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.

“Could her death have been accidental?” Gabe asked. He was well aware of Dr. Scott’s findings, but was prepared to explore every possible scenario in order to help Quinn come to terms with Petra’s untimely death.

Quinn shook her head. “I don’t think Petra and Edwin died during a storm. Their injuries might have been caused by something falling on them and fracturing their skulls, but the manner of their burial suggests that the insult was deliberate and malicious. Why would someone do that to victims of an accident?”

“They wouldn’t,” Gabe agreed. “Petra and Edwin would have received a Christian burial in hallowed ground, and their graves would have been washed away shortly after, leaving us nothing to find.”

“Exactly. I do think, however, that they died before the outbreak of the Black Death in 1348,” Quinn continued, testing out her theory on Gabe.

“Why makes you say that?” Gabe asked.

“I could be wrong, of course, but since the outbreak of 1348 essentially wiped out sixty percent of European population, I can’t imagine that in the midst of all that, someone would take the time to bury Petra and her son with such malicious intent. Most people were tossed into plague pits and left to rot. Had Petra and Edwin died as a result of the plague, their remains would not have been singled out, as they so clearly were.”

 “So, you believe that Petra and her son died either before the Great Storm or soon after, but before the outbreak of the plague?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“You like Petra, don’t you?” Gabe asked. “Tell me more about her.”

Quinn frowned in concentration. How did you describe a woman who died eight hundred years ago? She was nothing more than a wisp on the wind, an echo across the ages, but, to Quinn, she was as real as any woman she knew, and in some ways, not so different. The world had changed drastically since Petra walked the earth, but women still fought similar battles, if on slightly different battlefields, and dreamed the same dreams. What woman’s heart didn’t crave love, and how many women had to make the difficult choice between dedicating themselves to their children versus pursuing their own goals and putting their family in second place? Petra was faced with a similar dilemma, only her choices were somewhat more limited.

“She was lovely,” Quinn began. “She had beautiful, expressive eyes and a sweet smile, which she bestowed often and with great sincerity. She had beautiful hair, rippling golden waves that made her look years younger when worn loose, but being a married woman and then a widow, Petra’s hair was always pinned up beneath her headpiece. The last time Petra would have worn her hair loose might have been on her wedding day to Cyril, when she was fifteen.” Quinn sighed. What a cruel fate for a young, innocent girl to marry a man who’d been as brutal as Cyril Ordell.

“In today’s day and age, Petra would be just starting out on her life, pursuing a career and starting a family, but in her time, she was someone whose choices were limited to struggling to survive or marrying a man who’d look after her and her children.”

“Was there such a man?” Gabe asked.

“Yes, there was. And a good man, by the looks of it. Petra’s mother, who was shrewd and pragmatic, schemed to place Petra in the household of a noblewoman for whom Petra had once worked as a scullion. The mother rightly assumed that with being in the house of a wealthy matron, which was situated at the center of town, Petra might come into contact with some eligible men. She no doubt knew that Lady Blythe’s son was widowed, and hoped that Petra might catch his eye. Lord Devon was smitten with her, and if Petra shared his feelings, her life might have taken a very different course.”

“I take it she didn’t fancy him?” Gabe asked, making Quinn smile.

“She might have, had she not been blinded by her feelings for Avery. Despite her advanced years and life experience, Petra was still something of an innocent. She believed that she could hide her son’s illness and thought that she might reclaim the love she lost when she was a girl. I suppose Father Avery, who’d gotten her with child before he went off to the seminary at his father’s bidding, cared for her and his son, but not enough to sacrifice his own ambitions. He’d suffered a setback to his goals when he was sent to Dunwich to enjoy a period of reflection. Namely, he had to either renounce his radical ideas about making religion more accessible to the people or spend the rest of his life cooling his heels in some remote parish where he’d have no chance of advancement, not a scenario Father Avery relished. He had his eye on a bishop’s miter, and Petra, no matter how desirable, was not going to stand in his way. He told her as much, which was probably the only truly honest thing he did since coming back to Dunwich.”

“Father Avery wouldn’t have been the first priest to pick and choose which vows to obey. There were quite a few clergymen who had families on the side, keeping them in luxury at the expense of the Church and enjoying a double life,” Gabe remarked.

“I don’t think Avery was interested in taking on the responsibility of Petra’s family. He helped Edwin secure a position at Greyfriars as an apprentice to the scribes, but that was as far as he was willing to go. Petra was a lovely distraction, a belated chance to enjoy the physical pleasures he’d been denied in his youth, but he wished to remain unencumbered in order to pursue his own ends.”

Gabe smiled and trailed a line of kisses down Quinn’s neck. “So, Petra had to choose between a player, who had no intention of committing himself to her, and a good, reliable man, who failed to ignite her desire, since her feelings were already engaged elsewhere? Sounds like a very modern problem,” he murmured.

“Some things never change, do they?” Quinn replied, thinking that she herself had gone for the player instead of the good man when faced with the same choice, and it had been the wrong decision.

Quinn pulled Gabe down on top of her, hoping that the tender kisses were a prelude to what was to come. Emma was fast asleep, so they had a bit of privacy until it was time to get up and begin their day. Gabe’s kisses were becoming more demanding, when a quivering voice called from the other room.

“Quinn, I lost Mr. Rabbit. He’s gone,” Emma cried tearfully. She appeared in the doorway, clutching her favorite blanket to her chest like a drowning man holding on to a bit of flotsam.

“Coming, darling,” Quinn replied, leaving Gabe looking after her with undisguised longing.

“Get used to it,” Quinn whispered over her shoulder, chuckling as she went on a hunt for the elusive rabbit, who seemed to have wedged himself between the wall and the mattress, one long protruding ear being the only clue to his whereabouts.

“Here he is, the rascal,” Quinn said as she tucked Emma back into bed and placed the rabbit securely next to her. Emma wrapped her arm around the rabbit and sighed in relief.

“You don’t need to be up for two hours. Think you can go back to sleep?” Quinn asked, hoping that Emma would nod off now that the rabbit had been found.

Emma shook her head. “I’m hungry. I want a soft-boiled egg with toast, so I can make soldiers and dip them in the yolk.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

Quinn left Emma in bed and padded into the kitchen, yawning. She was about to fill the kettle, but changed her mind and turned on the espresso machine instead, then put the water for the eggs to boil and took out a slice of bread. She was just about to make her first cup of coffee when Gabe came in and looked around in surprise.

“I thought you were coming back to bed.”

“Emma wants breakfast.”

“It’s 4:30 in the morning,” Gabe protested.

“Don’t remind me,” Quinn said and took a sip of the bitter coffee. “Want one?”

“I might as well.”

“Why don’t you go get Emma while I make your coffee? Make sure she brushes her teeth.”

Quinn set the egg in a holder, buttered the toast and cut it into strips, and poured a glass of orange juice. She was just getting the cutlery when Gabe returned to the kitchen — alone.

“Where’s Emma?”

“Asleep,” Gabe replied, a bemused smile on his face. “Oh, that looks good,” he said as he eyed Emma’s breakfast.

“You’re welcome to it,” Quinn said. “Too early for me.”

Gabe shrugged and reached for a strip of toast. “I haven’t had soldiers since I was a little boy,” he said as he took a bite of toast and deftly sliced the top off the egg, dipping the left-over piece in the yolk and popping it into his mouth. Quinn smiled at him and handed him a cup of espresso.