Chapter Nineteen
Cordelia wriggled her toes in her leather boots, relieved when each one responded. Next were her fingers, which were white and shaking as they clutched the red cherry wood box to her chest. They responded in kind, as well. Thank goodness, she thought to herself, and then, if only I could stand.
There was a constant drip which was falling on her chest, the cold chilling her body as the damp spot grew.
Inhaling the sickly sweet scent of rotting wood, Cordelia took in her surroundings.
She’d fallen flat on her back and was staring up at cracks of gray light coming in through the clapboard wood panels, like a pair of poor shutters.
There was enough space over head to lift up her arms, which moved with very little pain.
Turning her head to the side, she could almost make out a shape in the semidarkness.
Narrowing her eyes, she saw that it was a box; a long, thin pine box that had weathered with age and mold.
She shuddered as she realized that it was a coffin.
Without difficulty, she turned her head to the other side and saw that another coffin was laid to rest beside her. If she reached, she could brush her fingers against it. The lines from the previous riddle sang out in her head once more: “You’ll find me among friends…”
“Portia!” Cordelia tried calling, but her voice was hoarse.
Her already tender ribs were now smarting against the confines of her corset.
She’d been in such a rush to find the abbey that she hadn’t even allowed herself to change into proper clothes.
Sitting up on her elbows, she was relieved to see the small cherrywood box she’d uncovered from behind the vicar’s pulpit was still intact, sitting listlessly on her stomach, exactly where the x had been marked on the map.
“Good,” she murmured to herself, running her hands along the box.
Cordelia was sore all over as she did her best to sit up.
She’d need to be laid up in bed for a week after this.
But there was a sense of relief as well.
As soon as they were able to break into the small box, she and her sisters would be free.
The thought heartened her and she did her best to stand.
But as soon as she tried to move her leg, a lightning strike of pain made its way from her ankle and up her back. Crying out, Cordelia leaned over to see what the problem was, then swore loudly to herself. Her foot was trapped under some rubble.
“Portia!” Cordelia screamed again. The drip that was falling onto her chest was becoming more insistent, a little stream of water. Was she alone?
Cordelia’s heart began to pound as she realized the seriousness of her situation. What good was having found the Rothesay treasure if she were dead?
“Cordelia!” The voice was so faint, she was not sure if it was real. But there it was again, this time more insistent. “Cordelia!”
“Here!” she replied, as loudly as she could manage. “Here, beneath the floorboards!”
“My God, what have you done this time?” She heard Justin’s voice and tears leaked down the sides of her cheeks in relief. He’d found her.
She could see the outline of his tall frame behind the wood slats. “Is Portia okay?” she asked.
“Portia rode all the way to the house with a dislocated shoulder. She’s currently resting and waiting for the doctor. You…”’ he began, sighing deeply, “are you very hurt?”
“I can move everything except my ankle,” she replied. “I think I’ve caught it under some rubble.”
The whole abbey seemed to groan as a strong gust of wind blew more cold and rain through the ruins. “We need to get you out of here, and quickly,” Justin said. “There’s a danger of further collapse.”
Cordelia marveled at his calm, matter-of-fact manner. She herself was halfway to hysterics, but the strong vibrato in his voice seemed to settle her. “You seem quite confident,” she tried, and to her consternation, heard him laugh on the other side of the downed floorboards.
“Don’t jinx me, woman,” he replied. “I need time to think. Get comfortable for me, will you?”
Cordelia lay back down on the hard-packed earth, trying to ignore the fact that two coffins were deposited on either side of her trapped body.
Slowly and with great care, Justin was picking the rubble out piece by piece, doing his best not to cause another collapse.
Eventually, she could see his dark brow as he worked, using his shirt to wipe the sweat and water from it.
“After this ordeal is over,” Justin said, “I am ordering a moratorium on all treasure hunting.”
In spite of her sore ribs, Cordelia chuckled. “Well, that might not be necessary.”
“Oh?” he asked, removing a large part of the floorboard. She could now see that he was wearing no jacket, with the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up far past his elbows. The firm muscles of his arms tensed as he removed more rubble.
“Look,” she said, gesturing to the small wood box that was still perched on her stomach. “This is it,” she said.
“Just that?” he asked, continuing to work and seemingly not very impressed. “All of the Rothesay fortune?”
Cordelia balked.
“I’m joking,” Justin said, offering her a lopsided grin that resulted in a rush of heat from the top of her head to low in her belly. She quickly chastised herself. Surely an abandoned abbey where she was trapped under wreckage was hardly a place for lighthearted flirting.
“There we are,” Justin finally said, and he lifted up the heavy beam that had been resting on her ankle. The rain was coming down even harder.
“Does it look bad?” she asked, anxious.
“I won’t examine it here,” he replied. “We’ll need to get you back to the house.”
He offered her his hand and she took it, holding firm as he lifted her off the ground. She cried out as she tried putting weight on the foot, the hot shooting pain sluicing up her back. “Easy there,” Justin murmured, and wrapped an arm around her waist to support her weight.
Together they hobbled over to the wall. Most of the main floor had been destroyed after Portia and Cordelia located the small treasure box. A few pews had been taken with her into the basement. Cordelia saw where one had been dragged to the wall. That must have been where Portia had scrambled out.
“Clever girl, your sister,” Justin murmured. He nodded ahead. “You first.”
Portia’s long legs might have had more luck reaching the wall. “I… I’m not sure,” she said. The pain in her ankle was becoming a rhythmic throb and it was making it difficult for her to think properly.
“I’ll give you a boost,” Justin replied, his voice gentle.
A loud crack of thunder sounded above, booming right over their heads.
It made her shrink down a little, tucking the cherrywood box under her arm as she tested the pew with her good leg.
Her other arm was holding onto Justin’s shoulder.
The rain was becoming progressively worse, falling over them in heavy sheets.
“Keep going,” Justin said, shouting over the sudden din.
She slipped on the drenched wood. Before she could fall forward, she felt two large hands spanning the length of her waist, hoisting her up high.
Easily, Cordelia gripped the edge of the abbey’s stone wall and pulled herself up.
She could nearly kiss the wet grass as she fell upon it, soiling the front of her dress beyond repair.
Thank you, she thought, to no one in particular. Thank you.
She heard a grunt as Justin landed on the ground beside her. She looked over at him and was alarmed when his face had gone white. “What’s happened?” she asked.
“I didn’t want to… worry you,” he tried.
Cordelia hobbled over to him and saw that he was clutching his forearm, blood leaking out from between his clasped fingers. “I got it caught on something when I was freeing you. Didn’t realize,” he muttered.
“This is my fault,” Cordelia whispered, an angry bubble of shame ballooning in her stomach.
“I’ll survive,” Justin said, and offered her a brave smile. “Where’s the horse?”
The heavy rain and dark sky were making it more difficult than ever to see their surroundings.
“Buttercup!” Cordelia called. The two of them stood, rather shakily, and swiveled their heads. “Brutus!” she attempted again, but the truth was perfectly clear.
“Damn!” Cordelia swore, fisting her hands into the skirts of her muddied dress.
Despite the paleness of his cheeks, Justin appeared to be thoroughly amused. “Let’s find a tree to wait out the storm,” he suggested, already making his way to a copse of tall yews.
“Wait,” Cordelia said, limping after him. “The vicar’s cottage is a short walk this way. I know some of the farmers use it when herding sheep.”
Without waiting for his reply she took off in that direction, doing her best not to slip in the wet grass.
Her ankle was smarting and she had to shamble, putting as little weight on it as possible.
There was a bright flash of light and not seconds later, thunder boomed once more.
The storm was getting worse. “C’mon,” Justin said, catching up to her and placing his hand on her back.
She did not have time to ask what he was doing. He swung her into his arms as easily as a sack of grain. Cradling her against his chest, he brought them to the door of the tiny vicarage.