The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6) Page 4

  “The only poor sod is the one who gets you for a wife,” Betsy retorted. She clearly didn’t like Gwen, and the feeling was mutual. Gwen looked murderous but chose not to reply.

  “What if they are unkind?” one of the sisters asked.

  “These men haven’t had a woman to hold in years, possibly decades,” Nell said. “They’ll be so happy to have a bit of affection, they’ll treat us like royalty.”

  “Either that, or they won’t give us a moment’s peace. You don’t know how men are when they have the urge come upon them. They just need to stick their swollen cock into a slippery hole. You’ll be getting the royal treatment all hours of the day and night, my girl, and they won’t be stroking your teats neither,” a plump, fair-skinned woman piped in from her corner.

  “Spoken like someone who knows,” Gwen scoffed, dripping scorn. “What brothel have they plucked ye from, dearie?”

  “I’ve been married twice. I know ’bout these things. Once a man has a woman of his own, he rides her day and night, whether she wants him to or not. ’Tis not all admiring glances and sweet kisses, being a wife.”

  “Yet here you are, going for it a third time, Alice,” Betsy said, grinning lasciviously. “Being ridden must be more pleasant than it sounds.”

  “’Tis no great pleasure being a widow,” the woman replied. “In this world, you need a man to survive.” The women nodded in agreement.

  “Marriage is hard work, both in bed and out, but ’tis better than being a dried-up old spinster or a widow any day,” Alice said.

  “Have you no children, Alice?” one of the sisters asked.

  “I had two boys, aged four and six. They died this past winter,” Alice replied, her voice trembling. “There’s nothing left for me in England save grief and poverty. I’ll gladly endure another man’s needs in exchange for having a family again.”

  Mary leaned into the wall, wishing she were invisible. The conversation was making her uncomfortable. She hadn’t given much thought to the intimacy that’d be required of her once she was wed but was forced to acknowledge it now. She’d heard Uncle Swithin grunting on the other side of the wall night after night when Agnes was still alive, the brutal act accompanied by Agnes’s pitiful cries as he hurt her. Agnes hadn’t dared deny Swithin, all too aware that the beating he’d give her would be much worse than the few minutes of misery he inflicted on her when he wished to exercise his husbandly rights, but she’d washed herself with vinegar come morning, fearful of getting with child again.

  What have I done? Mary thought bitterly. I’ve escaped a bad situation and landed myself in a worse one, and now I have no way out. I’m trapped on this ship until I reach the shores of Virginia, and then I’ll be handed over to a man I’ve never so much as laid eyes on. He might be cruel and violent.

  Mary was startled when a gentle hand covered her own. “Stop fretting. ’Tis human nature to fear the worst, but your future will be what you make it,” Nell said.

  “I’m frightened of what’s to come,” Mary admitted quietly.

  “Well, buck up. You’ve an exciting voyage ahead of you, and a good man waiting at the end of it to give you a better life.”

  Mary gave Nell a watery smile. “You really have a nice way of looking at things.”

  “When you expect terrible things to befall you, they usually do.”

  Mary didn’t bother to argue. She hadn’t expected her parents to die of the fever, one after the other, or to wind up in the care of Uncle Swithin, who’d as soon beat her as care for her. She hadn’t expected Agnes to die either, leaving Mary to care for the children and run the tavern with Agnes’s angry, drunken husband. Mary had expected none of those things, but they had happened all the same.

  She would miss the girls, she readily admitted that, but no amount of guilt over leaving them could have stopped her from going. Uncle Swithin was hard on his daughters, but he loved them in his own gruff way and would see to their well-being. They’d be all right, Mary assured herself as the ship sailed out of the harbor, especially if Swithin took a new wife. With Mary gone, he’d need a woman about the place, and if Mary knew anything of Swithin, he’d choose a young, docile lass, one who’d be good to his children. Her cousins were no longer her concern. All she had to do now was survive.

  Chapter 4

  January 2015

  London, England

  Alex’s round blue eyes glowed with love as Quinn lifted him out of his cot and cradled him against her shoulder. His warm little body seemed to have grown a little heavier since she left two days ago. He reached up and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling her face closer to his. He pressed his nose into her cheek and licked her, making her laugh.

  “I missed you too, little man,” she whispered in his shell-like ear. “I hate leaving you, even for an hour.” Alex continued to flick his tongue over her cheek. “Oh, you’re hungry. And I thought you were trying to give me a kiss.”

  Quinn settled on the bed and pulled up her top, and not a moment too soon. Alex latched on immediately, sucking as if he hadn’t been fed in days. Quinn cradled his head in her palm and closed her eyes. The flat was quiet, the noises from outside muffled by the stealthy wind. Gabe and Emma had gone out to walk Rufus, a responsibility Emma took very seriously. The puppy slept at the foot of her bed, and she ran to her room to greet him the moment she returned from school.

  Quinn looked around the lounge. Evidence of their impending move was all around her. There were packing boxes in the corner and the flat was starting to get that forlorn look places got when the things that turn a house into a home were packed away. At any other time, she’d be thrilled to be on the verge of a new adventure, but now, all she could think of was Jo. When she told Gabe about Rob Malone’s phone call, he’d sided with Rhys, telling her she was overreacting and winding herself up. Perhaps it was silly to panic based on such flimsy evidence, but she couldn’t shake this feeling of dread. Who, in this day and age, dropped off the face of the earth for several months? Only a person who intentionally wanted to disappear or a person who had no access to civilization. She couldn’t imagine Jo would want to disappear, so the only explanation that made sense was that she was someplace without access to a phone or a computer. Surely someone would know if Jo had been kidnapped by insurgents. One group or another usually claimed responsibility for an attack on the press, using the opportunity to get into the news and spread their message of terror.

  Quinn had just finished nursing Alex when she heard the key in the lock and Rufus’s joyful yelping as he dashed toward the kitchen, paws padding on the tile floor.

  “We’re back,” Gabe called out.

  “Mum, can we have pizza for dinner?” Emma asked as she pulled off her mittens and scarf. “I’m hungry.”

  “It’s fine with me,” Quinn replied, in no mood to cook. She was happy to be back home with her family, but still out of sorts. Between the gruesome find in the cave and Rhys’s news, she felt emotionally depleted. She wasn’t even hungry. She’d be happy to crawl into bed, turn out the lights, and slip into oblivion until morning.

  “Are you all right?” Gabe asked as he lifted Alex out of her arms. Alex let out a squeal of protest, but then seemed to change his mind. He rested his cheek against Gabe’s shoulder as his eyelids drooped.

  Quinn nodded. She’d already told Gabe everything. “I’ll order the pizza.”

  After placing the call, Quinn grabbed an empty packing box and went into Emma’s room. Emma was sitting on the floor, Rufus curled up on the rug next to her. They looked content together. “What do you say we start packing some of your things? We can get at least one box finished before the pizza comes,” Quinn suggested. “Let’s put away your books first.”

  “What will you read to me before I go to sleep?” Emma asked, practical as ever.

  “Why don’t you leave out the storybook Father Christmas brought you and pack up the rest.”

  “All right.” Emma stood and began haphazardly placing books into the box. Qui
nn organized them into neat stacks to make more room. The box was only half full by the time all the books had been packed.

  Emma gazed around the room. “I don’t want to take those,” she said, jutting her chin toward a pile of toys in her play bin.

  “I thought you liked them.”

  “I did before, but not anymore. Maybe you can give them away. Alex won’t want them. They are for girls.”

  “I’ll donate them to charity,” Quinn replied, wondering what had brought on Emma’s sullen mood. She’d pack away the toys and take them to the new house, in case Emma changed her mind.

  “Can I decorate my new room?” Emma asked as she tossed several stuffed animals into the box.

  “Of course. Do you have some ideas?” Quinn hadn’t been giving Emma enough attention these past few weeks, so maybe decorating together would help strengthen their bond.

  “I don’t want pink anymore.”

  “All right. What color would you like?”

  “Something more mature.”

  “Mature?”

  “I’m not a baby anymore, Mum. I’ll be six in the summer.”

  Quinn tried to suppress a smile. No, Emma certainly wasn’t a baby. She was changing so quickly, they could barely keep up. “Do you have a preference, or would you like to look at some decorating magazines?”

  “I know what I want,” Emma announced. “I want to paint the room lavender, get new bedlinens to match, and get some fairy lights to string above my bed. I also want new pictures to hang on the wall. These are babyish.”

  “All right, I think that sounds reasonable. What would you like a picture of?”

  “Harry Styles,” Emma said.

  “Harry Styles?”

  “From One Direction. He’s so hot.”

  Quinn gaped at the little girl. What did a five-year-old know about being hot? But then again, this was a different generation. When Quinn was five, all she’d wanted was a pram for her doll and some new coloring books.

  “Don’t you think he’s hot?” Emma persisted.

  “Eh, well, I don’t know. I haven’t given him much thought.”

  Emma gave her a look that said everything from you’re so old to you wouldn’t possibly understand. She picked up Mr. Rabbit, who’d been sitting on top of her bookshelf, and looked at him thoughtfully. Until a few months ago, Mr. Rabbit had been her favorite toy, the one she reached for when she needed comfort, but he’d been displaced by her American Girl doll, a gift from Seth. The doll resembled Emma, and she had called it Emme in honor of herself.

  “Would you like to take Mr. Rabbit to the new house?” Quinn asked carefully.

  Emma shrugged. “I suppose I’d better take him. You know, in case Alex wants to play with him once he’s old enough. When’s he going to start doing things?” Emma whined as she stowed the rabbit in the box.

  “What kind of things?”

  “You know—walking, talking, playing games with me.”

  “Emma, he’s only three months old. It’s too soon, love. He’ll start saying words and trying to walk by the time he turns one.”

  “That’s so long from now.”

  “You can’t rush these things.”

  “When, when will he start eating formula like normal babies? He’s always attached to your boobs. You never do girl stuff with me. It’s always, ‘I have to nurse Alex,’” Emma complained, mimicking Quinn’s voice.

  Quinn got off the bed and sat down on the floor next to Emma. She pulled Emma into an embrace, and although Emma resisted at first, she finally melted into Quinn, ready to surrender her anger. “I’m sorry you feel neglected, Em. Daddy and I are trying our best to give you both equal time, but Alex needs me right now. I’m his only source of nourishment.”

  “I need you too.”

  “How about we have a girls’ day out this Saturday? Would you like that?”

  “A real day out, or a ‘Hey, let’s pack your books together’ kind of day?”

  “A real day out. We can do whatever you like.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Emma replied, but Quinn felt her relenting.

  “Oh, the pizza is here. That was quick,” Quinn said when the doorbell rang. She sprang to her feet, buzzed up the delivery man without checking the security screen, and went to grab her purse.

  “You’re not the pizza guy,” Quinn observed when she opened the door and saw Rhys standing in the corridor.

  “I’m sorry to come unannounced. Guess I should have brought pizza as a peace offering.”

  “Why would you need a peace offering?” Quinn asked as she stepped aside to let him in.

  “Because I have news you are not going to like.”

  Quinn led Rhys into the lounge and invited him to sit down. Rhys sat, but looked self-conscious. He hadn’t even removed his coat, which was a sure sign he planned to bolt as soon as he delivered his news.

  “Rhys, good to see you. Will you join us for dinner?” Gabe asked as he came into the room. “Alex is asleep,” he said in answer to Quinn’s unspoken question.

  “Thank you, but I only came by for a few minutes. I’m sorry. This is obviously not a good time.”

  “Rhys, please, just tell me,” Quinn pleaded. Her stomach was in knots and her head was beginning to hurt.

  Rhys nodded. “I had a call from Rob Malone. After our conversation the other day, he was concerned, so he went round to the Mustafa Hotel, where Jo had been staying.”

  “And?” Quinn asked, her insides quivering.

  “He spoke to the manager. The manager was reluctant to talk to him, but finally admitted that Jo went out one morning and never returned. After a week, they collected her belongings, put them into storage, and gave away her room. He wouldn’t allow Rob to see her things.”

  “So, a guest at the hotel went out and never returned, and the manager didn’t think to alert anyone?” Quinn cried.

  “Quinn, Kabul is not London. The locals don’t want to get involved, especially when it comes to foreigners.”

  “So, now you believe me,” Quinn exclaimed, looking from Gabe to Rhys. “Something is wrong. She’s missing. I knew it.” Quinn sank down on the sofa as tears of frustration spilled down her cheeks. “What can I do?” she wailed. “How can I help her?”

  “Quinn—” Gabe began, but the doorbell interrupted him.

  “That’s my cue to leave,” Rhys said as he stood. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Quinn, but I thought you’d want to know. Ring me tomorrow.”

  Gabe grabbed money from Quinn’s purse and went to pay for the pizza, leaving Quinn to sit on the sofa, staring into space. She didn’t want Emma to see her crying, so she wiped her streaming eyes and plastered a phony smile on her face.

  “Emma, dinner,” she called out and trudged into the kitchen.

  Chapter 5

  Quinn pretended to nibble on a piece of pizza, wishing all the while she could quietly slip away to the bedroom, where she could be alone with her turbulent thoughts. Putting on an act for Emma’s sake was beyond her abilities at the moment. She finally pushed away her plate. “I’m sorry. I need to lie down for a bit.”

  “Are you sick, Mum?” Emma asked, looking worried.

  “Just a headache. It’ll be all better soon.”

  “We’ll save you some pizza,” she offered, eyeing the half-full box. “Maybe you can have it for breakfast.”

  Emma was really suggesting that she, herself, could have it for breakfast, but Quinn was in no mood to give a lecture on healthy eating. “Yes, maybe,” she mumbled and fled the brightly lit kitchen.

  The bedroom was mercifully quiet and dark. Quinn kicked off her shoes and curled up on the bed without removing her clothes. Her insides felt hollow, as if someone had scooped out all her organs and left behind a useless shell. How could Jo have gone missing without anyone noticing or caring? Surely there was someone here in London who loved her, who’d worry if they hadn’t heard from her. She was a thirty-one-year-old woman, she had to have someone in her life�
��a husband or boyfriend, or close friends. It didn’t seem as if anyone was looking for her. And if they were, they wouldn’t find her from London. Someone had to go to Afghanistan and look for Jo in earnest. They had to retrace her steps, talk to people she’d come in contact with, visit the British Embassy. No one vanished without a trace; someone out there knew where Jo had gone, and with whom. Someone always knew something.

  Quinn closed her eyes. She was so tired, so depleted. The last year of her life had been a rollercoaster and she couldn’t handle any more unexpected drops, nor could she get off this ride. Jo was her sister, her twin. Quinn couldn’t go on with her life as if nothing had changed. She owed it to herself and to Jo to find out what had happened and help in any way she could.

  As Quinn drifted off to sleep, her mind seemed to respond to her earlier question, her inner voice as clear as a bell. I must go to Kabul.

  When she awoke, bright winter sunlight streamed through the net curtains. Gabe had covered her with a fleece afghan when he came to bed so as not to wake her. He was already up, and Alex’s cot was empty, his yellow blanket pushed off to the side. For a moment, Quinn wished she could remain in bed and hide from the world, but she threw off the afghan and got up. She could hear Emma’s voice coming from the kitchen and Gabe’s measured response. He was so patient.

  Quinn went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, washed her face, combed her hair, and made her way to the kitchen, looking a little more presentable. Emma was sitting at the breakfast table eating a bowl of cereal. Gabe sat across from her, Alex in his arms. Alex was lazily sucking on a bottle, his gaze fixed on Emma, who made a face at him.

  “Good morning,” Gabe said. “Feeling better?”

  Quinn nodded, though she didn’t feel better. In fact, she felt worse, but now wasn’t the time to say anything. She poured herself a cup of tea and added a splash of milk. Normally, she didn’t take sugar, but today she added two spoonfuls, suddenly desperate for something sweet. “Would you like some tea?” she asked Gabe.