descendant. If he dies without an heir, everything dies with him.”
“Amelia, you’re still young,” Madeline protested.
“Do you know what Dr. Holbrook said to me?” she asked, the look of desolation in her eyes replaced by burning anger. “Hesaid I should pray for forgiveness and acceptance. Forgiveness because I’m clearly to blame, and acceptance because he doesn’t believe I can carry a child to term. He said as much to Sybil. Sybil is obsessed with this place, and she’s very possessive of George. She will not allow her family’s legacy to crumble into ruins.”
Madeline was about to disagree, but having overheard Sybil’s advice to George, she couldn’t bring herself to lie. She had thought Amelia was oblivious to the undercurrents around her, but now Madeline realized Amelia had been a lot more aware than she’d given her credit for.
“You need to rest,” Madeline said as she got to her feet. Amelia did look exhausted, but that wasn’t the reason Madeline needed to leave. She’d rather be anywhere than in this room. Amelia was drowning in her desperation, and Madeline felt as if Amelia would drag her down to the bottom with her. At fifteen, Madeline wasn’t equipped to deal with the depth of Amelia’s grief or her fears for the future. She could barely handle her own.
“Yes, you’re right. Thank you for coming to see me.” Amelia’s voice sounded flat again, and all the emotion left her eyes. She leaned back deeper into the pillows and closed her eyes, giving Madeline an excuse to leave.
TWENTY-FOUR
MAY 2014
Berwick-Upon-Tweed, England
A churchlike hush settled over the hospital once visiting hours came to an end and the patients were settled in for the night. Only a few visitors remained, those whose loved ones might not make it through the night. A low light burned over the nurses’ station where two efficient-looking representatives of the caring profession held down the fort, mugs of tea in hand. Gabe could just see them through the partially open door of his father’s room.
Graeme Russell looked like a stone effigy—white, still, and lifeless—but his breathing was even and he appeared to be asleep rather than unconscious. Gabe reached over and took his mother’s hand. She never looked away from her husband, but the gesture seemed to bring her back to life.
“You were born here, you know,” Phoebe said as she shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair.
“I know.”
“Never did like this place. Looks like a dungeon,” Phoebe added. “I haven’t been here in years. Not since your grandmother passed. It hasn’t changed much.”
The Berwick Infirmary did have the appearance of a stronghold, or a Victorian lunatic asylum. Built of gray stone, it had a tower that must have at some point housed a bell. There was a strict no-mobile-phones policy on the ward, for which Gabe was grateful since it gave him an excuse not to call Quinn, who’d rung twice since he left London. He longed to talk to her and share his worry and fear, but didn’t want to upset her. It wasn’t as if shecould do anything to help. He’d ring her in the morning, once he had something definite to say.
“Mum, what exactly did the doctor say?” Gabe asked. He’d arrived in Berwick-upon-Tweed only an hour ago and spent most of it arguing with the night porter, who had tried to turn him away and advised him to come back in the morning when visiting hours began.
“He said your father had a cardiac event,” Phoebe replied. She didn’t elaborate, and Gabe didn’t press her. He could see for himself that things were dire, and making his mother reiterate the details would only upset her further.
“Can I get you a cup of tea, Mum?” Gabe felt an overwhelming need to get up and walk, having spent the past eight hours in the car. He’d dropped off Emma, then spent over an hour in rush-hour traffic, followed by the additional six hours it took to get to Berwick. Now that he was finally here, he felt like a caged animal who, despite its limitations, couldn’t sit still and paced its cage for hours on end.
“Yes, tea would be lovely. Have you called Quinn?”
“Not yet. I didn’t want to worry her.”
Phoebe nodded but didn’t reply. Gabe left the room and went in search of tea. He found a vending machine at the end of the corridor, but the tea would be weak and lukewarm at best, so he returned to the nurses’ station.
“Any chance of a cup of tea for my mother?” he asked the nurses, hoping they’d take pity on him. The older nurse looked annoyed and was about to direct him back to the vending machine, but the younger one smiled and nodded. She was in her early twenties and seemed to have a sunny disposition.
“We have a kettle set up in the breakroom. I’ll make you a fresh brew. Back in a tic.”
“Thank you, miss,” Gabe said. His father would have said something like “Thanks, luv,” but having been a college administrator for years, Gabe had learned the art of political correctness. Some women wouldn’t mind being calledluv, but others might find the endearment condescending or even sexist. Monica bloody Fielding had even filed a sexual harassment complaint against one of the older professors who called everyoneluv,pet, ordear. Gabe had had to call the man in, read him the riot act, and extract the promise of an apology to Monica, who had gloated as if she’d won a million-dollar harassment suit.
The young nurse returned with two plastic cups of strong tea and extracted a half-eaten package of biscuits from her pocket, which she held out to Gabe.
“Your mum’s been here for hours. She must be starving.”
