Page 8 of Discovering Dahlia (The Blue Orchid Society #5)

Dahlia walked with the group toward the basilica. One of the omnibuses rode ahead with a few of the older women, but Dahlia’s friends had chosen to walk, so she’d stayed with them, even though the uneven roads were not treating her feet kindly. New boots with a stylish heel and side buttons would not be her footwear of choice should she return to Boulogne-sur-Mer in the future.

“Here we are on the Rue de Lille,” the tour guide said. She was waiting for them on a corner, where they could pause and look up toward the basilica’s entrance. “Pilgrims have traveled zis same route since the Middle Ages.” She swept her hand in a grand gesture up the road to the stone arch beneath the dome, where double doors led inside.

The omnibus waited for them at the entrance, and the gentlemen assisted the older women to alight.

Dahlia stepped through the doorway, her eyes immediately drawn upward to the underside of the dome. It was so much higher than it had appeared from outside.

A low whistle sounded from behind her.

Jim and Hazel had entered, and the doctor stared up at the impressive architecture as well. “Would you look at that?” he said, his American accent echoing in the space.

“Shhh.” Hazel put her finger to her lips. “We’re in a church, darling.”

Once they were all inside, the tour guide continued on, describing the reconstruction that took place after the French Revolution. She continued to talk on about the Renaissance and Classical styles and the architect, but Dahlia had stopped listening. She wondered whether it would be distracting if she sat in the pew beside Mrs. Griffin. Perhaps if she just unfastened a few of the buttons on her boots, she could ease the aching in her feet.

As she waited for a break in the tour guide’s lecture, she looked across the group to where Lord Meredith stood beside Benedict.

Seeing her, he gave a very impertinent wink.

She looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the tour guide’s description of Abbot Haffreingue and his efforts to restore the cathedral to its former glory. What had His Lordship been talking about with Elizabeth? And why did it bother Dahlia that they had apparently developed a rapport? It should be just what she wanted, but their friendly interaction didn’t sit well with her. Elizabeth had always been Dahlia’s staunchest supporter. In the weeks after Ruben’s announced engagement, she had vowed all manner of revenge against the man as well as all of his associates. And now, only a year later, here she was, chatting and laughing with Meredith. Had she forgotten how he had remained friends with Ruben, forsaking what Dahlia had considered to be her very closest friendship?

Dahlia was irritated with herself for having such thoughts. She did not wish to be considered a victim. She’d risen above it all, put it behind her. But a part of her still held on to the pain. It was a reminder of what had happened when she’d allowed herself to trust. She looked at Elizabeth, who was standing with Sophie, their heads tilted back as they studied the decorative cornices on the tops of the high columns.

Dahlia realized she’d been more comfortable when there had been a distinct division between her friends and the members of high Society who had snubbed her. Us versus Them. The lines were clear, and by keeping some close and pushing some away, Dahlia had control, not allowing herself to be hurt again. But the lines had begun to blur, first with Benedict and Vivian, and then with Chatsworth and Elizabeth. And each alliance had felt like a betrayal. Though, of course, she would never admit such a thing to anyone. She knew it was selfishness. But it was also a matter of protection. And fear. She was abandoned once by those closest to her. If it were to happen again... the very thought made her feel panicked. Her face had gotten hot, her chest tightened, and she was breathing heavily. She forced herself to shake off her dark thoughts and calm down. Seeing that the crowd was moving, she made her way toward a pew.

Mrs. Griffin stood when she arrived, leaning on her cane. “I suppose we should follow.” Seeing Dahlia’s confused expression, she smiled kindly. “Daydreaming, were you? Entirely understandable, especially once the talk turns to clergy constitutions, diocese, and episcopal seats.” Mrs. Griffin shuffled out into the aisle. “The tour is continuing below to the crypt. It is apparently the largest in France, if the guide is to be believed. We don’t want to miss that, do we?”

“Of course not,” Dahlia said. She glanced once at the pew, then joined Mrs. Griffin, walking slowly to keep pace with her, and they followed to where the others were already going down into the vaults.

The two tour guides were lighting and distributing lanterns.

“Use caution,” one said as she handed a lantern to Dahlia. “Ze stairs are lit by gas lamps, and a few of ze rooms, but most of ze crypt is yet to be fully excavated. It is a marvel, but it is also hazardous. Watch your footing.”

Hearing the warning, Dahlia took Mrs. Griffin’s arm, determined that the older woman should not fall.

She held the lantern aloft, following the group with Mrs. Griffin down the steps and into the cool, damp air. The crypt smelled like clay and moss.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, the group spread out, walking beneath the thick columns and studying elaborate frescoes. Lanterns bobbed throughout the space, and voices echoed eerily, sounding as if they were coming from far away.

Dahlia kept ahold of Mrs. Griffin’s arm. As she took in her surroundings, she saw that the crypt was a warren of columns and archways and doors that led to more rooms, alcoves, and niches and even more chambers beyond. It took only a moment to see that masonry and dirt filled parts of the space, blocking off some of the doors entirely. Once they moved beyond the few rooms immediately at the bottom of the stairs, the only light came from the lantern she held.

An arch carved with angels was to their left. Dahlia lifted the lantern to illuminate the details of the designs as well as the frescoes on the wall behind. Patterns painted in bright colors were, for the most part, undamaged, even though they had been covered for hundreds of years.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Mrs. Griffin said.

“Completely so,” Dahlia agreed. They continued on through the arch to where other lanterns moved around the chamber beyond. Another doorway revealed a partially excavated room, smaller than the one preceding. Painted columns stood at each corner, and in the center were large stone blocks among the scattered rubble.

Dahlia and her aching feet were relieved at the sight. “I wonder, Mrs. Griffin, would you mind very much if we sat for a moment? My shoes are unfortunately rather tight.”

“Oh, that would be just the thing.” They made their way through the debris. Mrs. Griffin moved slowly, and Dahlia kept the lantern low enough to illuminate the ground, lest either of them trip.

She helped Mrs. Griffin sit on a block, setting the lantern near the wall to illuminate the pattern of vines, and then she sat on another block to admire it, sighing as she did. She unfastened the buttons of her boots, hoping it would make the pain bearable long enough to get back onto the ship, where she could change into a more comfortable pair.

The lantern’s flame cast flickering shadows, making the vines in the mural look as if they were moving, but the rest of the room, including the space where the women sat, remained in shadow.

“I wonder where Lady Chatsworth and Lady Mather have gotten to,” Dahlia said. She gave in to temptation and slid off her shoes, resting her stockinged feet on the cool stone floor.

“Knowing those two, they are in the deepest, darkest part of the crypt, hoping to catch sight of a phantom.” Mrs. Griffin chuckled, then shifted, groaning softly. She set her cane down on the ground. “I fear my adventuring days may be behind me.”

“Nonsense,” Dahlia said. “How does that old saying go? Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

“You are quite right. That’s the spirit, isn’t it? Quite so.” She stretched out her leg straight in front of her to rest it on another block. “A pity my hip doesn’t always agree with my will. But perhaps I do have some adventure in me yet.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Dahlia leaned back to rest on her hands. “How do you and your companions find your suite? Might you require more pillows for your comfort?” She wondered if there was anything else to be done for Mrs. Griffin’s hip. Perhaps Jim would have a suggestion.

“It is excellent. Completely excellent. Everything is. What a dream this cruise has been. The air in London was particularly bad this winter, and this sea air is just the thing.”

“I am very glad you and your friends were able to come,” Dahlia said.

“We wouldn’t have missed it for—”

A crash sounded and the room went dark. The lantern must have fallen. Dahlia pondered for only a moment how it could have slipped off the flat surface, but more pressing thoughts took precedence. Such as how she was to go about finding a light and, with it, get herself and an elderly woman with limited mobility out of the crypt. She strained her eyes but saw only darkness. Her chest was tight, and her fingers and toes tingled with the first hints of panic.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Griffin said. “This won’t do.”

The older woman’s voice was calm, and hearing it eased a bit of Dahlia’s fear. But only just.

She heard a sound. Footsteps? Scurrying? But the acoustics of the place gave no hint as to where it came from. “Hello?” Dahlia called. “Is someone there?” Her voice echoed strangely, somehow sounding both muffled and magnified.

The noise stopped. Perhaps she’d imagined it.

She and Mrs. Griffin sat in silence, and Dahlia thought that silence was worse. The tingling in her fingers and toes grew stronger, and she fought against the fear that came upon her in dark places. She pushed away the thoughts that pressed into her mind. They are memories , she said to herself. She was safe now, and she wouldn’t let her emotions take control.

“Hello?” Dahlia called again. She looked toward the doorway but still saw no lights.

Nobody answered. She couldn’t see the room beyond at all. There were no moving lights. Only darkness.

“Perhaps the others have returned upstairs,” Dahlia said. She felt on the floor for her shoes, wincing as she pushed her feet inside. The panic was still there, hovering on the edges of her thoughts, threatening to push in. “We may be able to catch up if we hurry.”

She reached down to help her companion to her feet, but when she took Mrs. Griffin’s arm, the woman didn’t stand. Instead she took Dahlia’s hand, holding it in her own. “You’ll find someone much faster without me.”

“I can’t leave you here alone.” Dahlia was appalled by the thought.

“It’s just for a moment or two. We aren’t that far from the stairs. Someone will hear you, or you will find the gas lights quickly and come directly back.”

She was right, but the idea of the woman sitting here alone in the darkness made Dahlia hesitate. “Will you be all right?”

Mrs. Griffin squeezed her hand. “I’m not afraid of the darkness,” she said. “And if a phantom comes, I have my cane for protection.” Even though Dahlia couldn’t see, she knew her companion had a glimmer in her eye. “Nothing to worry about,” Mrs. Griffin said. “Our friends are just around the corner. I know it.”

The lightness in her tone was at odds with the heavy dread just below Dahlia’s ribs. She squeezed Mrs. Griffin’s hand in return and turned in the direction of the doorway, starting off. Because she was afraid of tripping on the debris covering the floor, she slid her feet forward carefully and held her hands straight out in front of her, ready to either catch herself or feel the wall before she crashed into it.

The distance to the wall was farther than she had expected, and when her fingers at last touched the cold stone, the shape of the room in her mind had grown completely out of proportion. “I’m at the wall,” she said to Mrs. Griffin.

“Very good,” the woman replied. “The doorway is just a bit to the right, I think.”

The wall ended, and Dahlia came to the open space of the doorway. Her heart sank when she saw no lights beyond. “Are you there?” she called into the dark chamber. “Can anyone hear me?” But when the sound of her echoing voice died away, there was no answer.

She believed the other entrance to this chamber was straight ahead. She stepped tentatively, arms in front of her, feet sliding, and ears straining for any sound of the tour group. She came to the opposite wall and followed it to another opening, hearing the difference in the air when she came into a larger chamber. She turned, feeling along the wall, and believed she would reach the next opening. But when she came to the corner, she continued to follow the wall and came to the opening much sooner than she’d estimated. She considered whether to continue around the walls in this chamber in search of another entrance or move through to the next, wishing she’d paid better attention on her arrival. If only she hadn’t been so focused on her feet.

Stepping through the opening, she squinted, hoping to see the gas lamps directing her to the staircase. But either she was in the wrong place, or they had been extinguished. “Is anyone there?”

The darkness had no response. Somehow the quiet felt even quieter now. Her breathing quickened, but Dahlia forced herself to think through the situation logically. She did not know in which direction to continue, and if she went on blindly, she would most likely just get lost or perhaps injured. She decided to return to Mrs. Griffin. The others would notice their absence soon enough and come for them. She turned to go back, trailing one hand along the wall, but the opening was gone. Had she turned in the wrong direction? Or was it just a bit farther along? She found a corner and knew for certain she had gone the wrong way.

“Mrs. Griffin?” Dahlia called, hoping to orient herself. But her friend did not reply.

The building panic took hold now, and Dahlia lost her ability to push it away. She felt as if the world were spinning. Memories of that horrible night flashed in her mind. Calling out for her parents, dark trees surrounding her as she’d stumbled toward where she thought her grandmother’s house had been.

She tripped, falling to the ground, and pulled her knees to her chest as fear confused her thoughts and she could not distinguish reality from the memory.

“Dahlia?”

She heard the voice far away. Father? No, that wasn’t right. She shook her head, trying to sort her thoughts.

“Dahlia, where are you?”

“I’m here.” Her voice shook as she called out, catching on a sob. “Meredith, I’m here.”

Light illuminated the room, and then she was in his arms. She buried her face in his chest as she wept. She knew him, knew his smell and the sound of his voice. They were as familiar to her as breath. “You came. I knew you would.”

“There. You’re safe now.”

Dahlia clung to Meredith’s coat. She knew she was making a scene, but the terror that had filled her body needed somewhere to go. It left through tears and sniffles.

“You’ve had a fright,” he said in a low voice, rubbing her back. “But you’re safe now.”

Dahlia started. “Mrs. Griffin. She’s waiting for me.”

“We found her,” he said. “Not to worry.”

Another light drew near, and Dahlia straightened, taking Meredith’s offered handkerchief and wiping her dripping face as she fought to regain control of her emotions.

“Dahlia, are you hurt?”

She looked toward Jim’s voice, then squinted, holding up a hand against his lantern light.

“I’m not hurt,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I was disoriented, and I tripped.”

Jim offered a hand, and he and Meredith helped her to her feet. “I can assess you better once we have better light.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Dahlia said. She handed back the handkerchief and straightened her skirts and shoulders, then drew in a deep breath and let it out.

Meredith kept hold of her arm.

“This way to the exit.” Jim motioned with a sweep of his lantern.

“One moment, if you please.” Dahlia breathed again. “Gentlemen, if I am to retain the respect of the passengers and crew, I need to show a competent—” She fought to still her shaking. “Just now, I... if you please, would you keep my reaction between us?”

“Of course,” Jim said. “There is no reason to speak of it to anyone else.” He started off, and the pair followed behind.

Though she could see the light ahead, the darkness was still around her, and Dahlia leaned closer to her companion.

Meredith’s arm went around her, and she held on to his other hand. Walking like this, as if she were an invalid, would typically have felt humiliating, but here, in the darkness, she needed the comfort. She needed him , she realized, feeling her cheeks heat at the thought. She’d always needed him. But something inside, whether it was pride or fear, pushed the thought away, and she firmed up her resolve. She trusted Meredith’s advice, and she was grateful for his friendship, but for the sake of her heart, she would allow her feelings to go no deeper.