Page 44 of The Lovers (Echoes from the Past #1)

THIRTY-TWO

London, England

Quinn got off the tube at Charing Cross Station and walked briskly toward St. Martin-in-the-Fields, where Rhys was due to meet her at ten.

She’d considered if it was worth visiting a few other churches in the area just to give Rhys the impression that she was searching for a needle in a haystack, but she dismissed the idea.

If Elise lived at Asher Hall, as all evidence suggested, then it stood to reason that she would have attended St. Martin-in-the-Fields, as it was the only church in the area at the time.

Several other parishes were created later on in the seventeenth century to relieve the overcrowding, but that would have happened after Elise’s death.

St. Martin’s had been enlarged and beautified during the reign of James I, and it would have been the church Elise was married in and attended until her untimely death.

The grandiose building that towered over Trafalgar Square was not the original church of St. Martin.

There had been a church on the site as far back as medieval times, but the neoclassical building that graced the square now had been built in the eighteenth century.

The church Elise attended would have been the one built during the reign of Henry VIII with the intention of diverting plague victims away from Whitehall Palace.

The Tudor building was constructed of brick and decorated with stone facings.

It boasted a tall tower with buttresses that could be seen for miles.

At the time of construction, the area was quite literally a field between the cities of London and Westminster, hence the name St. Martin-in-the-Fields .

Quinn ascended the steps and smiled at Rhys, who was leaning against a column, hands in his pockets as he watched her approach.

He had a knack for looking casual and elegant at the same time, a trick that few men mastered.

Gabe always looked a bit disreputable, no matter how much effort he put in.

He joked that it was the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw by midmorning and made him look slightly piratical, a genetic “gift” from the Norman ancestors whose portraits graced the gallery of his family home.

“I’d nearly given up on you,” Rhys said as she gave him a peck on the cheek.

“I’m only ten minutes late,” Quinn protested, glancing at her watch.

“I know. Just teasing. Shall we go in?”

They walked into the building and instantly lowered their voices so as not to disturb the solemn hush of the church.

There was no service in progress, but at least two dozen tourists milled about, taking pictures and craning their necks to admire the soaring ceiling illuminated by chandeliers suspended by cables at equal intervals.

Unlike most churches, this building was filled with space and light, and it could have just as easily been used as a palace instead of a place of worship.

“So, you think this would have been the church Lord Asher attended?” Rhys asked as his eyes scanned the stunning interior.

“It would have to be, although, of course, it wouldn’t have been this modern incarnation of the building.

Everyone in his household would have attended it as well, unless they were Catholic, but given the jewelry we found and quality of the gown, the servants are of no interest to us.

What we are looking for is anyone from the Asher family.

The woman might have been his wife, or his daughter,” Quinn added .

“How do you know he had a daughter?” Rhys asked, intrigued.

“I don’t. I’m only suggesting that it’s possible,” Quinn improvised.

She’d have to be more careful. She knew much about the Asher household from her visions, but ninety percent of what she had gleaned wasn’t supported by any historical data.

She’d done extensive research on Lord Asher but found only a few mentions of his name in relation to the Privy Council.

What she needed was personal information, but Edward Asher had been a courtier—a man largely forgotten by history.

“I think this is a long shot, actually,” Quinn said as they proceeded down the nave. “The records from the seventeenth century are likely no longer kept here, but I thought we’d ask.”

Rhys stopped to admire the ceiling while Quinn approached a woman in her thirties wearing a clerical collar.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Allenby, and that’s my colleague, Rhys Morgan. I was wondering if we might have a look at the archives. We are researching an individual who might have attended this parish in the mid-seventeenth century.”

The woman smiled pleasantly. “We do keep some records here, but they date from the twentieth century until the present. All the parish records from the seventeenth century have been moved to the City of Westminster Archive at 10 St. Anne Street,” the vicar replied.

“We have so many people stopping by who are in search of their family history. I do wish we could be of more help.”

“You have been. Thank you very much.”

“Phew, I’m done in,” Quinn said as she closed a dusty parish register several hours later. “But I’m glad we got something.” She slammed her notebook shut with finality, stowed it in her bag and rose to her feet, easing her back .

“I’m starving,” Rhys announced.

“Why am I not surprised?” Quinn laughed.

“Oh, come now, we’ve been at it for hours. Let’s go get some lunch.”

“All right,” Quinn conceded. “I suppose I could eat.”

They walked to Osteria Dell’Angolo a few blocks away—Rhys’s suggestion.

Rhys leaned back in his chair after they placed their order and studied Quinn across the table, his expression inquisitive.

He looked as if he was about to say something, but he remained silent instead, waiting for her to speak.

Quinn noticed that he did that from time to time, silently manipulating his companion into filling the void.

It was a good way of getting people to talk, and Rhys liked information.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” Quinn asked. She felt disconcerted by his intense stare. It wasn’t unfriendly, just full of expectation.

“There’s something you are not telling me,” Rhys informed her.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Quinn countered.

“Quinn, I watched you go through those registers. You weren’t just searching, you were looking for something specific.”

“Of course I was. I was looking for any mention of Lord Edward Asher.”

“It wasn’t him you were interested in. You were looking for a particular name. You came across a record of his first marriage and the baptism of his daughter, but you barely glanced at those. You kept searching, and you found the person you’d been looking for. Elise. How did you know her name?”

“Are you always this irritatingly observant?” Quinn asked in an effort to hide her discomfort. He’d noticed. She tried not to be too obvious, but her delight at finding Elise’s name in the parish register had been difficult to hide. She’d given herself away.

“You know, I think I’d like a glass of wine after all,” Quinn said, looking around for the waiter who seemed to have vanished when she needed him most.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Was I?”

“Obvious tactic,” Rhys joked. “Please, tell me.”

“I’d rather not.” Quinn looked away, unable to meet his steady gaze. She’d kept her secret for so long, but suddenly she longed to tell him the truth. He didn’t seem like the type of person who’d make her feel foolish and ashamed of her gift.

“Quinn?” Rhys prompted.

“It’s complicated,” she mumbled, still hesitant to share with him.

Rhys might find it fascinating, or he might immediately dismiss the possibility that her gift was real and relegate her to the category of a cheap charlatan who tried to capitalize on something she’d invented in her mind and was foolish enough to actually believe in.

When faced with something otherworldly, most people were skeptical at best, filled with derision and disbelief at worst.

“What is it? What are you hiding?” Rhys persisted.

Quinn finally looked up to find Rhys’s gray eyes watching her. He reached across the table and took her hand in his.

“Quinn, why won’t you tell me how you know? It’s not as if you’re psychic. You found a reference to her somewhere. ”

Quinn laughed nervously. “You see, the thing is that I am.”

“You are what?”

“Psychic. I’ve never really told anyone. Gabe knows, but I never even told Luke, my boyfriend. I thought he’d laugh at me. He was ever so much the scientist.”

Rhys shrugged. “I won’t laugh at you. I know there are a lot of scammers out there, but I do believe that a chosen few have the ability to see into the future—or the past. Are you one of those?”

Quinn nodded. “I can’t see into the past at will. It’s only when I hold an item that belonged to someone who’s passed. I can see images of their life. And I can also feel some small measure of what they felt during certain events in their life.”

“That must be amazing,” Rhys breathed. “Especially for a historian, or a filmmaker. What I wouldn’t give to see things as they really were, not as we envision them.”

“It is and it isn’t. I get attached to them, you see.

They become real, but I can’t share what I’ve seen with anyone.

People in the archeological community would ridicule me and question my scientific data.

All I can do is find evidence to support what I have seen.

It’s sort of a backhanded way of doing research, but as long as I find what I’m looking for, I can use my knowledge to tell their story. ”

“You possess an incredible gift. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

“I’m not ashamed, just wary of telling people about it, I suppose. I’ve often wondered if I inherited this ability from one of my parents, but I guess I’ll never know.”

“Do you think it’s genetic?” Rhys asked, his eyes aglow with wonder .