Was I living the truth of those words? Was I living out greater joy or seeking to find what my siblings had in their worldly abundance?
“Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.”
“Lord, have mercy and hear me,” the congregation said together.
“A reading from Deuteronomy 6:4–7,” said the priest. He went on in Latin again, and Will resumed his translation.
“Listen, Israel: the Lord our God is the one Lord. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength. Let these words I urge on you today be written on your heart. You shall repeat them to your children and say them over to them whether at rest in your house or walking abroad, at your lying down, or at your rising.”
It was one of my mama’s favorite verses, oft repeated in our household. Had I been loving the Lord with all my heart, soul, and strength? Or had I been focused on far different things?
“Into Your hands, Lord, I commend my spirit,” we repeated after the priest, reading from the hymnal.
“You have redeemed us, Lord, God of faithfulness,” said the priest.
“Into Your hands, Lord, I commend my spirit.”
“Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost.”
“Into Your hands, Lord, I commend my spirit.”
Will eased away after that, and I felt the draftiness of the old cathedral anew. But my attention was riveted on the priests and choirboys as they moved into a canticle and hymn.
Their voices rose, high and pitch-perfect, like the candles’ smoke reaching for the roof. They seemed to echo in the air for seconds after they finished each segment. I closed my eyes and thought about what it meant to fully commend my spirit to the Lord. To trust Him in life as well as death. What it might be like to die, to see heaven, as Will’s parents had. Would there be singing like this, or even something far grander? I shivered. I hoped so.
The thought of it gave me a sense of peace that entered my chest and spread to my fingertips and toes.
Will had moved on, even after losing both his parents. He was living, fully living, making his way forward. I’d been holding on, holding on to my past and in particular my papa, as if it was my duty to not let go. As if I did not stand guard over him, remain vigilant, he’d slip away for good. As if I’d forget who I really was without him. But God already had us all in His arms. He knew us, whether we were with Him in heaven or here on earth. It didn’t matter if my understanding of who I was had changed—God’s understanding of me had not. He saw it all, held it all. He held me. Through the bad. The good. He was holding me even now.
My heart sped up, trying to keep up with my racing mind. Remembering Mama and Papa’s words of wisdom, as well as Mr. Kensington’s letter about living at peace with God—and what he really meant by that.
It meant not living bent over by the weight of what might have been, what was supposed to have been. Not living with the burden of what had been lost, what had gone wrong, or what we’d done wrong—but rather standing straight, knowing that God still walked before us, beside us, behind us. With us. Through it all. That Christ had made right all that was wrong. Forever and always.
The last notes of the final hymn hung in the air, as if God was saying an amen with me. I closed my eyes and thought, Amen and amen and amen, seeing, in my mind’s eye, Mama and Papa leaving on a train, leaning out the windows and waving. Leaving, content that we were all in the Father’s hands. See you soon, they mouthed.
And the thought of it made me smile.
CHAPTER 34
William
Cora was clearly moved by the service. Being there, gradually, Will’s heart settled into a peaceful rhythm as well. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about the pretty young woman at his side, the way she’d slipped her hand around his arm in empathy as he spoke, that she’d asked to come with him, that she’d leaned into him—fitting so sweetly under the crook of his arm—as he translated the Latin.
She was a friend, nothing more. She’d never be anything more.
He’d wanted to come alone. To gain some distance, perspective, on what he’d been feeling all afternoon and evening. He’d searched for some reason to dissuade Cora from joining him but had found none. And now, he admitted, nodding toward the cross at the front, he saw why. God wanted them both there. In their own ways, they were both hurting, trying to find their way home through the grief—new and old—that shackled them. He couldn’t help but wonder if God was using Cora to help him over the final hurdles. To see her making her way, rediscovering hope, uncovering true identity, gave him the courage to do the same.
The priest said his last amen, the boys’ choir echoed their own, and the people silently rose to leave. Will made his way down the pew and waited for Cora to follow.
It was as she passed him that Will looked up and glimpsed one of the men they’d seen in the park. He turned as if he’d seen nothing, then pressed a hand to Cora’s back and bent toward her. “Don’t be alarmed, Cora. But we have to stay in the middle of this crowd.”
Her blue eyes shot up to meet his, and her golden eyebrows knit together.
“Steady. Keep that serene smile. Like you have nothing to worry about.”
Obediently, she did as he asked, settling her features back into an expression of calm tranquility. She trusted him, he thought. It sent a jolt of pleasure down his spine and increased his desire to protect her.
If he’s even here for us. Maybe he’s worshipping, Will thought. Maybe I’ve imagined it all.
But he thought not.
They moved quickly down the stairs outside, toward the horse and buggy. Will helped Cora climb inside, looking about for the man again. It wasn’t until he sat down himself and picked up the reins that he spotted him still up by the church, beside a massive column, smoking a cigarette. He grinned down at Will and lifted his chin with a smile. Mocking him, almost.
Will frowned. He wanted Will to see him. Why?
His thoughts were a jumble of confusion as they moved out into the evening traffic heading home. As they turned the corner, Will glanced back up at the cathedral, but the man was gone.
“Will, what is it? You’re frightening me.” Cora reached out to grab hold of the buggy’s front wall when they bounced over a hole in the road at a fast clip.
“I saw the same man at the cathedral that I saw earlier in the park.” He glanced left and right, examining every face they passed. “He was inside with us. He’d obviously followed us there.”
Cora frowned. “Pierre told me that man was probably interested in him. Not us.”
“That’s what we hoped.”
Will abruptly turned left, then quickly right, heading down a narrower, quieter avenue, out of the thick of the crowds, hoping to lose anyone who was following them—and avoid anyone who might by lying in wait. They rode in silence, nodding at the few passersby on the street at this late hour. Unlike the electric lights of the main streets, this avenue had only gas lamps. That was all right by Will. Their dancing flames seemed warm, encouraging to him.
He looked behind them and, seeing no one in pursuit, took another left and then a right. He had to get Cora to the safety of the chateau.
“Why, Will?” she asked. “Why would they be after us?”
He glanced over at her. “Forgive me, Cora, but the heirs of copper kings might make for easy ransom money.”
“But why me?” she asked, eyes wide, hand on her chest. “Why not one of the younger girls? They’re more apt to wander off…”
“Maybe they see you as an easier target. The others are rather…clannish. Even the younger girls are nearly inseparable from each other. But you…you tend to trail the rest, Cora. Go off…on your own.”
“Yes, well, I decided to stop that,” she said in irritation. “To stay closer with the rest, whether they want me there or not.”
“I’ve noticed,” he s
aid, tossing her a wry grin.
“But it makes no sense,” she said, shaking her head. “Why would they allow us to see them before they strike?”
“So when you disappeared, I’d know exactly who had you,” he guessed. “That you hadn’t met with some unfortunate accident—but that they had you. So when the ransom letter arrived, I’d confirm it as truth.”
She thought on that for a moment. “Or could it be that they only wish to confuse us? To make us believe that I’m their intended target, when they’re really after another in our group?”
He considered her theory. “Possibly.” And the more he thought on it—considering that they did not give chase—the more he feared for his other charges.
“Will, we need to get back,” Cora said, voicing his own thoughts.
“Hold on,” he said grimly, whipping the reins across the horse’s back. “We’ll get there as fast as we can.”
CHAPTER 35
Cora
We pulled up in front of the chateau. Will and I exchanged a worried glance when none of the servants opened the door or came to greet us. The monstrous chateau felt ghostly, grim, and full of shadows without the warmth of people buzzing about. Will carefully wound the reins through a metal ring in a post outside and then grabbed his walking stick from the buggy, reaching for my hand with the other. “Stay beside me until we make certain everything is all right. Understood?”
I nodded, my heart hammering in my throat, glad for the comforting warmth and strength of his hand. There were few lights on inside. It was terribly quiet. Something was dreadfully wrong—we could feel it. What had happened?
We moved up the marble front stairs, and Will pressed on the latch to open the massive door, wincing as it creaked. He peeked around the corner and then abruptly dropped my hand, running to a man on the floor. The somber butler. Blood pooled from behind his head, and I looked away when I glimpsed the gray pallor that I knew could only mean death. While Will frantically felt for a pulse, my eyes searched the empty hallway before us, the abandoned parlor to our left, the stairs to our right. Where were the rest of them?
Will reached out his left hand again for me, and I took it, walking slightly behind him as if he were a human shield. He gripped his walking stick in his right hand, and I drew comfort, remembering how he’d faced the three men in Butte. But how many were here? What sort of force would it take to storm Chateau Richelieu, with all its servants and all its occupants?
He listened at the closed door of another sitting room and then slowly opened it. A maid was tied to a chair, gagged, eyes wide. We rushed over to her, and Will loosened the gag while I worked on the knot at her wrists.
“Who are they?” Will asked in French, his hand on her shaking shoulder. She was weeping from relief at the sight of us. “How many? What are they after?”
“Six men,” she said, her voice cracking. She shook her head. “They didn’t say who they were after, only to remain here and be quiet if I wanted to live. They killed poor Henri…” She dissolved into weeping.
Will frowned and leaned close to her. “Only six? Are you certain?”
She nodded quickly, wiping away her tears.
“How long ago did they arrive?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes ago. I’m not quite—”
“Where are the Kensingtons and Morgans?”
“Some in their apartments. Mademoiselle Vivian and Monsieur Andrew were in the gardens, the last I saw them.”
“Where is the nearest phone?”
She shook her head. “They cut the line. We tried, before they found us.”
He took her by the shoulders. “If they wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already. I want you to run for help. Call the constable. Understood?”
Again, she nodded, and the three of us moved toward the door. After scanning the empty hallway, we crept back to the front foyer and past Henri, which sent the maid into another fit of sobbing. When Will was sure there were no intruders outside, he sent the maid running for the nearest neighbor, a half mile distant.
“You should go too, Cora,” he said, scanning the vast, empty lawn.
I shook my head. “What if they’re out there?” I whispered back. “I prefer to stay.” With you, I thought.
Will frowned but nodded. We were once again in the foyer. “Take off your shoes,” he whispered.
I immediately understood. They were making a clatter on the marble flooring. I bent to unlace and pull them off, along with my monstrous hat, and set them on a chair. He took my hand again, and we scurried down the hall, looking left and right, until we reached the kitchens and found five more bound servants. We quickly untied them. “Grab some of those,” Will said to them, nodding at a rack of cast-iron pans. “And if those men come back in here, you beat them senseless.”
They stared at him in confusion, and Will stared back in frustration.
“Will, you’re speaking English,” I hissed.
He took half a breath, comprehension softening his features. Quickly, he repeated his instructions in French.
Wide-eyed, the servants all nodded, and we peered out the windows. We could see no one in the gardens. One of the maids said she thought everyone was upstairs by now. Will was asking about routes upstairs, the best I could decipher.
“How do you say it…?” he muttered in agitation, rubbing his temple. “Passage secret?”
The servants exchanged heavy glances, obviously nonplussed at the idea of disclosing such household secrets. But we were in the midst of uncommon circumstances.
The first footman, gripping a fire poker in his right hand, immediately led the way, moving into Pierre’s library. One wall, thirty feet high, was dedicated to nothing but priceless books of antiquity, as well as many dime novels. I’d teased him earlier over his passion for the American Westerns, wondering if part of his fascination with me might have been born in those pages. There were narrow walkways on each of the upper levels, as well as rolling ladders.
The servant moved toward the nearest ladder and rolled it two-thirds of the way down of the wall. Then he climbed, gesturing for us to follow. Just as I reached the top, he pulled a golden bookend in the form of a lion outward, and we heard a click.
“To your left, please,” he gestured, urging us out of the way. Then he swung it open and entered.
We were in a tiny passageway that smelled heavily of dust and mildew. Gray unpainted wood, so out of place in the Richelieu chateau, stretched twenty feet forward and then turned. We glanced back at the servant.
“This will give you access to the entire west wing, all the apartments and sitting rooms,” he said. “It weaves back and forth around each suite, at times above or below windows.”
“Will you come with us?” Will asked when we’d entered.
The footman hesitated. Will raised his hand. “It’s all right. Return to the others.”
The footman nodded. “To enter any of the rooms, flip the latch beside the peephole. To open from the other side, you must find the latch, which is unique in each room. A bookend, a mantelpiece, a vase, in some cases.”
We left him then, and a chill ran down my back as he clicked the bookcase shut behind us. We were alone, and unless the constable arrived quickly, it was up to us to save the others. Will didn’t hesitate. He moved down the narrow hallway in the near pitch-black, not pausing until we were halfway down. I understood then. He knew we were all housed in the front portion of the chateau; we were making our way to each apartment.
That was when he began checking peephole after peephole, listening. At the third, he peered through twice. We could hear a man’s muffled shout and knocking, as if through several walls.
I resisted the urge to beg him for a chance to look, concentrating instead on staying out of his way. Pausing a moment, motionless, he flipped the latch, and we both held our breath at the sound, which to us sounded like thunder cracking. But inside, the sound of a gasp gave me hope. I pressed through, right behind Will, and spied Nell and Lillian, arms aroun
d each other, crying in a corner.
“Girls, come!” I hissed, frantically waving them over as we heard something bang against the door. They ran for me, and I rushed them through the doorway as we heard another crashing sound.
“Go, stay hidden,” Will said grimly, shutting the door in my face, sealing us away in relative safety before I could say another word.
The girls nestled under my arms, whimpering, whispering desperate questions, but I stood on tiptoe and peered at the empty room. What was Will doing? Could he find his way back in here if he wanted to?
“Will he be all right?” Nell whispered.
“What if they get in? Will had no weapon but his walking stick!” Lillian added.
“Shh, shh, let me think,” I said. “The police are on their way. We only need to make it another fifteen or twenty minutes, I’d wager.” Silently, I lamented the chateau’s distance from her neighbors, from the city. Was I guessing right? Only fifteen or twenty? Or longer?
I considered my choices. Sit here and wait for Will. The police. But the risk was that those who were after us might figure out how two whimpering girls had been exchanged for one grown man. Or we could move on and see if we might save others who were under attack too.
The girls were sobbing now, gulping huge, noisy breaths. I gripped Nell’s and Lillian’s hands. “Shh, girls. Shh. You must get ahold of yourselves. Now. Our siblings are depending on us. Don’t ruin their chances.”
The girls sniffed, and I could almost sense them wiping their faces, though I could not see them. “Who was next door to you?” I whispered.
“It’s a men’s sitting room,” Nell said. “The armory. Remember?”
I did. “Right. Follow me.” I squeezed past Lillian and took her hand. I assumed she took Nell’s, in the dark. As we crept along, we heard men shouting, screaming at each other. A cry about girls escaping…
At the next peephole, I stood on my tiptoes and looked. I could see nothing but an elaborate red-and-gold settee, a fearsome medieval ax above it. I listened, but I couldn’t tell what might be coming from inside or what was happening out in the hall beyond. “Come along,” I whispered, pulling the girls with me again.
Glamorous Illusions Page 29
