Page 30 of The Lovers (Echoes from the Past #1)
NINETEEN
London, England
Quinn looked around as she was ushered into Rhys Morgan’s office.
She’d expected it to be more posh, for some reason, but the room, although well-proportioned and with an excellent view, was a bit Spartan and almost completely devoid of color.
One wall was painted a muted shade of blue and displayed several photographs and award certificates, but the rest of the office was done up in dove gray and chrome.
Rhys was wearing a charcoal-gray jumper, black jeans, and a pair of beat-up leather boots.
He looked trendy and comfortable as he tapped away on his keyboard.
He glanced up as Quinn walked in, closed the laptop, and smiled in greeting.
“Dr. Allenby, do come in. Deborah, an espresso for our guest, please, and one for me as well,” Rhys called to the departing assistant.
“Please, make yourself comfortable. First and foremost, I’d like to apologize for the way I behaved the last time we met.
I tend to get a little dogged when it comes to a new project, but I am very happy that you’ve accepted our offer of headlining the program.
Deborah will provide you with a copy of the contract and all the other necessary paperwork. ”
“No apology necessary,” Quinn replied, although she felt a little wary of his good mood. “It was only natural that you should wish to know more about my methods before offering me the job.”
“Truth be told, I never considered anyone else. You were my first choice, especially after Gabriel Russell’s glowing recommendation. He will act as a consultant on the program. I trust you don’t object.”
“Of course not. Gabriel has been my mentor since I was a student. I welcome his input.”
“Excellent. I won’t rush you to complete your investigation, but I would like to hear all about your progress to date.” He leaned back in his chair, his face suffused with ill-concealed expectation.
“So, no pressure, then?” Quinn chuckled as she pulled a file out of the briefcase.
“None.”
Quinn accepted an espresso from Deborah, who looked less than pleased to be treated like a waitress, and went on to fill in Rhys on the findings of Dr. Scott before moving on to her own conclusions.
“Based on the fibers and bits of leather found with the skeletons as well as the style of buckles and jewelry, I would say that our victims lived in the mid-to late-seventeenth century. I can’t say for certain what the man’s position might have been, but the woman was definitely not a servant.
She wore a gown made of fine fabric, which was ornamented by this lovely brooch.
” Quinn passed Rhys a picture of the brooch.
She hadn’t brought the original with her for fear of having an unwelcome flashback if she had to handle it in front of him.
All the samples recovered from the chest were securely stored at her office at the institute, except for the brooch and belt buckle, which Gabe had entrusted to her.
“There was also an earring found. It was consistent with something a lady of means would wear.” Quinn slid a picture of the earring across the desk.
Rhys studied the pictures with interest before turning back to Quinn. “Do we have any theories as to who she might have been? ”
“During the late-seventeenth century, the area now known as Mayfair was sparsely populated. The houses belonged mostly to wealthy nobles who needed land to build great manor houses but still wished to remain close to Whitehall Palace. The population of Mayfair grew exponentially in the eighteenth century, but we believe that the skeletons date back to the original occupants. The first house built on that site belonged to one Lord Asher. He was one of the men instrumental in bringing Charles II back to England and served on the Privy Council until his death in 1699. Asher was a great favorite of Charles II and was mentioned in several documents from the period.”
“Could the woman have been his wife?” Rhys asked, now clearly intrigued with the picture Quinn was painting.
“She could have been. Asher’s first wife died when he was in his early forties, and he eventually remarried, but there’s no mention of his wife’s name, at least not in the documents I’ve studied so far.”
“Where there any children?”
Quinn took a sip of espresso to give herself a moment to think. She knew about Barbara but hadn’t seen her mentioned anywhere. She couldn’t very well bring her up before she had factual proof of her existence.
“I’m not sure. I’m still looking into that.”
Rhys shrugged good-naturedly. He seemed more interested in the second skeleton.
“And you don’t think that our Romeo was of noble birth?” he asked.
“He enjoyed good nutrition and fine health for the period, but his clothes were not of the same quality as those of the woman, and he seemed to have used his right hand extensively, which would lead me to believe that he might have had to work for a living.”
Rhys looked thoughtful at this theory. “Or he could have been a nobleman who enjoyed swordplay.”
“That’s a possibility,” Quinn conceded.
“Excellent work, Dr. Allenby. We have a starting point, and now I can get the costume and set designers to start working on some ideas. In the meantime, we need to find out who the woman was and what happened to her. If she were a noblewoman, it might be easier to trace her rather than her companion. Have you any leads?”
“I plan to visit all the churches in the area and see if I can find a parish registry from the period. The entries are not likely to be online, but most churches still keep the old records, if they weren’t burned—which is, of course, a possibility given the time frame we’re working with.”
“Yes, of course, the Great Fire of London.”
“Precisely.”
Quinn replaced the documents in her folder and put them away in her briefcase, ready to leave.
“Dr. Allenby,” Rhys said, his expression thoughtful, “would it be common for a house built during the period you suggest to have an oubliette?”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Quinn replied, startled by the appropriateness of the question.
She’d been so focused on the players that she hadn’t given any thought to the location of their remains.
The chest had been found in some sort of shaft, which would have been well beneath the ground, even during original construction .
“Oubliettes are mostly found in old castles, ones that had subterranean dungeons. They might have been used by royals to dispose of those who’d been accused of treason or had fallen afoul of them in some way.
Or by overlords whose word was law on their lands.
I’ve never come across any mention of an oubliette in a private residence in London. ”
“Any theories?”
“Perhaps the space was never intended as an oubliette. It could have simply been part of a cellar, or a separate chamber used for hiding objects of value. Lord Asher was a wealthy man.”
“Could it have been a well?”
“Had it been a well, there would’ve been water damage to the chest. No, I believe the space was dry, even at the time of our victims’ death.”
“So, someone locked two young people in a chest—as a punishment, I presume—lowered said chest into the shaft, and left them to die? And no one noted their disappearance?” Rhys speculated.
“We have no way of knowing if anyone noted their disappearance, but clearly the young people weren’t rescued.”
He nodded in agreement, his eyes twinkling with interest. “So, for all intents and purposes, our couple was murdered?”
“Yes, they were. Whoever put them in that chest meant for them to die.”
“I’ll get onto my writers and see if they can come up with a couple of fitting scenarios for our dramatization. In the meantime, I look forward to hearing what you’ve discovered.”
Quinn stood up to leave.
“Dr. Allenby. ”
“Please, call me Quinn,” Quinn said. She hated the forced formality of her title.
“Then you must call me Rhys. I can’t help noticing that it’s almost lunchtime,” he said with an innocent smile.
“So it is.”
“I would love for you to join me. I took the liberty of booking a table. Do say you’ll come.”
Quinn tried to swallow down her irritation.
She had no desire to have lunch with Rhys Morgan.
In fact, she’d made plans to see her cousin Jill.
Jill had turned her back on a high-powered position in an accounting firm just over a year ago and opened up a vintage clothing shop in SoHo.
Quinn still hadn’t seen the place, and she’d hoped she might take Jill out to lunch to celebrate her new venture.
But to refuse his offer would be churlish, so Quinn nodded in acquiescence.
“Only if you promise not to force-feed me any more cake.”
“Upon my honor,” Rhys quipped as he held his hand over his heart.