Chapter Seven: Last of the Lost
The room was dead silent. Even the birds outside the tree house were still, as if they too were stunned into silence.
Elaine reached into her little satchel and pulled out a tiny bundle. Unwrapping it gently, she offered it to Marguerite, who started at the tiny object as though it would bite her. Roxton took the object from Elaine, and Veronica caught a glint of gold. A tiny heart-shaped locket rested in Roxton's large palm.
"Aunt Danielle had an identical one made for her daughter, but without the portrait." Craning her neck, Veronica could see a tiny photograph, faded with age. In it, a dark-haired woman sat holding her young daughter, her husband with his hand resting protectively on her shoulder. Even from her awkward angle, Veronica could see the shocking resemblance between the lady and Marguerite--the same dark hair and light eyes that challenged the artist steadily.
"You're the image of your mother," Gavin told Marguerite. She reached out a shaking hand to the locket and read the inscription with a trembling voice.
"Our…our little angel Marguerite, on her second birthday." Marguerite simply leaned back into Roxton, barely able to look at the young girl beside her. Her cousin was not as controlled. Elaine was crying openly as she threw her arms about Marguerite. The heiress--now a heiress in truth--stiffened for a moment before gently returning the gesture. Gavin rose to give them both a hug as well, and Veronica felt her own eyes water. My parents would love this, she thought. And although I'm still searching for my mother, at least Marguerite has found her family.
Feeling a gentle hand on her shoulder, Veronica turned to look up into Ned's questioning blue eyes. She smiled up at him, touched by his concern. No, she could no longer begrudge Marguerite her happiness, only wish that she would soon find her own. Veronica watched with a slight smile as Roxton took Marguerite into his arms and they moved to sit next to Elaine. And for once, nobody objected, not even Marguerite.
Without being asked, Gavin and Elaine spent the next hour relating every tale they could remember about Danielle, Henry, and their baby girl and Marguerite drank them in eagerly. Veronica caught the two sending a few odd glances in her direction, but dismissed them. Gavin and Elaine had a copy of Marguerite's birth certificate; the original remained in England with Marguerite's grandmother, while Xan had destroyed Vivian's copy. They gave the few family photographs they carried to Marguerite outright, saying that they could always ask her for a copy later.
Apparently Marguerite still had some questions, however, and her sharp mind had never stopped working despite the fact that her world had just turned upside down. She'd taken in just enough of her wonderful new family for the moment and was prepared to handle the rest.
"What did you do during the war?" Marguerite asked Gavin. "You said that you both worked for Winn--Churchill--but that would have made Elaine, what, eight years old? How is that possible?"
"It was my idea to work for MI5. When Harrison told us that he knew someone who could help us, we jumped at the chance. And since you were--still are, as a matter of fact--Elaine's legal guardian, we had no choice but to find you or turn her over to social services. Then you got into trouble, we couldn't very well leave you there. It was only later that…" Gavin broke off for a moment.
"They already know," Marguerite said simply.
Gavin nodded, and continued, passing over the flagrant breach of national security immediately. "It was only after a year of carrying messages that we realized we'd been lied to, that your 'illicit' activities had already been sanctioned and you were more than well in control of the entire situation, to say the least. We…set an appointment with Winnie, one day. The same way you usually did," he said slyly.
Marguerite raised an elegant eyebrow. "You mean you broke into his office and said hello."
The young man grinned. "Of course, cousin. You were deep undercover in Germany at the time and there was no way to reach you. By this time, we had learned more than enough to be useful. So he agreed to deal with us. You had already reached an agreement with him. Ours was more simple. Our services for the war for the last copy of your file and your last known location."
Marguerite drew a deep breath. "He gave you my file?"
"Yes. It's at home."
"Did you read it?"
"We all did. Lady Marie, Elaine, and I. There's nothing in it to be ashamed of. Elaine was rather impressed with your résumé, to say the least." Marguerite looked at the two of them in surprise, and Elaine grinned at her shocked expression.
"What did you think we would do? Leave it in a box? We wanted to know how you had been living, and I was never good at not opening things." Veronica was surprised herself. Marguerite hadn't told them about her past, leading them to wild conjecturing. She herself had come up with a few versions much like Ned's adventure stories before quickly giving herself a mental reprimand. Even so, she found it hard to believe that a thirteen-year-old girl could so easily accept what Marguerite had feared to tell even Roxton. "Did you think we would hate you for it? Lady Marie was saddened, but she was so happy that you were alive. She'll be overjoyed to finally see you," Elaine added thoughtfully.
But Roxton was mulling over another thought. "Winston Churchill used children in intelligence work?" he asked incredulously. From his tone, Veronica could tell he was personally affronted by the concept.
"We didn't gather intelligence, we just delivered it. We were messengers, the connection between undercover operatives and command. The young niece and nephew, the wounded son, the youngest daughter. It was easier for children to slip across the borders," Elaine replied calmly.
"But you were a child!" Challenger, too, seemed angered by the idea. "The loss of lives in warfare is tragic, but to use children..."
"I was seventeen, old enough for the war," Gavin interrupted. "And ask Marguerite what she was like at eight. I was more useful at MI5 than I would've been in the trenches. But I needed Elaine to have it work."
"But she was your sister, man!" Challenger cried.
"I wanted to go," Elaine told them flatly. "My brother and my cousin? They were all the family I had left. And Gavin needed me."
"Why?"
"Because she has Marguerite's gifts. I don't," Gavin replied resignedly.
"Gifts?" Veronica queried. Marguerite stiffened suddenly.
Gavin didn't notice, angered by the explorers' criticism. "With languages, with silent communication, with…" He broke off as Elaine placed a hand on his arm, having noted Marguerite's pale face.
"What?" Challenger asked incredulously. "Are you telling me that Marguerite's gift for languages is genetic?"
"They don't know?" Elaine asked Marguerite softly.
"No," came the tight reply.
"But they knew of Parsifal…"
"Even Winnie doesn't know about those!"
"But Veronica, at least--" Gavin began.
"Veronica what?" Veronica interrupted.
"You should have some too."
If a photographer had caught them at that moment, he could have captured an incredible collage of human emotion. Challenger's stark disbelief, Roxton's suspicion warring with his faith, Ned's curiosity, Veronica's confusion, Elaine's guilt, Gavin's disquiet, and Marguerite's fear--all clearly displayed on their faces.
"What are you saying?" Veronica asked.
Gavin looked up at her, realization dawning on his face. Veronica was frozen in place. She knew but she didn't know. All the jungle girl could do was watch, waiting for a truth that had taken her eleven years to face.
"Abigail--the Abigail I spoke of--married a scientist named Thomas Layton. They had just one child. A daughter named Veronica. Veronica Layton should have inherited her mother's gifts," he told her slowly. "You…you match her description perfectly. And you look so much like Aunt Abigail that we thought…"
Veronica stopped breathing for a moment. "You've seen my mother?"
Gavin had a small little smile on his face. "She's been waiting for you for a long time now. Are you ready to come home?"
A thousand thoughts and questions raced through Veronica's mind, but the one that came out surprised them all, including herself.
"Why didn't she come for me?" Veronica heard herself ask, her quavering voice sounding more like the abandoned eleven-year-old she had been than the woman she was now. Though embarrassed, she met Gavin's gaze squarely. His complete understanding and compassion floored her.
"Do you remember what happened after your father died?" he asked kindly. Around them, the room remained silent.
Veronica started for moment, but answered honestly. "I…I only remembered last week how he was killed. And after…all I can remember is spending the last twelve years of my life searching for my parents. Why do you ask?" She was curious, and eager to avoid the newfound memories now crowding her mind.
Gavin paused for a moment, then continued gently. "You and your mother escaped because your father bought her the time to get you both away. Yet even weeks later, after helping with his burial and placing flowers on his tombstone, you still couldn't accept what you'd seen. You were sick with grief, but you refused to accept the truth. Your mother didn't know what to do. You'd stopped eating and weren't responding to anyone around you. So, at Emrys's advice, she did what she had to.
"She sent you back here. Hid your memories of what had happened. She couldn't stay with you, but she checked in as often as she would. When you were old enough to handle the truth, you'd remember. She never wanted to leave you, but it was the only way to save your life."
Veronica looked at Challenger through watery eyes, incredulous. Her mother would not have left her alone, would she? She had been able to cope with her father's death, hadn't she?
It was Challenger, her surrogate father, who sealed her fate. "Denial is a natural stage of grief, and in time most people allow themselves to mourn and move on. Sometimes, though, after a particularly traumatic experience, people can suppress their memories. It can lead to mental instability and in the worst cases insanity or even death."
"That's not possible!"
"Ah, but it is," Roxton's low voice interrupted. "During the war, some of our boys would come back from battle with 'shell-shock', unable to sleep a minute without waking with screams. Officers had to send them home, or else they'd get themselves killed in the trenches. Some veterans can't remember entire weeks of their service."
"It's true, Veronica. You read my journals. I didn't remember what had happened to me in the trenches until I was poisoned with a hallucinogenic drug," Ned reminded her gently.
None of their words registered. "So is was my fault then? My fault that my father died, that my mother left me alone for a dozen years? It was my fault?"
Veronica couldn't piece together a coherent thought. Her mind was in chaos and her heart shattered. Her parents hadn't left her--she had forced her parents to leave her, too weak to accept the truth. She wanted to cry, to run, to scream her denial and rage and pain at the sky.
"Veronica," Ned's soft voice interrupted her thoughts, "Veronica." She felt his arms encircle her and stiffened. "It wasn't your fault, Veronica. Your father died to save you and your mother loved you--"
She couldn't let him get any farther. "She loved me enough to leave me, is that what you meant to say?" Veronica's voice sounded bitter even to herself. "That makes it the greatest love in this family, then. Marguerite's parents got themselves murdered to get away from her, and her cousins took nearly thirty years to find her. And their parents," she laughed harshly, hysterically, "Their mother took after her sister, going to the ends of the earth just to be killed by some Chinese crime lord. Their father was smarter; he just got himself into a war and made sure he was on the front lines when the shooting started."
Her pain was in control; twelve years of hopes and fears would not allow themselves to be silent. "So, cousin," the blonde addressed Marguerite, "enjoying your newfound family?"
She had just enough time to see Marguerite's shocked and heartbroken expression before her head snapped back suddenly, cheek stinging. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard Ned's outraged protest and Gavin's surprised exclamation before a cold voice silenced them.
"You had no right." Elaine's eyes were blue ice, and she looked far older than her years. Her presence radiated cold fury and the expression on her face was unlike any Veronica had ever seen. Her words had a deliberate, calculated edge that Veronica found intimidating. "Abigail's daughter or not, you have no right to speak ill of the dead, especially those who nearly died saving your life before you were a day old. You have no right to take out your anger at yourself on Marguerite. And do not claim us as your 'family' unless you intend to treat us with the respect that such a title warrants."
Veronica glanced over at Marguerite and was hit by a sudden pang of guilt. The heiress refused to look at her, while the hunter beside her showed only his disapproval. She spun to look at Ned, only to find him gazing at her sadly.
Suddenly sick, she excused herself. "Please take me back to my room, Ned," she asked, her voice less authoritative that she'd desired. "I'm not feeling so well at the moment." He paused, obviously considering her request in light of her recent actions. "Please, Ned." Her voice was softer, more panicked. Wordlessly, he rose and gathered her in his arms, moving towards the door. As he ducked to clear the curtain, Veronica breathed a sigh of relief. She had felt the girl's eyes on her, furious and calculating, and combined with the sudden onslaught of guilt she was now experiencing, Veronica feared she might break down--again. And although she was now free from Elaine's righteous anger, the vivid memory of Marguerite's unguarded, anguished expression haunted her.
A/N: Yes, they will eventually get to Avalon. Yes, I'm really, truly, trying very hard to get them there. I just need more practice, I guess. Will try to do so next chapter. And please, review!
