Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) (7 page)

Alone at last, Will climbed on top of the short wall and let his legs dangle over the far side for a while. The moon climbed high enough to spread glittered light across the surface of the water, shimmering like diamonds. The warm breeze covered him, surrounded him, welcomed him. He breathed in, feeling that such a moment ought to bring him only deep contentment. And yet he felt nothing but the roiling of his mind, churning over the events of the day.

~Cora~

I tiptoed out onto the portico and cocked my head, listening for the men above. It seemed they had all retired at last, leaving me alone to appreciate the river on my own. In the distance, across the river in Beaucaire, I could hear singing, and it made me smile. Lights from the medieval castle across from us streamed in wavy, golden reflections over the water, competing with the moonlight, silver and glittering.

I took a deep breath, loving the moment. The perfection of the air—not too hot, not too cold—the feel of the breeze, carrying the scent of the water and reeds and loamy earth.

I dropped my robe to the cool marble tiles beneath my feet and climbed to the edge of the balcony rail. I listened a moment longer, and, hearing nothing, decided that the night was mine alone. How could they all depart? Leave this magnificent hour with none but me to admire it?
Thank You, Lord
,
I breathed.
For this opportunity. For the chance to be on this tour. To be in this castle, above this river… Regardless of what it costs me, thank You. Help me to embrace my new life. Lead me to embrace what I ought and ignore what I ought.

My heart raced. I paused, wondering if it was the Lord, cautioning me. But my perch was twenty feet lower than the others’. What harm could come to me here? And if I couldn’t do this now, how could I face Felix come morn and confidently step up to the wall beside him? They all seemed to need a woman to show them what courage looked like. Strength. Not pandering toward social convention or acceptance. I needed to show them all—I thought, remembering their bemused expressions—so that I might gain their respect. True relationship.

I glanced below again to the moving water. Not overthinking the jump was key. Moments belonged to those who acted. Not those who thought about acting.

Remembering how we used to swing from a rope and let ourselves go, dropping into a haystack inside the barn, I shoved off from the portico rail. I milled my arms as my feet moved in front of me.
Oh no.
I wasn’t vertical—far too flat. I barely had time to take a breath before my legs, back, and head slammed painfully to the surface.

And then I was sinking, in more ways than one. The dark waters closing in above me. Realizing too late that I felt too stunned to move, to fight for the surface, to even breathe…

~William~

As soon as he heard the splash, he knew it was Cora.

He’d not seen her leap, but the impact, directly below her portico, told him all he needed to know.
Foolish girl! In the dark? Alone?
He yanked off his shoes and pulled off his tie, searching the water, gradually stilling as the bubbles ceased to rise and the current covered all traces of her entry. Where was she? Why had she not surfaced?

He clambered to the wall and jumped, praying she wasn’t caught beneath among the rocks and reeds.
Help me, Lord. Help me find her.
It seemed to take forever for his drop to come to an end, and longer for him to rise to the surface. He kicked and used his arms to reach the top. When he did, he gasped for air and looked around. In the moonlight, he could plainly see she had not yet risen from the river’s hold.
No. No, no, no…
He dived, kicking and pulling himself down, toward the side.
Show me where she is, Lord. Please don’t let her die. Please…

He felt around madly, stretching in all directions, wondering if she was just out of reach, caught by river reeds at the ankle…. His lungs screamed for air and he rose, anxious to grab a breath and dive again. But just as he prepared to do so, he caught a glimpse in the moonlight of a head, a shoulder, ten feet away. Drifting away from him, facedown.

He swam over to her, turned her over, and, with an arm hooked around her chest, her head resting on his shoulder, he kicked like mad to reach the rocks. Once there, he took hold of a boulder and did his best to get a foothold on the slimy, slippery stones below to heave her up onto it. He managed to do so before slipping, then righted himself and clambered up. Will lifted her and carried her to the small concrete platform before the gate.

“C’mon, Cora. Stay with me,” he panted, bending to listen for breath. He took her wrist and felt for a pulse.

No breath. No beat.

No, Lord. No! Help me!

He bent her head and paused a moment, then sealed his lips against hers and blew in, watching as her chest rose. He pressed against her belly, trying to force the water from her lungs, then returned to blow into her mouth. Years ago, his uncle had befriended a Swiss doctor who had told them of such techniques among midwives in the mountains. Last year, a German physician had shared the story of doing much the same thing, saving a young boy who’d been under water until he was blue….

Will prayed he’d not just been telling a tale.

He bent and blew into her mouth again, then pressed against her belly again. “C’mon, Cora. C’mon, sweetheart. Breathe.” Over and over again he repeated his task, the fear rising in his throat.

But then she choked, sputtering and spitting water. Quickly, he turned her to her side, and she spewed river water from her lungs and continued to cough. But she was breathing! She was breathing!

Thank You, Lord. Thank You, thank You…

He couldn’t help himself. He gathered her into his arms and leaned against the chateau wall, watching her, waiting for her to breathe without coughing. He panted, trying to catch his own breath.

“Will,” she whispered, staring at him a moment and then closing her eyes and wincing as if in pain.

“What is it? Are you hurting?” he said.

“No, no,” she said, opening her eyes again, her long lashes clumping with droplets of water. “Well, yes, my head hurts. But I’m all right. Will…you saved me.”

“I…I guess I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

He smiled. “That I saved you?”

“That I scared you,” she said, closing her eyes, her teeth chattering. “I’m so dizzy.”

“Did you hit your head on a rock?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. I hit the water really hard.”

He took a deep breath and rose with her in his arms. “Let’s get you upstairs. You need to get warm, and I need to call a physician.”

“No,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder, which Will took to mean she was
really
dizzy. The Cora he knew never admitted to weakness, not if she could help it. “I mean, yes to getting warm. But no doctor.”

From around his neck he pulled a key, one the butler had given him the morning they arrived, unlocked the gate, and carried her through it. They stood in the dark passageway beneath the chateau. “Cora, I need to send for a doctor. If you hit your head, you may have a concussion. I know for a fact that you almost drowned.”

“And now that’s passed. I simply need rest. The dizziness will abate.”

He resisted a retort. Climbing two flights of stairs with her in his arms hardly left him with enough oxygen to debate, so he remained quiet, thinking about his options. Once at the top, he kicked at the second gate, looking at Claude, who was dozing in the hall across from Cora’s door. He had no key for this one. “Claude,” he grunted in irritation, frustrated that the man had allowed her to jump, even if he couldn’t truly be held accountable. After all, who would think that Cora might slip out of her room via the river?

Claude leaped up and wiped his eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“Monsieur,”
he said, fumbling for the key in his pocket, fishing it out.
“Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé?” What happened?

“The lady chose to make the jump alone and landed oddly.” Will glanced down at Cora. She was frightfully pale in the light of the hall lamp and shivering. He steeled himself. He needed to get a doctor to her side. Now. “Stay with me, Cora,” he said, squeezing her.

Her big blue eyes opened, and she blinked. She looked like a soggy China doll.

“Fished from the Rhône, you’re as lovely as ever, Cora Kensington,” he said grimly.

“Thanks to you,” she muttered.

Claude opened the gate and then her door. Arthur Stapleton peeked out from his room. His feet were bare, his shirt unbuttoned. “Everything all right?”

“No,” Will said. “Cora’s had an accident.” He carried her into her room and set her on the bed, Art and Claude right behind him. “Go and fetch my uncle as well as her maid,” he said to the detective.

“Oui, monsieur,”
Claude said. He scurried out of her suite.

“Will, I don’t want a doctor,” Cora said as he hurriedly covered her with a thick blanket, wet bathing costume and all.

“If you could see yourself, Cora,” he said, pushing back his wet hair. “Your teeth are chattering. Your lips are practically blue!”

“She jumped? In the dark?” Art asked in consternation, moving around to the other side of the bed and lighting a lamp, then a wall sconce.

Will gestured toward the French doors. “Just from her balcony. Still, high enough to knock her unconscious.”

“Here’s another blanket,” Art said, handing it to Will from a rack to one side. He moved to turn on the desk light too—the lone electrical lamp in the room. Light flooded over Cora.

“The chattering…will stop…in a moment.” She closed her eyes, her forehead wrinkling as if she were concentrating.

“And your dizziness?”

“It will abate. Promise me, no doctor.”

Will frowned at her as he settled the fresh blanket across her and leaned over until he was in her line of vision. “Why not? If ever there was cause it’s—”

The distinct sound of a Kodak
click
made him glance up at Art, but the man was straightening as if he was stretching, one hand behind his back.

“Because if my father hears of this,” Cora said, “on top of what happened in Paris, our tour will be over. And it will be my fault.”

He stilled. She was right. But his heart told him she should be examined. To make certain all was well. She took his hand in both of hers, sending a shiver up his arms, every nerve suddenly at attention. “Thank you, Will.”

Will heard the mechanical
click
sound again and tore his eyes from hers, over to Arthur again. But the man was turning. “I’ll go and see what’s detaining Claude,” Art said. “I agree with you, McCabe,” he said over his shoulder. “We ought to fetch a physician.”

A hundred questions bombarded his mind at once. But Anna entered then, her night cap askew, her robe hastily tied around her waist, and, right after her, Uncle Stuart and Claude. Art hovered in the background, by the door.

Stuart looked at them both with wide eyes as Will hastily rose from the edge of her bed. The bear strode over to their young client, her wet hair strewn across the pillow, and looked over to Will. “She made the jump?”

“But not the landing,” Will said.

“I told you that that tomfoolery would come to no good end,” Uncle said as Anna shooed them out the door so she could change her mistress out of her wet clothes and closed it behind them.

In the hallway, Will paced. “Right after you reminded me it was good for our clients to do as the natives. This leap to the river is what the lord of this castle does,” he said, waving about him.

“It is quite the experience,” Arthur put in.

“It’s one thing for the young men,” Stuart said to them both. “But the young ladies?” He shook his head and settled his chin in hand.

“Come now, Uncle. Such a double standard! This was as likely to happen to Felix as it was to Cora!” But doubt washed through him. Was it his fault? For encouraging her? Not
discouraging
her? Their conversation about the vote came back to him. Had that been a deciding factor for her? Some mad desire for equality?