Glittering Promises

by Lisa T. Bergren

  She lifted her small hand and touched his cheek. “Will,” she said again. “Please. Dig deep. Is this us? Is this what God wants for us? Or have we each given in to the worst possible distraction? Away from love? Away from light?”

  He gazed back into her blue eyes, searching, searching, searching. And found his anchor point. She loved him. Loved him. And he was about to lose her, because he did as she feared…he gave in to distraction. Lies. “Oh, Cora,” he moaned, leaning his forehead against hers. “But what about Pierre? Did you keep it because you still wondered yourself if you had made the right choice?”

  “I don’t know why I kept it,” she said, shaking her head a little against his. She looked back into his eyes. “But Will, I haven’t been with Pierre. I love you. I’m with you. Can you believe that? Or not?”

  He took a breath, then took her hands in his. “I believe you,” he said, throwing his trust outward as if he were tossing it over a cliff, hoping it would drift down into safety and not get crushed against the rocks below. “I believe you,” he repeated more strongly. He bit his lip. Then, “And I need you to believe me. Eleonora is a friend. A friend I find attractive. But nowhere near the attraction I have with you. Can you trust that?”

  She stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then she nodded. “I trust you, William McCabe. Now trust me.”

  Cora

  I closed the door, feeling bruised from my discussion with Will, but slightly relieved, too. As soon as my hand left the knob, I hurried over to my chest holding the books and rifled through them for the one that had held Pierre’s drawing. The one he’d sketched for me in the garden, positioning us as if we were lovers, sharing secrets. The one that Lil had found.

  It was gone.

  Madly, I searched through the other books, until they lay in a pile at my feet, then through the bottoms of each trunk, thinking it might have fallen out. But it was nowhere to be found. Surely, that was the drawing Will referenced. How had Lexington gotten hold of it? Only Lil knew it was here, right?

  I opened my door and looked down the hall. It was empty again, and I strode two doors down to the room Lil and Nell shared, and knocked. Lillian answered it, her head covered in rag curls. “Cora? What time is it?”

  “Time to get up,” I said, pushing my way in. I closed the door behind me and saw that Nell was still asleep in the big four-poster bed. “Lil, do you remember the drawing that Pierre made of us? The one you asked me about?”

  She frowned and nodded, her rag-tied curls bouncing.

  “Did you take it?”

  Her frown deepened, and then she slowly shook her head. “No. Why would I do that?”

  I bit my lip, considering her, but the girl appeared as utterly confounded as I.

  But if she hadn’t taken it and given it to a reporter, then who had?

  “Are you going to the Coliseum with us?” Nell asked.

  “Oh do, please,” Lil said.

  “I wasn’t going to…but now I just might,” I said. Someone in the house had betrayed me. Perhaps I could figure out who.

  William

  Andrew arrived as they were just assembling to depart. Will felt an urgency now. If they hurried, they might just escape the palazzo before the reporters came to lie in wait for them.

  But Andrew insisted they pause for him. He brushed past, smelling of body odor and wine. “Please, Vivian,” he said to her, taking hold of her hand. “Just give me today. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  She sighed and looked to the rest of them. They all seemed to sigh with her and stand back, waiting for the man to go get changed and join them. If Vivian didn’t break up with Andrew—once and for all—soon, Will decided he’d do it for her. He glanced at Cora.

  She still refused to meet his gaze, fussing first with her gloves, then her pocketbook. Ill at ease in his presence. Making some excuse that sent her upstairs for a time.

  Perhaps she was embarrassed for making such a fuss over him and Eleonora last night. Or worse, she was still angry at him. On his suggestion, the women wore colors, rather than their mourning black, to make them less conspicuous and perhaps to allow them to avoid the wandering reporters. While it was a superficial change, it made Will feel as if the group was somewhere near to what it once was, even if every relationship between them all had changed, deepened, divided.

  At last, Cora and Andrew came back down the stairs, an incongruent pair, and everyone hurried into the waiting motorcars, the girls stubbornly sticking together, a bevy of massive hats that had to make it difficult to sit in one car.

  They got out beside the Coliseum, and Will breathed a sigh of relief as the tension in the air melted into wonder. It was the same for everyone, it seemed, spying the structure, walking up to it. Pockmarks littered the stones of the front of the Coliseum, where metal pieces had been scavenged over the centuries. Roman officials had stopped masons from stealing the stones, at least, and had done a tolerable job at securing what remained so tourists could enjoy the monumental structure. If they hadn’t, would there be anything left today? Uncle Stuart had often pondered that.

  Will led them inside, lecturing them on the various ways the ancient Romans had utilized the structure. They walked out atop a reconstructed stage on one end and peered over the edge, down to the Hypogeum. “For five centuries, no one saw that floor exposed,” Will said, gesturing to the complex series of tunnels and rooms. “It was there that the gladiators, as well as all the animals, waited to emerge on the Coliseum’s floor, to fight until the death.”

  The younger girls twittered. “Oh, Will,” said Nell, “can we go down there?”

  “I wouldn’t be much of a guide if I didn’t take you to both the greatest depths and the greatest heights of this structure, would I?” He smiled and dared to look at Cora, but she was looking away, as if he’d said nothing at all. He hesitated, again feeling a twinge of separation from her. “This way,” he said, leading them to a small circular stairwell that led them downward.

  In minutes, they stood below and walked along the walls as Will pointed out slices in the rock that indicated where capstans once were placed. “Four men would man each, and at the appointed time, they would turn it and raise a lion or bear to the arena floor.”

  “In a way, it was theater at its finest,” Hugh said.

  “A theater in which men were chained, awaiting their deaths?” Felix asked, running a hand down a stone wall.

  “Indeed,” Will said. “They were called the damnati—prisoners of war, criminals, for the most part.” He paused where they could look up and see the Coliseum’s upper stories rising high above them. “In later years, the Coliseum housed cobblers and blacksmiths. In the twelfth century, even a group of warlords. Pilgrim books incorrectly called the arena a temple to the sun, which attracted necromancers who came to summon demons.”

  “Boo!” Hugh said, tickling Nell. She screamed. Will widened his eyes at the piercing sound and waited for the echoes of it to fade as Nell turned to hit her brother.

  “You stop that, Hugh,” Nell said, “or I’ll tell Father.”

  “Ooh, even more frightening,” he said with a pretend shiver.

  “Did they truly flood the entire floor?” Cora asked him, daring to look his way. “I’ve heard they flooded it for naval drama.”

  “They did. They removed all the wooden supports and diverted a nearby aqueduct to bring in enough water to flood the base of the arena to a depth of three to five feet. That ended after the first century, when all wooden supports were replaced with masonry.”

  The group was spreading out, dispersing as they explored. “Not too far,” Will called. “Not much of the Hypogeum has been fully excavated and restored.” He gestured to the guards to keep an eye after their charges.

  “Is it true that they even brought in elephants and rhinoceroses?” Lillian asked, accepting his proffered arm as she stepped over a hole. She looked up at the walls as if they might turn into a menagerie intent on gobbling her up.

  �
�That and more,” Will said. “The Romans liked to bring in such spectacles because they thought it was symbolic of how they’d conquered far-off, wild lands—even nature herself, when you consider their aqueducts and roads.” He peered around the hall, aware that the group had separated, ignoring his entreaty to stay close. He couldn’t blame them, really. The place was fascinating. But he frowned when he saw that a number of them were out of sight.

  Will was about to give a whistle—trying to alert Antonio—when he heard the worst sound possible.

  Cora was screaming.

  CHAPTER 27

  Cora

  I knew I was disobeying Will’s request, wandering off. But I couldn’t help it. I was agitated and needing space again. From him. From everyone. These rocks had stood for thousands of years; what could happen? I slipped around the wall and then scurried down a short hall and turned another corner, looking up at the glorious arena rising above, thinking about how it all would’ve worked together as an amazing theater back in the day.

  I was about to take a step when I hesitated, sensing an abyss, and glanced down. My arms windmilled as I tried to regain my balance, and I narrowly caught it. Heart pounding, I took a breath, relieved I hadn’t fallen into the hole, and it was then that I felt the shove at my lower back.

  There was no time to see who had pushed me. I screamed as I fell, reaching out to desperately grasp at roots and bits of rotten timber. But nothing abated my descent, not until I hit the ground. I heard the crack of breaking bone, saw my arm turn at a terrible angle, and then a second later felt the resulting pain. I would’ve screamed again if the air hadn’t been stolen from my lungs. I rolled to my side, dimly aware that my lovely hat was pulling away, most of my pins lost.

  I blinked slowly as I lay on my side on the stone floor, watching as a cloud of dust mites flew through the air around me, swirled, settled. Reminded myself to breathe. Tried to tell myself the pain wasn’t as bad as all that.

  Until it was.

  William

  “Everyone, get up top and outside,” Will told Felix, Hugh, and Pascal, gesturing to the remaining women. “Make sure everyone’s accounted for,” he growled to Antonio.

  He turned and shoved through several groups who had arrived after them, trying to find where he’d heard Cora scream. It had been her, right? She wasn’t in sight…

  The two detectives and he ran down the corridor he’d last glimpsed her enter, then split up as they made their way through the various hallways. Will turned around at a dead end. “Cora?” he called. “Cora!”

  He hated that it was so quiet, that he’d heard nothing but her initial scream. He turned to his right and ran down the next corridor, noting how overgrown it was.

  “Will, over here!” called a voice from what sounded like two corridors away. It was Stephen, the lanky detective. Was he with Cora now? The place was like a maze, and Will had to guess at the fastest route. “Over here!” Stephen called again.

  “Keep yelling!” Will responded. He ran to his left, cut across two corridors, and looked left and right. “Stephen?”

  “Right here!” he called.

  He was close. Will rounded another corner, and there he was, far closer to the entrance of the Hypogeum than he’d thought. She hadn’t wandered far…

  Will stopped beside him, at the edge of a pit that had probably once been covered by wooden beams and a thin layer of stone but was now a yawning chasm. Fifteen feet below, she lay unmoving. “Get some rope and some help,” he said to Stephen.

  He knelt in the damp grass and quickly pulled off his jacket, then eyed the overgrown walls—a living tapestry of plants—looking for anything that might hold his weight. There. A tree root, thin, emerging about a foot down on the right-hand wall. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Without further thought, he leaped and grabbed hold of it, swinging to a stop and trying to gain purchase with his boots against the wall. Then he began lowering himself down. “Cora,” he grunted. “Talk to me.”

  But she still didn’t move. Her ivory hat lay beneath her head, the pins having ripped out much of her bun and sending her hair in a lush, golden wave over her shoulder.

  Will had made it a couple more feet when he felt the root give way and fell to the ground. He hit hard and stumbled to his knees, panting, but his eyes were only on Cora. “Cora,” he said, scrambling over to her. He hesitated, frightened out of his wits that she was dead. She was so pale.

  The bottom of the pit was littered with old stones, which had obviously fallen from above. Had one of those hit her on the head?

  He dared to stroke her face. “Cora,” he said. “Can you hear me?” He moved his filthy fingers down to her neck to check for a pulse. “Cora!”

  She blinked slowly just as he noted her heartbeat, and he let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, Cora!” he said. “Are you all right?”

  She lifted her hand to her forehead, as if it were too bright in the dank pit. “Will…” she said, her voice raspy. “I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry I—”

  “Shh,” he said. “Don’t worry about that now. Can you move your feet? Wiggle your toes? Is your other arm okay?”

  The other men arrived up top. “Will!”

  He waved at them, his eyes still only on Cora.

  “I-I think so.” She shifted more fully to her back and winced, and Will held his breath. “Oh,” she said, her face draining of blood. “My left arm hurts.”

  “Let me see,” Will said, moving to her other side. Gingerly, he picked up her hand. “Any of your fingers hurt?”

  Her eyes, wide and blue, blinked several times. Then she shook her head, seeming to brace herself for what was to come. “It’s higher up.”

  He moved his fingers up to her wrist and gently twisted it. “Anything?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  He ran both hands up to her elbow and again, she shook her head, but her face was growing more pale. Carefully, he moved his fingers across her arm and felt the bump just before she let out a stifled scream.

  Will immediately let go of her arm. “Broken,” he said. “You must’ve done it in your fall. And you were out for a couple of minutes. I wager you have a pretty good concussion.”

  “Oh, Will,” she groaned. “I’m sorry. If only I hadn’t been such a dolt—”

  “Shh, don’t think more about it.”

  “I’ll be thinking about it every day this arm is healing.”

  “True,” he said, sharing a rueful smile with her.

  “And now I’ve delayed the group’s plans to—”

  “Shh. Enough.” He rose and waved for the men to toss the rope to them. As soon as the coils came flying through the air and then straightened into a line, he reached for the end and began tying knots, remembering Uncle Stuart teaching him various ones.

  He quickly fashioned a harness for Cora, then knelt beside her. “Can you sit up?”

  She swallowed hard. “I-I think so.”

  He took hold of her right shoulder and said, “If you can move your left arm at all, lay it across your belly so we can wrap it.”

  She gave him a horrified look.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but if we’re to get you back up, there will be some jostling. I’d rather it be as controlled as possible. Just look at me, concentrate on me, while you do it,” he said, taking her small right hand in his.

  She bit her lip and nodded, her eyebrows pulled together in a frightened frown. Then she let go of his hand and reached across her torso for her left hand. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her left arm across until it rested on her belly, her lips parting in an agonizing cry that sent every hair on Will’s neck on end.

  He tried to swallow but found his mouth dry. “Let’s get you upright,” he said, repositioning his hand beneath her right shoulder. “Slowly,” he cautioned.

  She rose as instructed, letting out a slow “oh,” as she did so. Then he stood to pull off his tie, setting it on a rock to his side, and unbuttoning his collar.

  “Wh-what are
you doing?” she asked, still panting from the pain.

  “We need something to wrap your arm against you,” he said, working down the buttons. Rapidly, he finished and shrugged out of his shirt, leaving only his Balbriggan undershirt tucked into the waistline of his trousers. Her blue eyes belatedly moved away as he caught her gaze. He smiled as he knelt again, winding the shirt into a thick coil.

  “Oh, your fine new shirt,” she moaned.

  “It’s the least of our worries.” He leaned forward and wrapped the shirt around her back, then fastened it gently under her arm. She winced at the pain.

  “How’s your head?” he asked, sitting back on his haunches. “Are you seeing double? Feeling faint?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. More of her hair pulled from her pins and fell around her shoulders. “Is it bad?” she asked, glancing down at her arm. “It’s throbbing.”

  “That’s for the doctors to tell us,” he said. “Let’s get you up top.” He bent and lifted her, trying not to jostle her, then set her on her feet beside the wall. “All right?” he asked, waiting for her to affirm she wasn’t going to pass out on him again. When he saw that she was standing on her own, he grabbed hold of the rope and looked up. “I’m sending her up in a minute. Pull it taut!”

  Stephen did so, and Pascal moved behind him, each taking a span of rope to keep it steady, Pascal wrapping it around his own waist. Will bent and pulled it around Cora. “Just like on the glacier,” he said with a smile.

  She gave him a pained smile, clearly remembering their narrow escape from the crevasse in Switzerland. “If I were a suspicious person, I’d wonder if someone was trying to kill…me.”

  His eyes narrowed as she seemed to weigh her own words. “Cora?” he asked, tying the first knot, then the second, securing her in the makeshift seat.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, giving her head a small shake.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said tiredly.

  “Give it your full weight,” he said.

  She forced a small smile to her lips as he backed away to look at his handiwork. “Remember you’re getting paid to bring me home in one piece. Even if,” she said, pausing to wince as she sat down, “I keep getting myself into trouble.”