Page 39 of The Forsaken
“Did Guy or Hugh ever marry?” Quinn asked.
“I tried to research my family history when I was a teen, but only found information on Adam’s descendants. There’s a family tree that goes back to the Conquest, but it makes no mention of either Guy’s or Hugh’s nuptials. Perhaps they died before they had a chance to marry.”
“Interesting.”
“Do you think the woman might be Adam’s mother, Eleanor?” Gabe speculated. “I know Colin said that she likely didn’t have children, but it’s possible that he’s mistaken, especially after all this time. Perhaps she had a very easy labor that left no mark on her pelvis. The child could have come early, and been very small.”
“Surely, even a small child would leave its mark if it was nearly full term,” Quinn argued.
“What if she had a cesarean? The procedure would surely kill her, but since the child didn’t pass through the birth canal, there’d be no way to tell that she’d given birth.”
“I don’t think cesarean sections were very common in the fifteenth century, but I know for a fact that it isn’t Eleanor. She survived Adam’s birth and suffered a stillbirth just before William died. She bore two children, and Colin would spot that immediately.”
“I have to go,” Gabe said as he finished his lunch. “Will you be all right?”
“Of course. When do you think you’ll get the sword back from Dr. Edwards?”
“Today or tomorrow. I have to find a good hiding place for it, what with Emma nosing around for her birthday presents. Perhaps we can wrap it in a towel and hide it on top of the wardrobe. She can’t reach up there.”
“Neither can I,” Quinn replied with a chuckle. “It won’t be that easy to keep it away from me.”
“You can’t blame a bloke for trying,” Gabe replied with a sigh. “You won’t rest until you know what happened, will you?”
“Shall I stop now?” Quinn asked innocently and was rewarded with the reaction she’d hoped for. Gabe was desperate to know what happened. “You’re just as hooked as I am, Dr. Russell.”
“They’re my ancestors.”
“Exactly. You owe it to yourself to discover their story. Bring back that sword.”
“All right,” Gabe capitulated. “I’ll see you both tonight.” He placed his hand on Quinn’s belly as he kissed her, then left for work.
TWENTY-FOUR
Quinn stared into her empty cup and pondered what to do. It was a lovely day outside, and she didn’t feel like returning to the empty flat. She knew she was meant to be taking it easy, but sitting around for hours on end with nothing specific to do raised her stress levels more than actually being productive. She wasn’t someone who could spend hours watching television or gobble up one book after another in a futile attempt to keep her mind occupied. She did keep a stack of pregnancy manuals by the bed and consulted them every night, learning in minute detail what the baby might look like at any given stage and what developmental milestones were to be expected within the next week or two.
They’d started talking about baby names, but for some reason no name felt quite right yet. Since Phoebe kept insisting that the baby was a boy, they’d come up with several male names, but the only one Quinn was partial to was Alexander. Gabe hadn’t mentioned it, but she was sure he wouldn’t be averse to naming the child Graeme, after his father. Quinn understood the sentiment, and would have loved to honor Gabe’s dad in that way, but she just couldn’t warm up to the name. To her, Graeme was an old-fashioned name, not a name for a little boy, or even an adolescent. She wanted her child to have a name that was trendy and modern. She wouldn’t object to giving Graeme as a middle name, if it came to that. Perhaps she’d stop by Waterstone’s and pick up a book of baby names.
Quinn was just about to leave the café when her phone buzzed. It was a text from Rhys, asking her to stop into the BBC offices to sign the renewed contract. He went on to say that he could overnight it to her if she didn’t feel up to coming in person. Quinn glanced at her watch. She had hours until Emma needed to be collected from nursery school, and a walk was just what she needed. Waterstone’s could wait.
On my way, Quinn texted back and slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. She put on her sunglasses and headed outinto the glorious afternoon, her mind on the fifteenth-century remains she’d so recently seen.
The BBC head office in Portland Place sparkled with reflected sunshine as Quinn approached. A number of people milled about outside, talking on their mobiles, sneaking a quick cigarette, or just enjoying a few minutes of sunshine before returning to their desks. Quinn signed in and took the elevator to Rhys’s floor. His PA invited her to sit down.
“He’s in a meeting but should be wrapping things up,” Denise said, glancing at the clock. “Can I get you a cup of tea or some water?”
“Thank you. I’m all right. I’ll just wait.”
Quinn took a seat on the ultra-modern white leather sofa and checked her phone. There was a missed call from her mum and several new texts. Jill had sent a photo of a charming empire-waist frock in apple green. The caption read:You like?
Quinn responded:I like. Keep it aside for me, and any peasant blouses you might have in my size. I can still get away with wearing those. She glanced down at her stomach. She’d have to start buying maternity clothes soon. Her elastic-waist leggings were becoming too tight around the waist and she was uncomfortable. It was about time, she supposed. She’d just entered her third trimester.
Quinn scrolled through the unread texts and found a message from Sylvia. She wanted to know if Quinn might like to meet for lunch at the weekend. Sylvia omitted any mention of Gabe, which meant that she was still angry about the incident with Jude. Quinn sighed with frustration. Why did people have to make things so difficult? Gabe refused to apologize—not that he should have to—and Sylvia refused to see that Gabe was justified. They hadn’t come face-to-face since the incident with Emma, and Quinn hoped that Emma’s birthday party might give them the opportunity to bury the hatchet. She smiled wryly. She’d learned that expression from Seth. She hadn’t spoken to him in weeks andknew that she should reach out, but every time she thought of Brett, her stomach contracted with fear. She didn’t want to revisit the events that had landed Brett in prison, and talking to Seth inevitably brought it all back.
Quinn’s thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the door. Rhys stepped into the anteroom, followed by an elderly gentleman wearing a clerical collar. They were still talking, but Rhys gave Quinn a warm smile and beckoned to her.
“Reverend, this is Dr. Quinn Allenby. Or is it Dr. Russell now?” Rhys asked.
“I’m keeping my maiden name professionally,” Quinn replied.
