The unseen echoes from t.., p.1
The Unseen (Echoes from the Past Book 5), page 1
The Unseen
Echoes from the Past
Book 5
by Irina Shapiro
Copyright
© 2018 by Irina Shapiro
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the author.
All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people (except those who are actual historical figures) are purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Notes
Excerpt from The Condemned
(Echoes from the Past Book 6)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Author’s Note
In this installment of the Echoes from the Past series, you will meet several new characters, most of whom are Russian. Unlike in English, in the Russian language surnames change based on the person’s gender. For instance, the Tsar would be called Nikolai Romanov, whereas his wife would be referred to as Alexandra Romanova. Their collective children would be Romanovi. The first names change as well, based on the relationship between the characters. There are formal names, followed by the father’s name (meaning son/daughter of), and there are familiar names, which can be numerous for each name. Below is a list of the most common variations of the characters’ names, which will make the conversations and relationships easier to follow.
Valentina Kalinina – Valya, Valenka
Tatiana Kalinina –Tanya
Nikolai Kalinin – Kolya
Ivan Kalinin – Vanya
Elena Kalinina – Lena, Lenochka
Dmitri Ostrov – Dima
Alexei Petrov – Alyosha
Svetlana Petrova – Sveta
Stanislav Bistritzky – Slava
Michael Ostrov – Misha
I’d also like to point out that St. Petersburg, where my story takes place, changed names several times during the twentieth century. The original name, Sankt-Peterburg was changed to Petrograd in 1914. In 1924, it was renamed Leningrad, and then in 1991 the city became St. Petersburg, a name which is still in use today.
Prologue
Silence settled over the house like a downy blanket over a sleeping child. Everyone within was warm and snug—even the body submerged in the tub, its skin still flushed from the heat of the bathwater. Wide-open eyes stared from beneath the soapy water in an expression of shock and disbelief.
A woman sat on the bathroom floor, sure if she managed to get up and dared to look at herself, her expression would mirror that of the corpse. Shock and disbelief. Shock at what she’d done. Disbelief at the chain of events that had led her to this moment, this inevitable act of savagery. How was it possible to fall so far so quickly?
Within the coming weeks she would find out if she’d swing for her crime or be granted a reprieve in the form of a life of constant fear. She’d always be looking over her shoulder, wondering if someone would come to take her away and make her answer for what she’d done. But even if no one came and she never felt the rough hemp of the rope against the tender skin of her neck, life would never be the same. She knew what she’d done, and she’d have to live with it always, praying that her true nature would remain unseen.
Chapter 1
December 2014
London, England
The day dawned gray and cold, a miserable drizzle coating everything in a slick film of moisture. By the time Quinn left the flat, a steady rain was coming down, the kind that tended to last for hours. She stopped beneath the awning of the building, gave a cursory glance to her shoes, which would be soaked in minutes, and made an executive decision to take a taxi. It’d cost a bomb in this weather, since the journey would take twice as long, but it was a legitimate business expense, so she wouldn’t worry about it. It took a few minutes to actually flag down an unoccupied taxi, but was well worth the effort, since she got to stay warm and dry while the taxi crept toward its destination inch by inch. Quinn fished her mobile out of her handbag and dialed Jill. Her cousin had left several messages, but Quinn hadn’t had a chance to ring her back. Judging by the amount of traffic, they’d have time for a proper conversation.
Jill answered on the second ring. “Hey, Quinny. What are you up to on this dreary morning?”
“Actually, I’m on my way to examine human remains. You?” Quinn could almost hear Jill smiling on the other end.
“Only you can make that sound like a treat. I’m marking down merchandise for the Pre-Christmas Sale I’m planning to start next week. After Christmas, it will be labeled a Going-Out-Of-Business Sale.”
“So, this is it?” Quinn asked. Jill had decided to close down her clothing shop in Soho and return to a career in forensic accounting. Her shop had never been a success, but for the last few months the business had been in the red, which for an accountant was tantamount to death.
“Yes, I’ve decided. I gave it my all, Quinn, but it simply didn’t work out as I’d hoped. To be honest, I’m sort of looking forward to working for someone else again. It’ll be nice to go to bed at night and not worry myself sick about my overhead, cost of stock, and lack of sales. There’s something to be said for being an employee. Stop by the shop when you have a chance. I have some items I’ve set aside for you. I think you’ll like them.”
“Oh, thank you, Jill. I’ll be sure to stop in. I could use some new clothes since I still haven’t lost all the baby weight.”
“You look amazing,” Jill said. “How’s my favorite baby?”
“Alex is wonderful. He’s beginning to sleep through the night, which is a blessing since I don’t think I can take many more sleepless nights. By the time he’s finished nursing, I’m wide awake and can’t get back to sleep. And sometimes he wakes Emma. She’s a very light sleeper.”
“You need a bigger place.”
“We’ve started looking for a house now that Seth has gone home,” Quinn replied. She’d met her biological father only seven months ago, and the road to a father-daughter relationship had not been a smooth one, given what had happened when Quinn visited New Orleans last spring. It would take time for them to find their footing, but they were well on their way, especially after Seth’s visit.
“How was his visit?”
“It was great, actually. I was a little worried about having him here for ten days, but the time just flew by. He loved spending time with Alex, and he was very attentive and kind to Emma. He brought her an American Girl doll with several changes of clothes. Emma is in heaven. That doll goes with her everywhere. She’s even neglected Mr. Rabbit, who’s been a hands-down favorite since she was a baby.”
“Well, she is growing up. That doll is more age-appropriate. Did Seth and Sylvia’s paths ever cross?”
Quinn winced at the mention of her mother. Their relationship was complicated at best, disastrous at worst. Having abandoned Quinn at birth, Sylvia had only come into Quinn’s life a year ago, and had done nothing but wreak havoc since. Quinn had done her best to make allowances and try to be understanding of the woman who’d walked away from her without a backward glance, not even bothering to go through the proper adoption channels, but then more revelations had rocked their already fragile bond. Quinn had discovered that Sylvia had given birth to twins that day and had left Quinn’s sister, Quentin, at a hospital, since the infant had difficulty breathing. Sylvia had never gone back, so she’d had no inkling of what became of either of her daughters—an outcome she’d been satisfied with until she found Quinn, quite by chance, just over a year ago.
“Thankfully, no. Sylvia rang when Alex was born, but we haven’t seen each other since I confronted her about Quentin. To tell you the truth, being with Seth is a lot easier than spending time with Sylvia. He says what he means and means what he says, something you could never accuse Sylvia of. I don’t th ink she ever allows anything to leave her mouth without first considering if she can disclaim it later.”
“Have you completely given up on the idea of having a relationship with her?” Jill asked. Jill, of all people, knew what it meant to Quinn to have finally found her birth mother after decades of wondering where she’d come from and why she had been abandoned.
“I don’t know, Jilly. I don’t think I want to cut ties with her forever, but I need some time to adjust my expectations and figure out what I hope to gain from my relationship with her. Sylvia will never be the mother I want, so I have to decide whether I can live with the mother she is.”
“And Seth?”
“I miss him now that he’s gone back to the States. It was fun having him here. He made us an American Thanksgiving. It was lovely. Perhaps next year we can have Thanksgiving in New Orleans, with him and Kathy. I think they might be cohabitating again by then.”
“Losing a child either tears people apart or brings them together. How is Brett?”
“Brett is still serving his sentence and Seth visits him in prison once a week. We didn’t talk about him much, but Seth has made peace with the situation. He brought me a letter from Brett.”
“Did you read it?”
“No, I couldn’t bring myself to. Regardless of what it says, Brett intended to kill me and my baby. Even if he’s remorseful, I could never forgive him for leaving me to die in that tomb in New Orleans. Perhaps I’ll read the letter someday, when I’m ready.”
“I don’t blame you. I probably wouldn’t read it either.”
“Well, looks like I’m almost there.”
“Are you meeting Rhys?” Jill asked, referring to Rhys Morgan, producer of the BBC series Echoes from the Past.
“Yes, Rhys is already on site with a camera crew. He’s practically crowing with delight at this new find.”
“I can’t picture Rhys Morgan crowing about anything,” Jill said. “He’s always so intimidating.”
“Hardly. Rhys does have a softer side, and now that his girlfriend is expecting, he’s fuzzier than ever. Being around him is almost a joy.” Quinn laughed.
She had liked Rhys since the day they met. He was a consummate professional and a master of his trade, and now, a year on, a good friend, despite the fact that she’d once suspected him of being her biological father. These days, Rhys was like a cuddly teddy bear, coddling his pregnant girlfriend and baking treats she refused to eat for fear of gaining too much weight. He was genuinely happy, and Quinn was happy for him, especially since he was no longer seeing Sylvia. That situation had been rife with complications, and given Quinn’s professional relationship with Rhys and her toxic personal relationship with Sylvia, it was for the best that those two had parted ways. Sylvia was still seething with anger, believing Quinn had had a hand in Rhys’s change of heart, but Quinn was innocent of any interference.
Rhys had decided to break things off with Sylvia all on his own, finally realizing their relationship was based on nothing more than guilt over past events on his side and loneliness on Sylvia’s end. Rhys had shared with Quinn, swearing her to secrecy first, that he intended to propose to Hayley after the baby was born. He had no wish to overwhelm her with the prospect of planning a wedding when she should be focusing on her fast-approaching motherhood.
“Have you had any news of your sister?” Jill asked. It was a sore subject, but Quinn didn’t mind discussing it with Jill. Jill was the closest thing she’d ever had to a sister and that would never change, even if Quinn finally found her long-lost twin.
“No, nothing. I rang her solicitor several times and he assured me he sent my letter on to Quentin, but has heard nothing back. Seth and I discussed it at length while he was here and he believes we need to start searching for Quentin on our own. He’s not here to do it in person, but he’s offered to finance whatever steps I wish to take.”
“Actually, Brian has an idea he’d like to discuss with you.”
“Really? I can’t wait to hear it. Oh, Jill, I’ve arrived. Give my love to Brian. We’d like to have you over for dinner soon.”
“Great. Let’s put something on the calendar.”
Quinn paid the driver and climbed out of the taxi. She’d loved being at home with Alex these past few months, but it was nice to be back at work. She tingled with anticipation at the prospect of examining the remains.
Chapter 2
Rhys opened the door before Quinn had a chance to ring the doorbell. “What time do you call this?” he bristled as he stepped aside to allow her to come in out of the rain.
“Sorry, but there was a lot of traffic.”
“Come in. Melissa and Paul are expecting you.”
Rhys led the way into the front room, which looked like something from a museum. Life might have gone on outside the walls of this house, but the parlor looked frozen in time at the turn of the last century. It wasn’t just the old-fashioned furniture and heavy velvet window hangings, but the lack of anything modern, like a television, a telephone, or a stereo system. The décor predated the First World War, but was still in remarkably good condition. Several lamps were lit against the gloom of the rainy morning, and Quinn almost expected them to be fed by gas rather than electricity.
A couple in their forties sat on a butter-yellow settee, a porcelain tea service in front of them. The woman jumped to her feet and came forward to greet Quinn. She was dressed in jeans and a dusky purple knit top, and her short dark hair had streaks of blue and pink. Her husband, whose light brown hair brushed his shoulders, wore paint-splattered trousers and a stretched-out Led Zeppelin T-shirt. The couple looked grossly out of place in this Edwardian parlor, which seemed to be the centerpiece of their home.
“Dr. Allenby, it’s a pleasure to meet you. We’ve seen you on television. Haven’t we, Paul?” Melissa asked, eager to bring her husband into the conversation. “I do love archeology. The episode about ‘The Lovers’ nearly tore my heart out. What a gruesome end. I do wonder what happened to their little boy, but I suppose we’ll never know. Will we?” she prattled on as she motioned for Quinn to take a seat on the settee facing the one where Paul Glover sat in amused silence. “And that duplicitous priest,” she exclaimed, referring to the second episode of Echoes from the Past that had just aired the previous week. “I never knew much about Dunwich, but now I want to go see it for myself. ‘The Atlantis of Britain.’ Such a romantic name for such a tragic place.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Glover. I’m so glad you’re enjoying the program.” Maybe they have a TV in the bedroom, Quinn thought as she took a seat on the uncomfortable settee. Rhys wisely remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out over the rain-soaked street.
“Please, call me Melissa. Can I offer you a cup of tea? Mr. Morgan, will you have a cup?”
“Thank you,” Rhys replied and came to join Quinn on the settee, his brows knitted with impatience. If Quinn knew Rhys, he was eager to get started and had no desire to spend a quarter of an hour on idle chitchat, but he graciously took a seat and smiled pleasantly at Melissa.
Quinn accepted a cup of steaming tea and took a restorative sip. The tea was good, and it was nice to be out of the biting cold and rain. Besides, before examining the site, she wanted to hear the story of how Melissa and Paul had come to find the remains. The details were often as important as the find itself.
Melissa poured a cup for herself last, like a proper Edwardian hostess, then leaned back, ready to tell her tale. “You are probably wondering what Paul and I are doing in this old relic,” she began.
“Well, yes,” Quinn admitted with a smile. “It doesn’t seem to suit your image.”
“We had a flat in London, but moved to Dorset five years ago. We love it there. Don’t we, Paul?”
“We do. The light is perfect in the mornings,” he added, confirming Quinn’s suspicion that he might be an artist.
“I inherited this house when my uncle died three months ago. Prostate cancer. He went rather quickly, poor dear, but he said he preferred it that way. Didn’t want to linger and cause any more suffering than was strictly necessary. Uncle Michael was very unassuming.”
“Did he live here?” Quinn asked. The house was not one an unassuming man would choose to live in.
