A Finer End

“Bram!” Kincaid shouted, reaching for him, but his fingers grasped only air. He called out again and again, but no reply came from the impenetrable darkness below.

At last, exhausted, he continued downwards, towards the help he knew would be futile.

It seemed that Bram had been right, after all. The Old Gods had been satisfied with no less than payment in blood.

All the way to Wells, huddled in the back of the car, Gemma could only think of how it had felt to hold Faith’s baby in her arms. And she found herself making a mute entreaty, again and again, that she would not lose what she had been given.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 … I often wonder whether the life of Avalon will ever stir again, or whether we shall be no more than a tourist show and a market town. Will these dead bones come together, bone to bone, as they did at Buckfastleigh? There is talk of a great new abbey to rise under the shadow of the old … and I … impenitent heathen though I am, [hope] that I shall hear Angelus from my high veranda.

—DION FORTUNE,

FROM GLASTONBURY: AVALON OF THE HEART

KINCAID WAITED ALONE outside the cubicle in the emergency ward for news of Gemma. When the doctor emerged at last, he stood. “Is she—”

“She’s fine,” the doctor informed him with abstracted cheerfulness.

“But what happened? Is she ill?”

“Um, not exactly. Why don’t you go in and see her yourself.”

He found Gemma draped in a lilac-flowered hospital gown, her hair loose about her shoulders. Going to her, he sat on the edge of the bed and said only, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Her smile was tremulous. “There’s nothing exactly wrong. It’s just that I’m pregnant.”

“Pregnant?”

“It is a fairly common occurrence, you know, if you do the sort of things we’ve done.”

“But—how long?”

“Eight to ten weeks, the doctor thinks. I should have told you sooner. Only I wasn’t sure … and I didn’t know how you would feel … or quite how I felt.”

“The baby—is it going to be okay?”

“There’s a bit of placental tearing, but it’s not too severe. I’ll have to see a specialist, and the doctor says I may have to take it a bit easier than I’m accustomed. No more climbing mountains in the rain, or delivering babies, for a while.”

Gemma, pregnant? With his child? Kincaid shook his head, trying to take in the wonder of it. But what had she meant when she’d said she wasn’t sure how she felt about it? “Gemma—your job. I know how much it means to you. How will you—?”

“I don’t know,” she said pensively. “But tonight, when I thought I would lose this baby, I realized what mattered to me most.”

Unable to speak, Kincaid took her hand in both of his.

•  •  •

On the threshold of Faith’s hospital room, Winnie hesitated. Kincaid had told her that Faith adamantly refused to press charges against Andrew, leaving the police powerless to prosecute him for his assault on her. Yet if her brother felt any gratitude, he had not expressed it—in fact, he’d refused to talk to her about Faith at all. He remained silent and unresponsive during her visits.

The doctors told her his physical recovery might be slow; Winnie suspected his emotional recovery would be even more difficult—if it were possible at all. But she must hope, and she had to begin by setting things right with Faith.

Taking a breath, she pushed open the door and went in. Faith greeted her with a smile, and Winnie gave silent thanks for the entry of this remarkable girl into her life.

When she had duly admired little Bridget, she asked, “Your parents—how did it go?”

“Okay. They thought Bridget was gorgeous, didn’t they, sweetheart?” Faith cooed to the baby at her breast. “But I can’t go back. I don’t know how we’ll manage, Bridget and I, but I know I don’t fit in that life anymore. Winnie—When I found out you were Andrew’s sister, I was afraid you’d guess somehow about the baby, and I had promised no one would ever know—”

“It’s all right, Faith. We have to think about the future now, and I have a proposal for you. I could use some help in the Vicarage. And even when Jack moves in—”

Faith’s face lit up. “You’re getting married?”

“As soon as we can arrange it,” Winnie admitted. “But even then, there will be plenty of room in the Vicarage, drafty old pile that it is, until you get on your feet. And we are, after all, family—”

“Andrew. He wouldn’t—I mean I couldn’t—”

“Of course you can. Andrew has no say over who lives in my home.”

“But—”

“My brother owes you a debt he can never hope to repay. But he can begin by providing support for little Bridget, and by getting used to the idea that we are all going to have to get on together.”