The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past Book 4) Read online

  Gabe closed his eyes and took a deep breath, obviously praying for patience. “Mum, who is dead?”

  “Well, I don’t know, do I?”

  “Well, I certainly don’t,” Gabe snapped.

  “I would be happy to tell you if you’d stop interrupting me, Gabriel,” Phoebe chastised him. “Where were we?”

  “The long metal rod.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, Peter tried to clear the obstruction, but said it was much deeper than the rod could reach. He said that the pipe would need to be replaced. He had to break the kitchen floor to get to it.” Phoebe exhaled loudly. “He made quite a hole. Much larger than was strictly necessary, if you ask me.”

  “Did he find the problem?”

  “Eventually. A tree root had grown through the pipe and caused a blockage. That’s the tree just beyond the kitchen garden. It really is a lovely old thing,” Phoebe went on. “I do love when it changes colors in the autumn. So beautiful. Your father loved that tree. Never wanted to prune the branches, not even when they started to bang against the window in the wind.”

  “Mum, the body,” Gabe prompted gently.

  “Right. Well, when Peter broke the floor and made the hole much wider than he should have, he saw it.”

  “Saw what?”

  “The elbow.”

  “Whose elbow?”

  “The body’s elbow, Gabe. Pay attention.”

  Gabe looked like he was about to bang his head against the wall, but he took a steadying breath and summarized the situation in the most economical way possible. “So, Peter broke the kitchen floor and stumbled on a body. I’m assuming he called the police, who came and went, since if the burial was recent, they’d likely still be there, processing the crime scene. Given that the burial is not recent, these must be skeletal remains that you’d like me to excavate and remove from the kitchen. Am I correct?”

  “Isn’t that what I said?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Well, it’s what I meant. I refuse to use the kitchen until that thing has been removed. It’s gruesome, son. The police unearthed enough of it to make coming into the kitchen simply out of the question.”

  “I’ll leave tomorrow morning,” Gabe promised. “Please don’t disturb the grave any more than it has already been tampered with.”

  “I’m not touching anything. Haven’t you heard me? I won’t go into the kitchen.”

  “How will you manage?” Gabe asked, worried that his mother had declared a hunger strike, but Phoebe was too practical a woman for such nonsense.

  “I’m going to stay with Cecily Creston-Jones for a few days.”

  “Mum, did Peter replace the pipe?”

  “No, the police advised him not to touch anything until they’ve had a chance to examine the scene.”

  “Did he turn the water off in the entire house?” Gabe asked.

  “No, just the kitchen. There’s clean water in the upstairs bath.”

  “All right. Good.”

  “Why? What does it matter?” Phoebe asked.

  “It matters because it takes time to excavate a burial site properly, and I will need water if I’m to stay at the house.”

  “You?” Quinn asked. “Don’t you mean ‘we’?”

  Gabe’s eyebrows rose unnaturally high in surprise, but he finished the phone call with his mother before addressing Quinn’s comment. “If you think, for just one moment, that you will be working in the kitchen with me, you have another think coming, Mrs. Russell. You can come with me, if you wish, but you will march upstairs on arrival and rest, as per doctor’s orders, while I deal with the situation in the kitchen.”

  “Like hell I will,” Quinn retorted.

  Gabe folded his arms and stared her down until Quinn conceded.

  “All right, I will not do any physical excavating, but I will not be sent to my room like a child. I will assist you in spirit.”

  “Fine,” Gabe agreed. “It was worth a try.”

  “What about Emma? Should we ask Sylvia to mind her for a few days?”

  Gabe shook his head. “No, not after what happened last time.”

  “But it was a misunderstanding, and Emma loves spending time with Logan and Jude. Besides, she might be frightened by the skeleton.”

  “Quinn, with us as parents, she will have to deal with human remains soon enough. She’s coming with us. We’ll just keep her out of the kitchen.”

  “Deal,” Quinn agreed and smiled broadly.

  “You’re excited about this, aren’t you?” Gabe asked, grinning back at her.

  “You know something, I really am. Nothing cheers me up as much as unearthing a skeleton.”

  “Me too,” Gabe confessed. “This should be interesting.”

  “I’m just glad to know that I’m not the only one with skeletons in the cupboard,” Quinn joked.

  Chapter 3

  July 2014

  Berwick-upon-Tweed, Northumberland

  Quinn had never particularly liked the manor house, but today, after only one day of standing vacant, it looked forbidding and sinister. Some might think her fanciful, but she knew that buildings, like people, had their own moods, and the manor wasn’t pleased with having its secrets unearthed.

  Gabe went in first, and when he opened the door with his key, the house seemed to almost suck in its breath. Gabe stopped on the threshold and stood still for a moment, as though he felt it too, but he would never say it aloud. Gabe wasn’t one to give in to such superstitious nonsense.

  “Come on in,” Gabe called to Quinn and Emma, who were dawdling on the steps.

  “Where’s Buster?” Emma whined. She looked around as if she expected the puppy to come bounding toward her, but the place was clearly deserted.

  “I expect Grandma Phoebe took Buster with her,” Gabe explained. “She couldn’t leave him here all alone.”

  “He would guard the place,” Emma replied. “He’s fierce.”

  Gabe tried to mask his chuckle with a cough. Buster was about as fierce as a newborn chick. “I’ll call Mum and let her know we’re here,” he said as he carried their bags into the hall.

  Quinn went up to the bedroom they’d stayed in when visiting her in-laws. She smiled as she passed Gabe’s old room. Old posters hung on the walls, and every surface was covered with books, maps, and construction sets. The preserved teenager’s room was a silent tribute to the boy Gabe had been, and a glimpse into Phoebe’s nostalgia.

  Gabe followed Quinn with the bags. He deposited Emma’s case in the small bedroom next to theirs, where she’d slept before. The room must have been a dressing room at one time, but had been converted to a bedroom once such extravagances went out of fashion. Emma liked having her own room, but needed to know that Quinn and Gabe were next door and she could call out to them if she woke up during the night or wanted a cuddle in the morning.

  Quinn opened Emma’s case, extracted her pajamas and Mr. Rabbit, and put her toothbrush, hairbrush, and strawberry-scented shampoo in the bathroom. Emma stood in the doorway, looking disgruntled. She’d looked forward to seeing Buster, and was sorely disappointed.

  “Hello,” Phoebe called from downstairs. “Emma, darling, I’m back.”

  A happy bark followed, and Emma thudded down the stairs to say hello to Phoebe and her beloved pup. Quinn followed at a much slower pace.

  “You are glowing,” Phoebe said as she kissed Quinn on both cheeks. “How’s my grandson?”

  “It might be a granddaughter,” Quinn answered with a grin. They’d had this conversation several times before, but Phoebe was sticking to her guns.

  “It might be, but it isn’t.” Phoebe laid a hand on Quinn’s rounded belly. “Ooh, I can feel his bum.”

  “How do you know it’s his bum?” Quinn asked, curious. She frequently felt her stomach, but couldn’t really tell what was what just yet.

  “Because if it was his head, it’d be much harder. Russell men are notoriously hard-headed, or haven’t you noticed?” Phoebe laughed.

  �
�I heard that,” Gabe called out from above.

  Phoebe chuckled. “They have excellent hearing too, but only when it suits their purpose. Ask them to change a lightbulb or rake the leaves, and they go deaf in both ears.”

  “Have you come back to stay?” Quinn asked.

  Phoebe shook her head. “No, dear. I can’t remain in this house until that thing is removed. I know it’s silly, but for some reason I find it very unsettling. And my friend Cecily has a very comfortable cottage with several guest bedrooms. Perhaps Emma should stay with me until you’ve finished.”

  “Yes, please,” Emma said as she danced around Phoebe. “I want to be where Buster is.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” Gabe said as he came down the stairs. “Cecily Creston-Jones is lovely, and I believe she has a puppy of her own—a Yorkie called Bertie. You’ll be in dog heaven, Em.”

  “It’s all right with me,” Quinn agreed. Emma was too young to be present at an excavation of a skeleton, especially when it was in the kitchen.

  “We’ll make a start tomorrow,” Gabe said. “Tonight, I’m taking everyone to dinner, including Cecily, to a restaurant of your choice. You decide amongst yourselves while I take a look at the ‘lodger’ in the kitchen.”

  “I want pizza,” Emma exclaimed. “And ice cream.”

  “Of course you do, love,” Phoebe said, smiling. “You always want pizza and ice cream.”

  “Don’t you like pizza?” Emma asked her grandmother, as though suddenly realizing that not everyone might like what she likes.

  “I do, but not as much as you do. How about dinner at the pub?” Phoebe asked Emma. “This way we can all get what we want.”

  “All right,” Emma answered, shrugging. “Whatever.” She enunciated the word, making it sound like an insult.

  “Is that attitude I sense?” Phoebe asked Quinn as Emma ran after Buster.

  Quinn sighed. “Some days I think she’s already a teenager. By the way, Phoebe, Emma’s birthday is in August, and we’d like to have a party for her. Perhaps we can do something really special, since it’s her first birthday without her mum and she’ll be feeling sad. I hope you’ll come.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. I wouldn’t miss it. If you need any help planning, count me in. I feel so restless since Graham died. I don’t know what to do with my time.”

  “What did you do before?” Quinn asked.

  “I made him breakfast, lunch, and tea. I bullied him into taking daily walks, and sometimes we watched television in the evenings. I didn’t like the programs he enjoyed, but it was nice to spend time together—companionable. I’m busy enough during the day, but once it gets dark, the house feels so empty,” Phoebe complained.

  “It must be very difficult to lose your companion of so many years. My grandmother never got over my grandfather’s death. She always spoke of him as if he were about to return. To her, he was still there, in the room, in her heart. Her Joe was looking after her, and she smiled as she died, knowing she would see him again.”

  “Do you think she did?” Phoebe asked.

  “I’d like to think so, but the more logical part of my brain says that it’s not very likely.”

  “I’d like to see Graham again, if only to give him a piece of my mind,” Phoebe said. “How could he leave me like that?”

  Quinn saw the tears and wrapped her arm about the older woman. “He didn’t leave you, Phoebe. He was taken. He would have never left you. He adored you.”

  Phoebe sniffed loudly. “Would have been nice if he said so from time to time.”

  “He didn’t need to. It was right there for everyone to see.”

  Phoebe nodded. “I know he did. I loved him too. I hadn’t realized how much until he was gone. You and Gabe, don’t ever take each other for granted. He adores you too, you know.” Phoebe looked squarely at Quinn. “Don’t ever hurt him, Quinn.”

  “I won’t.”

  Phoebe nodded and walked away, going to see what Emma and Buster were up to. Quinn looked after her for a long moment. Why would Phoebe think she’d hurt Gabe?

  Chapter 4

  The following morning, with Emma safely out of the way, Gabe and Quinn made their way down to the kitchen, tools of their trade in hand. The hole in the floor wasn’t as large as Quinn had expected, nor was it possible to see the complete skeleton. She supposed the coroner had seen enough to declare it a non-recent burial and left it at that. It would take several days to fully unearth the remains and label and bag all the bones and artefacts found with the body. Quinn settled herself in a kitchen chair with a cup of tea while Gabe went to work. He would use a trowel and brushes once he got closer to the actual bones, but for the moment, he had to remove the portion of the floor that still covered the grave and the layer of earth on top of the skelly.

  “Are you sure I can’t help?” Quinn asked as she peered into the dank hole.

  “Positive,” Gabe replied as he reached for a crowbar, sporting the look of a man determined to leave no tile intact. “You can make me a cuppa,” he added with a smile. “Demolition is thirsty work. And after you make the tea, you should go take a walk. It’s a beautiful day out, and you can use a bit of fresh air and exercise after sitting in the car all day yesterday.”

  “Yes, Dr. Russell,” Quinn replied with a chuckle. Gabe really was becoming a dictator since the incident in New Orleans, but she secretly liked it. He did it because he loved her and their baby, and worried about them incessantly, although, at times, his high-and-mighty attitude grated on her nerves. “All right, I will take a walk before lunch, but for now, I will sit here and ooze moral support.”

  “Don’t ooze too hard. I have hours to go before I get to anything even remotely interesting.”

  Quinn took a walk, as promised, and then had a lovely nap before returning downstairs in time for dinner. She couldn’t cook anything, since the kitchen was out of bounds, but Cecily had invited them to dinner at her cottage as a thank you for taking her out the night before, and they both missed Emma. Gabe was shoulder-deep in the kitchen floor, his tools laid out on the remaining tiles at the edge of the opening. Quinn could see the gleam of bone as he used a brush to clear dirt from the skull. Most of the skeleton was already exposed, including the folded hands clasped around the hilt of a sword.

  “A warrior,” Quinn said as she bent to get a closer look. “An ancestor of yours?”

  Gabe shrugged. “I don’t know. Might be. He must have been very young, a teenager perhaps.”

  Quinn nodded in agreement. The skull didn’t appear to be that of a grown man and the wrist bones indicated that he had been quite delicate. “I can’t imagine someone with such fragile hands wielding that sword.”

  Gabe carefully extracted the sword. “It’s not as heavy as you might think. It’s a common misconception that medieval swords were weighty and cumbersome, but in truth, they were rather elegant and weighed no more than four pounds, on average.”

  “Let me see.” Quinn pulled on cotton gloves and held out her hands. Whatever story the sword had to tell, she wasn’t ready to hear it now.

  Gabe passed her the sword. He was right, it wasn’t as heavy as it had first appeared to be, and looked to be a fine piece of craftsmanship. This was a sword made for a warrior, a prized possession and a family heirloom. The hilt appeared too thick to fit into the hand that lay exposed in the dirt, but perhaps this boy had inherited his father’s sword and had taken it into battle to honor the fallen.

  “Do you think the skelly might be a squire?” Quinn asked, but Gabe shook his head.

  “Why would a squire be buried with his master’s sword beneath the kitchen floor? Doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t. A son, perhaps?”

  “That’s more likely, but why bury him here instead of in consecrated ground?”

  “How long do you think he’s been there?” Quinn asked. If the sword was anything to go on—centuries.

  “If he was buried before the new house was built,
then definitely several centuries. If he was buried after the new house went up, then considerably less. Just because he’s holding a sword doesn’t mean the sword belonged to him. Perhaps it was an antique that he was particularly fond of and wished to be buried with,” Gabe speculated.

  “Is there anything else?” Quinn carefully set the sword on the kitchen table and peered into the hole.

  “Yes, actually. Because the grave was concealed beneath the floor, less moisture permeated the ground, since it wasn’t exposed to the elements. There are bits of fabric, shriveled-up leather, strands of hair, and this!”

  Gabe held up a rosary. The amber beads glowed in the late afternoon light, the amber still translucent and not a bit damaged by centuries underground. The links were tarnished but intact, holding the beads together as they had done since the rosary had been crafted.

  “The cross must be solid gold to have lasted all this time without oxidizing.” Gabe used the bottom of his T-shirt to carefully rub away the dirt. The crucifix shone in the sunlight as if it were newly minted, the figure of Christ delicate and intricately rendered.

  Quinn accepted the rosary from Gabe and held it up to the light. “It doesn’t look like a man’s rosary,” she said, admiring the craftsmanship and the honey-gold glimmer of the amber.

  “Men used prayer beads,” Gabe argued. “It’s an expensive one, to be sure, not the rosary of a peasant.”

  Quinn shook her head. “I see a woman using this rosary—a wealthy woman.”

  “Perhaps. The fabric looks like it might be velvet. Either a man or a woman could have worn velvet and leather.”

  “Any jewelry? That would tell us for sure before we even send the bones to Colin.”

  “I don’t see any.” Gabe set down his brush and climbed out of the hole. “I’ll have to finish up tomorrow. It’s getting late.” He picked up the sword and held out his hand for the rosary. “I’m going to lock these in Dad’s study.”

  “Are you afraid that I will sneak downstairs in the middle of the night to get a head start?” Quinn asked, annoyed that Gabe wanted to lock up the artefacts.