The juliet code, p.27
The Juliet Code, page 27
Suddenly, out of the cave opening, bobbing in the water, emerged Mrs. Reynolds—or as Grace now knew her, Beatrice Russo.
“One is wounded and unconscious. He won’t be easy to move,” she called over the motor as Mr. Finch assisted her into the motorboat. “We’ll be long gone before they escape to follow us.”
“If they are even able to get out before the tide fills the cave,” came Mr. Finch’s response.
Grace’s attention flew to the cave entrance from which Mrs. Russo had just come. Water nearly covered the entrance.
Lucia asked a question in Italian, which Grace didn’t fully comprehend, but she heard the name Nico.
“We will bring the boat around to the back of the villa,” Mrs. Russo replied in English, evidently for Mr. Finch’s benefit. “He knows to meet us there if anything goes amiss.”
“Do not worry. Your brother knows what to do.”
Grace breathed out a sigh. At least Grace knew something ahead of the villains. Nico Bartoli would not be meeting them. Her shoulders slumped. Well, she hoped not. Not unless he knew how to pick locks very quickly or Mr. Hopewell failed to fulfill his end of the plan.
The motorboat puttered away, barely staying above the waterline as it moved slowly out of the cavern into open water. Almost any water vehicle could catch their motorboat at that speed. Something weighed it down besides the people.
Had there truly been a treasure?
As the boat disappeared around the edge of the cliff, Grace ran forward, surveying the situation. Someone was wounded inside the cave, and she had a sneaking suspicion Jack was one of the people inside.
A Jules Verne Nautilus or diving suit would have come in handy. How thick was the cave wall? If she had to hold her breath to get underneath it, would she be able to make it to the other side?
Surely! She’d always been a good swimmer, and her grandfather had often told her she must have excellent lung capacity for the amount of time she could talk about books without stopping.
She lowered the rope to the ground and reluctantly released her parasol. She should also leave the satchel behind because swimming would prove difficult enough in her day dress. Wait. She paused in her movements to relinquish the rope. What if she created a connection between the outside of the cave and the inside? Then, if they had a wounded person, it would make getting out easier, wouldn’t it? Sort of a guide to get from one side to the other while pulling an unconscious or wounded person?
She looked near the entrance, where a tooth-shaped stone jutted up from the rocky ground. With quick hands, she tied one end of the rope around the stone, securing it in such a way her grandfather would have been proud. Then, with a longing look to her parasol, she stepped down into the water.
Her shoes weren’t meant for slippery rocks, because she immediately spilled down the slope and went fully under. The cool water rushed over her, snatching her breath, but she also caught sight of something underwater in her periphery. She resurfaced, took a breath, and went back under. The clearness of the water allowed for longer views than back home in America. Wreckage from boats of the past littered the bottom, with wooden slabs or small masts jutting up like knives and shards from the darkness below.
The scene held a fascinating mix of frightening and fascinating. Hadn’t someone mentioned this area being a place for pirates? Were those wrecks from boats long ago?
She shook off her distraction and resurfaced. Taking a tighter hold on the rope, she swam toward the cave entrance.
Even now, only a few inches of unsubmerged opening showed at the cave’s arch. Well, at least she could take one last breath before swimming forward in blind faith. It was a good thing God knew what was ahead, because she clearly didn’t.
With a deep breath, she ducked below the small space of cave not yet covered. Below the surface and rocky cave ceiling, she swam, one arm pulling her through, the other holding to the rope. The latter trailed behind her, slowing her progress as she attempted to keep it from dropping low enough to become entangled with the wreckage below her feet.
The thinness of her tea dress likely kept from slowing her down even more, but trousers would have proved more suitable for swimming. She refused to take another look below her feet at the wreckage because for some reason it made her think of vengeful mermaids and sea ghosts. Instead, she focused ahead.
A soft glow rose above her—some sort of light source. She had to be getting close to the opening. The sound of voices blended through the water, and then she had the unnerving realization that she wasn’t 100 percent certain who waited on the other side of the cave.
She faltered. Another detriment of her impulsiveness. But surely, if anyone was shooting at Mrs. Russo, it had to be someone who at least knew about her subterfuge. Besides, she didn’t have enough air to turn around now.
The cave ceiling opened, and with a little trepidation, she surfaced far enough that only her head broke the water.
“The water is continuing to rise,” came a woman’s voice. American accent. Was that Lydia Whitby? “Do you think it fills this cave in full tide?”
Grace couldn’t see over the lip of the rock in front of her, but she knew the man who gave a response.
“I’m not certain, but I fear we shouldn’t wait to find out. The deeper we have to dive to fit beneath the cave entrance, the longer we must hold our breath.”
Frederick.
“But I already told you,” came the woman’s reply, a hint of tension in her words, “I can’t swim.”
Grace grabbed the rock ledge with her swimming hand and pulled herself up enough to see over.
“Frederick,” Grace called, attempting to get her elbow up on the ledge without slipping and losing her hold on the rope.
“Grace?” came his familiar voice.
Oh, how she loved her name on his lips, even if it had that sort of bewildered tone to it.
“I’m here.” She slipped from her precarious perch back into the water.
When she resurfaced, Frederick stood staring down at her, his expression as bewildered as his voice. “Darling, what? How?” Evidently, he couldn’t quite finish his sentences.
Grace wanted to think it was because she looked so fetching coming from the water like a beautiful mermaid. Or that he found her creative abilities rather breathtaking, brave, and appealing.
But in reality, she likely looked a fright, wearing a soaking tea dress and holding a rope, with her hair in wild red curls all around her pale face. Dear me, I sounded like a sea ghost!
“Would you take this, please?” She offered him the rope.
He tilted his head in a curious manner and took the rope in one hand and in the other took her hand. With a strong tug, he pulled her up and into his hold, his clothes much warmer and drier than hers. She nestled close to appreciate his warmth for a little longer. He didn’t seem to mind for he tightened his hold.
“Lady Astley?” Lydia stumbled forward, her eyes wide. “You … you swam here?”
Grace pulled back, offering her darling husband a smile before turning to Lydia. “I saw Mrs. Russo, Mr. Finch, and Lucia leave in the boat. They talked about someone being wounded.” Her gaze skimmed over the path to land on the very still face of Mr. Reynolds, a knife protruding from his chest. His body began to float a little from the influx of water.
Oh, poor Mr. Reynolds.
“Jack.” Frederick nudged her forward and readied to lay down the rope.
“No, wait.” She took the rope back in hand. “Don’t let go of it. We need to tie it somewhere.”
“What?” He searched her face, then looked down at the rope, a sudden light dawning in his eyes. “As a guide under the cave?” His grin split wide, and he leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth. “You’re brilliant.”
Well, perhaps brilliance overshadowed a sea ghost.
He took the rope back in hand and proceeded to tie it around another boulder nearby. “Miss Whitby can’t swim, so this will certainly assist her as well as give us a bit of bearing while getting Jack across.”
“Can’t we just wait it out and see if the water stops?” Lydia looked from Grace to Frederick and back.
“I heard Mr. Finch mention that the cave fills with water.” Grace looked over to see poor Jack propped against a rock, his head dipped to the right and blood on his forehead and shirt. “I don’t know if we can trust what he says, but it would be worse to gamble with the fact and be wrong.”
“We need to get Jack through as soon as we can because there’s still a little patch of air at the cave arch, but it won’t last long.” Frederick moved toward Jack with Grace beside him. “Jack won’t waken, so he can’t hold his breath.”
“It’s closing quickly though, Frederick.” She reached on one side of Jack as Frederick went to the other, both raising him up beneath his arms and moving to the water’s edge. “He may still breathe in water.”
“We’ll have to take that chance.” He looked at the ground, water now to midcalf. “Because if Mr. Finch is right, then this is likely only to get worse and take even longer to swim out.”
Lydia rushed to help them with Jack and carefully, with Frederick getting into the water, they lowered Jack onto his back.
“I’ll try to keep us near the roof of the cave as long as possible.” His gaze met hers. “And pray we get through quickly enough.”
“Be careful.” Grace relinquished her hold on Jack, and the unconscious man floated on his back with his head resting on Frederick’s shoulder. “There are heaps of wreckage just below the surface. Broken boats. A sharp mast for a small boat.”
He studied her face and gave a nod, then looked back to Lydia. “Grace will get you through, Miss Whitby.” His gaze found Grace’s. “Take care, darling.”
Something in his look, his unvoiced words, spilled added strength through her. She nodded to him as he pushed off, skimming the rope with his body to keep his direction straight as he swam backward.
Lydia’s face was pale, her breathing shallow, but she raised her chin and focused her full attention on Grace. “What do I do?”
Yes, she like Lydia Whitby even more.
“We’ll swim above water as long as we can, but there will be a point where you’ll have to go under.” Grace moved with her to the edge where the ground began a descent deeper into the water. “Keep hold of the rope all the way through, and it will get us both to the other side.” She turned to Lydia. “The wall thickness isn’t as bad as it could have been, so you shouldn’t have any trouble holding your breath.”
“I’m not worried about holding my breath.” Lydia nodded, looking down at the water as if preparing for battle. “My stepfather had gotten me up to six minutes underwater when trying to unfasten myself from chains. Unfortunately, he never taught me to swim.”
Grace started to ask about Lydia’s fascinating experience but decided the conversation should likely wait until a more convenient time. “You go on ahead of me, and I’ll follow behind you to help if you need it.”
Lydia started forward, her left hand holding to the rope and her right moving through the water.
“And if you push your free hand like this”—Grace threaded her hand through the water—“it will help you move a bit faster.”
Lydia imitated her form, giving a little boost to her pace.
Grace looked up to find Jack and Frederick had vanished, the last bit of space beneath the opening gone. Her heart pulsed faster, a prayer repeating through her head. Be with them, Lord.
She focused her attention on the back of Lydia’s golden head. “And help us too.”
Grace gave space as Lydia moved forward, deeper until her feet no longer felt rock and she raised into swimming position.
“Okay, time to go under,” Grace called ahead of her, and with that, Lydia disappeared beneath the water, her hair flaring about her as she did.
A moment later, Grace took a deep breath and followed.
Unlike an experienced swimmer, Lydia attempted to keep her body straight, her feet slicing back and forth as if walking. The frantic movements of her right hand caused bubbles to obscure Grace’s view, or she might have caught the problem before it happened.
Lydia jerked to a stop. The bubbles cleared, and Grace met Lydia’s wide-eyed look. Lydia shook her head and looked down. The spear-like mast jutting upward, with chains twisted around it, had somehow caught the bottom of Lydia’s gown. Lydia gave her skirt a strong tug.
In response, the chains began unbraiding from their hold on the wood, slowly dropping deeper into the water. Lydia began sinking. The chains unwound further, pulling Lydia down even more.
Lydia’s wide eyes found Grace’s.
A sudden fear erupted in Grace’s stomach—the same feeling she remembered from the sand crashing in on her. The same inner mantra shouting to her, “Don’t breathe or you’ll die.”
She couldn’t panic. She needed a clear head. With the same reminder as she’d told herself when locked in the chest, she began attempting to catch the wild thoughts, taming them with words of truth. Focusing on the matter at hand.
If she didn’t do something, they both were going to die.
She turned and pressed her feet against the cave wall to propel herself downward.
The chains released another link. Lydia sank even more. Bubbles swelled from the moving chains, making it difficult for Grace to find exactly where Lydia’s skirt stuck to the chains.
But she needed to find it soon.
Because neither one of them could hold their breath forever.
Chapter 22
Frederick pulled Jack from the water, the man’s silence more concerning than anything else at the moment. They’d been underwater longer than Frederick had hoped.
He leaned over Jack’s body, cheek against Jack’s nose. A chill traveled up Frederick’s neck.
Nothing.
Jack wasn’t breathing.
With quick work, Frederick loosened Jack’s collar, steadied his head, and drew from some of the newer training he’d learned when stationed in India. What new method had the doctor suggested for a drowning victim? Chest compressions?
Braiding his fingers together, he pressed into Jack’s chest and released. He wasn’t certain how many times to compress, but he completed a few and then went to the next step. Pumping the victim’s arms.
He took Jack’s arms and pumped them up and down in synchrony a few times before starting compressions again. On the third set of compressions, Jack started coughing up water. Frederick immediately turned Jack on his side, steadying him as Jack expelled water from his saturated lungs.
Frederick provided support for Jack as he continued to cough—a good sign and certainly a much better prognosis than the alternative. He looked up toward the cave entrance, now completely submerged, anticipating his wife’s and Miss Whitby’s imminent appearance.
Giving Jack another pat on the back, Frederick studied the water. A sudden burst of bubbles surfaced but not a person. Steadying Jack against one of the rocks, Frederick stood in time to see Miss Whitby emerge, both her hands clinging to the rope.
He rushed into the water, meeting her.
“My … my gown became entwined in the wreckage,” she puffed out the words. “She … she went—”
Frederick didn’t wait for Miss Whitby to finish but dove into the water. Myriad horrible scenarios flashed through his mind in a second. Skewered by a jagged mast? Trapped in wreckage and sinking to the bottom of the cavern?
His eyes adjusted to the water in time to see a mass of pale blue moving upward.
Grace.
He followed, surfacing directly after her.
Her ginger hair covered part of her face as she coughed and attempted to swim toward the land. Frederick came up behind her, taking her by the arm and giving her some support, tension uncoiling from his shoulders with the feel of her alive and well beside him.
As soon as they both set their feet on dry ground, he turned her to face him, pushing her hair back from her face.
“Her … her dress became caught,” Grace whispered, a small cough escaping her quivering lips.
“I know.”
“I couldn’t just leave her.”
“No, of course not.”
“I hate to say it, Frederick, but it’s another situation in favor of women wearing—”
He caught her mouth with his, her cool lips surrendering to his need. It didn’t matter if Miss Whitby watched from her spot beside Jack. Or if Jack roused to a front-row view of husband kissing wife. All that mattered was, despite the circumstances, God had given them one more day together.
“I say, it looks as if someone is celebrating.” Jack’s rasped words brought Frederick’s attention around to see his friend sitting upright, eyes squinted, and a crooked smile on his lips. “Did we win?”
“We did, Jack.” Frederick looked back down at Grace. “For what matters most, we definitely won.”
Jack waited in the hotel’s lounge, his trunk poised nearby, awaiting transport to the train then subsequent steamer back to England. His side thrummed with a residual ache and so did his head, but in all honesty, he’d survived worse.
He only wished he had a clearer memory of what had happened inside the cave. Flashes of scenes came to mind now and again, but he failed to catch them long enough for a clear sequence of events. What he did remember was Lydia Whitby’s knife skills, Mr. Finch shooting him, and the real existence of treasure.
His thoughts poised on Lydia Whitby, followed by an unnerving knot in his throat.
After they’d returned to the villa to find Inspector Verga and his police arresting Mrs. Reynolds-Russo, Mr. Finch (who turned out to be her real husband, Mr. Victor Russo), and Lucia Bartoli, Lady Astley had shown them the way to Nico Bartoli. The man’s fight had gone out of him, and he surrendered to the authorities quite humbly. Of course, spending a few hours cramped inside a trunk without promise of rescue could likely humble a great many people.
