Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) (19 page)

~Cora~

Back in my room, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was in disarray, my careful knots gone. I glanced down and saw that the pocket of my jacket was torn and my skirt was smudged. I leaned forward to look into my own eyes, wondering if I’d just made a fatal decision. Memory of the man’s grimy hand over my mouth, the feel of his iron grip…I shivered, just as Anna entered.

“Help you change, miss?”

“Please.” Every muscle in my body ached as the maid hurried over to help me take off my jacket and then helped me slip out of my blouse and skirt.

“Miss?” she said, holding my arm, eyes wide with alarm. I looked down and saw what she did—the four bruising lines of a man’s fingers. “What happened to you?”

“Pay it no mind, Anna. Just part of my adventures this evening.”

“Are you certain?” she asked, still holding my arm, reaching for my face, apparently seeing something else there.

“I am.” I pulled away and turned to reach for my nightgown. How many times were people going to interrogate me tonight? My decision to stay was made. Right? I threw the lace-trimmed gown over my head and yanked it down, wanting only to slip under the covers and try to dream away the worst of tonight’s memories.

Anna wordlessly helped me into bed and covered me. “Anything else, miss?”

“No, thank you, Anna.”

She turned and blew out the bedside lamp, stiff with obvious frustration that I hadn’t elected to confide in her. She made her way out of the room. I resisted the urge to call her back, to tell her every detail and make sure I was making the right choice. Was I endangering her life too? Memories of the dead butler back at Pierre’s chateau rose in my head. I turned over and closed my eyes tight. “Give me wisdom, Lord,” I whispered. “Is this the right way? Is there any other? Without harming Will’s future?”

But truth be told, I wasn’t ready to give this up either. When would I ever return to Europe in my lifetime? If I went my own way, and Wallace Kensington went his…if we parted now, as I wished, would I ever find out if there was something of merit growing between me and Will? Between me and my siblings?

What would my parents, Alan and Alma, tell me to do?

My stomach rumbled. From hunger or agitation?

I felt so confused…so lost. Thinking about returning to Pierre’s sprawling chateau. The danger in my kidnapper’s eyes. His glee at having me in hand. And wondering again how Art freed me… Then thinking of my parents again, of sitting down to a meal with them and taking part in quiet conversation, wisdom etched into their thoughtful words. I had to send them a telegram soon.

On and on my thoughts went, some connected, some not, until I was once again out of bed and slipping into my most comfortable gown. I brushed my hair, pulled it into a quick knot, and shoved several pins through it. I bent to loosely lace up my boots and then quietly stepped out of my room, well aware that it was past two in the morning.

Downstairs, I made my way to the kitchen, past Hugh and Felix, who were up playing cards in the parlor. I was
really
hungry. Starving. The luxurious hors d’oeuvres we’d had before entering the arena had been lovely, but hardly a meal. I glanced down the hall. Given the hour, the cook was no doubt asleep or gone for the night. But that didn’t have to stop me from making something.

The kitchen was vast, with electric lights, white marble counters veined with blue, and white cupboards. I reached into a drawer and pulled out a knife, then strode to the end to the ice locker and opened it. If we were renting the mansion, we could do as we wished, couldn’t we? Especially when all I wanted to do was make a meal.

The walk-in ice locker was huge. And cold, with four massive blocks of ice in the center, covered in straw. I reached for a lamp and lit it, casting the shelves in a warm glow. I reached for an empty basket from the floor and went to the far end, where all kinds of meats hung on hooks—a slab of beef, a lighter-colored slab I thought might be veal, and links of sausage.

I reached up and cut away three sausage links, then cut two hunks of meat on a butcher’s board beside them. When I had those in my basket, I turned to collect eggs. Outside the locker, I bent to grab onions and a loaf of bread, potatoes, and carrots from bins that lined the pantry wall. I almost dropped it all when Art walked in.

“Cora?” He lifted his hands. “Sorry. I clearly startled you.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, swallowing around a lump in my throat. I had nothing to fear from this man. I was simply jumpy. “I was hungry. Thought I’d make something that tasted like home.”

“Ahh, I see. I can’t sleep either,” he said, going into the ice locker and emerging with a bottle of milk. “Mind if I lend a hand?”

“That depends,” I said, forcing playfulness to my tone even as I continued to struggle with an odd sense of fear. It was ridiculous. This man had saved me! I handed him several big potatoes and lifted a brow. “Peel these for me, would you?” I said. “And do you know how to light a French oven?”

“I think so,” he said, setting down the potatoes and glass of milk and turning to the oven. He fiddled with a knob and a match, and a moment later, I heard the roar of flame.

Art set to peeling potatoes, and I reconsidered my plan now that it appeared someone would share my meal. But meatloaf was what I had to have. My mouth watered at the thought of it. It’d been ages since I’d had a meal that reminded me of my parents, of home. And tonight I was bound and determined to have it.

“So tell me…do all the Kensingtons cook?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “But as you’ve discovered, I’m rather new to the clan. And I’ve been cooking all my life.”

He lifted his eyebrows but remained silent as he peeled, as if he found that fascinating.

I quickly diced the meat and fed it through a grinder, then mixed it with the sausage, freed from its casings.
Perfect
. I dumped the mixture into a big bowl, then turned to quickly chop two big onions, and afterward sliced a dry baguette, which I then crumbled. I added the eggs, Worcestershire sauce, red wine, a jar of crushed tomatoes, a bit of sugar, salt, and pepper. I walked down an impressive row of spices in bottles on a rack, pulling out the cork to sniff each one, and added those I thought might be good, feeling like a scientist, experimenting. Then I rolled up my sleeves and started mushing it all together.

“If I may be so bold as to inquire, how is it that you came to join the Kensingtons on this tour if you’ve not long been part of the fold?” Art asked, still peeling.

“Wallace Kensington insisted,” I said. “And truth be told, I’ve been glad I came.”

“Even after tonight?”

I paused and considered his words. “Even after tonight,” I said. “It’s been good for me to be on this tour, in many different ways.”

“As in finding a rich beau like Lord Richelieu.”

I smiled, even as I felt a pang of guilt. “Lord Richelieu’s pursuit has been exceedingly flattering, but no, that is not what I speak of.”

“No? Then what?”

“I…I think I’ve discovered parts of myself that I didn’t know existed.”

“Your newfound wealth?”

I frowned and shook my head. “No. I am not to be an heir of Wallace Kensington. This tour—the fine clothes, the opulence—it’s all rather temporary. And that’s fine, I assure you. No, the thing I appreciate is that I keep finding I have greater strength than I thought I did. So much yet to learn, and a passion for doing so. It makes me rather excited to resume Normal School.”

He paused and looked sideways at me. “You intend to become a teacher?”

“I do.”

“A daughter of Wallace Kensington as a teacher?”

“A daughter of Alan and Alma Diehl, a teacher,” I corrected with a soft smile. “My path as a Kensington will not be the same as my sisters’.”

“You seem rather certain of that,” he said doubtfully.

“That’s because I am.” I pulled down two loaf pans from a shelf and divided my meat mixture, forming fat loaves.

“Where do you want these, mademoiselle?” Art asked, lifting his bowl of clean potatoes.

“There, please,” I said, waving toward the counter. I bent and slipped both pans of meatloaf into the oven, then turned back to begin chopping the potatoes.

Will opened the door and peeked in, apparently alarmed that there was noise coming from the kitchen. “Cora! Do you know what time it is?” he asked, looking alternately elated and aghast to see me in an apron, working. His eyes shifted to Art, and he seemed to compose himself. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Making meatloaf!” I said brightly, waving to the kitchen table where the servants ate each day. “Take a seat. I’ll have supper ready in about an hour. You’re probably as famished as I am.”

Hugh and Felix peeked over his shoulder. Hugh entered first, then Felix. “You’re
cooking
?” my brother asked.

“I was hungry,” I said.

“Why not summon the cook from her quarters?” Hugh asked.

“Because
I
wanted to cook. I’m hungry for home. Or a taste of it, anyway, especially after our mad adventure tonight. We’ll have meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and if I can get them done, carrots!”

“I can help,” Will said, looking at me with new respect.

“That’d be wonderful,” I said.

Side by side, we set to washing, peeling, and chopping as the others settled around the table and shared stories of the evening, laughing now that the danger was past.

Will leaned closer. “I was so afraid, Cora,” he whispered. “I’d be…lost if anything happened to you.”

I felt some of the jagged pieces inside me begin to shift, settle, at his words, helped by the homey smells emanating from the oven. “I’m sorry too, Will,” I whispered back, putting the last of the potatoes in a pot and then moving over to the sink to cover them in water. “I didn’t know what to do,” I said, passing by him. I placed the heavy pot on the stove and turned on the gas and then, as Arthur had done, lit the flame beneath it.

“I know,” he said, sliding the sliced carrots into a sauté pan. I went back to the ice locker and brought out some butter and put a thick slice in with the carrots, adding tarragon, salt, and pepper.

“There you are!” Lil said, entering the kitchen with Viv. All we were missing were Andrew, Nell, and the detectives. “We couldn’t sleep and found all of you missing! Yves said you’d disappeared in here.”

“Welcome,” I said with a smile. “I’m making dinner for breakfast. Some food ought to help settle all of our stomachs.” The girls sat down with the men at the long table and accepted glasses of milk.

“I’ve never thought of it,” Felix said, crossing his arms as he looked over the potatoes and carrots and took a long, deep breath through his nose, appreciating the scent. “You, cooking. But I suppose it makes sense.”

I gave him a wry grin. “This life of leisure has only been mine for about two months,” I said.

“You had no cook at your home?” he asked, arching a brow.

“Just my mother and me,” I said.

“Tell us of that, Cora,” Hugh called, shuffling a deck of cards he’d pulled from a jacket pocket. “Of your home out on the range.”

There was no trace of humor in his voice, only curiosity, and as I turned to face him, I saw the others watching me with equal interest. They’d never asked of my life before. I smiled, poured myself a glass of milk, and then sat beside Lillian on the bench. “Our ranch was in the shadow of the mountains, two hours outside of Helena by train. It has been in the Diehl family since my great-grandfather homesteaded it, but it’s a hard place to make a go of farming. Dry, windy, dusty, rocky,” I said with a smile.

“You sound as if you loved it,” Vivian said, her delicate brows pulling together in confusion.

“I do,” I said with a little shrug. “Every bit of it. Or I should say, I
did
…” It was gone now, long sold to the Kensington empire.…

“Did?” Art asked.

“We lost it. Or rather, Wallace Kensington kindly offered to purchase it so my papa could get some much-needed medical care in Minnesota.”

“So Father’s offer was a blessing,” Viv said.

I considered her. “In most ways, yes.”

“The farm…was it large? Successful, once?” Felix asked, popping a bite of bread in his mouth.

“Neither, really,” I said with a little laugh. “But it wasn’t our success that made it good, made me love it.” I paused and looked about at them, trying to figure out how to convey all that was in my heart. “It’s all I’ve ever known. It’s
home
to me. The hill with the tree I climbed every day as a girl. The schoolhouse that gave me my first taste of knowledge. The church and the town, filled with people I love and people who love me.” I looked around at them tentatively and was startled by what I saw there. Intrigue. Wonder. Confusion.

“But now your place is here with us,” Vivian said. “You’ll discover a new definition of home.”

Her words startled me, even though she wasn’t the first person to voice such thoughts. But in them was not warning as I’d come to expect when we’d first set off on our journey, but invitation, hope. Could it be that my sister truly wanted me nearby, for longer than this tour?

“That…that remains to be seen. I have plans for after the tour. But I’d dearly love it if what we began here could continue in some form,” I said, the thought crystallizing even as I spoke. I met her gaze and saw her eyes narrow. She’d perceived my doubt as a slight, and I wondered if any of them had ever been told no, faced any sort of rejection at all. After all, to be invited into the Kensington circle would be what every society girl longed for.

They had friendships, but intrinsically different than mine. Lives, brushing past one another, in their finest. Struggling for power. Vying for attention. Protecting their own. Judging others. There was some of that in our small town life, too, for sure. But I knew, then, that I’d been blessed with something that these around me had never had. My community was—
had been
, I corrected myself, feeling a pang of loss—like family. It felt vaguely like a play, actors each taking their place onstage. But they were hungry for something real. Hungry for what I knew, experienced. Had taken for granted.