by Zoë Archer
The kiss they’d shared hadn’t helped to keep her mind clear, either.
“I can’t win them over on my own,” he added. “They don’t know me, not truly. There’s only one way I can get the miners on board with my plan. Only one person they genuinely trust.” He gazed meaningfully at her.
She started. “You mean Henry.”
“No, I mean you. They know you want what’s best for them, what’s best for everyone. Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. When the workers look at you, it’s with respect. With faith. And for good reason. Because you give a bloody damn, and not many do.” He drew in a deep breath, as though calming himself, quieting his voice. “They’ll follow you, Alyce.”
The revelation shook her. Here she’d been thinking that her rabble-rousing had been only tolerated, but now that she gave it closer consideration, she realized that there’d been hundreds of tiny instances when men and women at the mine had approached her, asking for advice. Should they press for a promotion? One of the bosses had been leaning hard on them—what should they do? All this time, she thought those questions had been typical, the kind idly kicked around like footballs. But people didn’t approach Evelyn with the same questions. They didn’t ask Edgar for advice.
God—had she been a leader, and never truly known it?
So strange, this odd mix of feelings: surprise, pride. Even … modesty. It was a hell of a duty.
He seemed to sense her wavering feelings. “Just yesterday, there was an argument among the bal-maidens about divvying and weighing the dressed ore.”
“How’d you hear about that?”
“Nothing’s a secret at Wheal Prosperity. I heard that they came to you to help figure out how to portion everything properly, so no one got cheated. And you did. But things like that seem to happen every week, if not every day. You’re the one the workers respect, the one they trust. Where you lead, they’ll follow.”
God—the responsibility. It could crush her, if she wasn’t strong enough. But she had to shoulder the burden. Hell, she’d been carrying it all this time, and remained standing.
Finally, she nodded. “I’ll try to convince them. If,” she added, “I agree with your plan. You’ve got to convince me, first.”
His smile returned. “Never thought otherwise. Now, we’d better catch up, before they start getting restless.” As she and Simon continued walking, he asked, “Where are they heading, anyway?”
The snaking tunnel opened up, and she spread wide her arms. “Here.”
The cavern arched overhead, streaked with more minerals, lit by nearly a dozen lanterns. A large underground lake filled most of the cave, shining dark as ink. Where the lantern light touched its surface, the rocky lake bed revealed itself, shallow in some places, then disappearing into the recesses of the cave like gateways to other worlds. A few empty bottles littered the ground and the bottom of the lake—testament to the lads and lasses who’d come here to escape the tight bounds of the village and their families. More than a few babes had been born after visits to Carndale.
Thank God no one had ever tempted Alyce enough to take that risk. Most of her female friends were married by now, with passels of children. Much as she looked forward to the coming of her future niece or nephew, she couldn’t see herself as anyone’s mother. But she’d be a good auntie. If the baby survived its first perilous months.
Pushing those dark thoughts aside, she faced the men who gathered at the edge of the underground lake. They looked warily at her and Simon.
“Why’d you bring us here?” one of the men demanded, breaking the silence. His voice echoed sharply off the stone walls, and he clapped his mouth shut.
“We’re not here for a bit of slap and tickle,” Edgar said, more quietly.
“No offense,” Simon replied, “but you lads aren’t my sort.” He stared at each one in turn. “I’ve asked Alyce to gather you here because she tells me you’re the most trustworthy men at the mine. That you aren’t the managers’ toadies.”
“Like hell we are!” Christopher Tremaine said, then also quieted when his voice, too, echoed. “But who the devil are you?”
Alyce realized that not all of the men knew Simon—most were married and worked in the pit, and had little occasion to cross paths with him. “This is Simon,” she said. “He’s the new machinist. But more than that, he’s here to help.”
“With what?” a man asked.
Simon spoke before she could. “With the fact that, in order to talk about your jobs, you’ve got to hide in a cave.”
The men muttered in response.
“Wheal Prosperity’s changed,” Alyce said. “Everyone knows it. Scraping by just to earn chit. The profits going into the owners’ and managers’ pockets, and none into ours. We can’t even say a word of protest without fearing that the constable thugs are going to beat us senseless or drag us to gaol.”
“None of this is news, lass,” Christopher said. “Same as the fact that we can’t do a bloody thing about it.”
“But you can,” Simon answered. “With my help.”
“You’re just a machinist,” a miner retorted. “An outsider, at that.”
Simon drew himself up, and it amazed her, the way he gathered power and confidence around him like a king’s robe, all by the determined gleam in his eyes and standing a little taller. She’d sensed his potency when they’d been on the heist, like an electrical current all around him. Now she felt it stronger than before, and it made her pulse jolt.
He said with quiet authority, “I’m from Nemesis.”
The men’s muttering abruptly stopped. Complete silence fell. They stared at him, afraid, awed. Only Henry looked unsurprised by the announcement.
“The Nemesis?” Dan Bowden asked.
Another man chimed in. “The folks that shut down all the opium dens in East London?”
“Who freed a hundred children from a brothel?” someone asked. “And slaughtered the madam and a dozen bully boys?”
“We didn’t shut down all the opium dens,” Simon answered. “It was three unlicensed dens, and they were robbing and murdering their clients. Also, there were a dozen children in the brothel, and no one was killed when Nemesis freed them. But we did get the madam and her bully boys brought before the magistrate and imprisoned.”
More silence as this information soaked in. Alyce herself was stunned. She’d heard about some of Nemesis’s exploits, but clearly not all of them. What she heard now knocked her breathless. The more she learned about Nemesis—about Simon—the more she felt a strange distance. He was just a man, and yet, he’d done so much, accomplished things few others could.
“You were in the army, too,” Edgar added. “In India and South Africa.”
Travis Dyer, a man given to skepticism, snorted. “Next thing, you’re going to tell us you were at Rorke’s Drift.”
“Spent most of the fighting at the mealie-bag walls. It reached the point where the Zulu were climbing over their own dead to get to us. I can show you the scar from the spear I took in my shoulder.”
Alyce fought from gasping aloud. Small and isolated as Trewyn was, even she and the villagers knew of the two-day battle. Instead of a sermon, one Sunday the vicar had read from the newspaper to the congregation, telling them of the heroism of the men at Rorke’s Drift. She remembered being aware of nothing but the sound of the vicar’s voice, her mind trying to imagine the incredible scenes. The soldiers had faced impossible odds against their Zulu foes—nearly a hundred and fifty British against several thousand warriors—and emerged with only a few casualties, while the enemy had retreated, with massive losses on their side. Only a day earlier, over a thousand British troops had been slaughtered by Zulu warriors.
And Simon had been there. Taken part in that desperate battle. Survived.
If the men gathered in the cavern hadn’t been impressed with Simon when he’d revealed his connection to Nemesis, now they were completely overwhelmed. Even Henry looked stunned. She could hardly blame him or the others.<
br />
Simon’s a man, like any other. A remarkable man, but made of the same flesh and bone as any of us.
He’d kissed her hungrily, as a man, not a legend. Extraordinary he might be, but he desired her, too.
“Over the next few days and weeks,” he continued, “I need you to follow my instructions. It’s the only way to get things right at the mine, and make life better for you and your families.”
As she expected, suspicious Travis spoke up. “You claim you’re from Nemesis, and maybe you did see action in Africa, but why should we do what you say? Maybe we’ll be one of Nemesis’s failures.”
“We don’t fail,” Simon answered flatly.
“Ever?”
Before Simon could answer, Alyce stepped forward. “I know you’re worried, Travis. Didn’t trust the blighter, either, when I first found out about him. Who was this bloke, this outsider? Yes, he might be from Nemesis, but what did that matter here, at Wheal Prosperity? If he could fool me into thinking he was just a machinist from Sheffield, what else was he hiding? How slippery a character was he?”
The gathered men mumbled, their suspicion and uneasiness riled.
“Not being very helpful,” Simon muttered to her.
But she pressed on. “How many of you enjoyed fresh, sweet butter on your bread these past few days?”
Men nodded.
“Because of him,” she continued, tipping her head toward Simon. “Wasn’t a big gesture. It didn’t change the pay system from chit to real money, but it did something else instead. It proved he’s truly here to help. He knows what needs to be done in order to get our mine and village back. Besides,” she added with a small smile, “it takes a slippery character to get results and bring about change. That’s what he’s offering us—change. And I don’t know about you lads, but I’m ready for change. It starts with Simon. With us.”
More quiet from the men. “They’ll want to talk about it,” Henry said.
Instead of arguing, Simon nodded. “Ten minutes. The longer we’re out here, the more likely we are to get caught.”
Henry, Edgar, and the other men gathered in a circle, their voices pitched low. Hands waved in the air, and the lanterns revealed the hard expressions of men who had to make a difficult, meaningful decision.
Alyce set her lantern down, then she and Simon edged into the shadows. Giving the men privacy. Though she couldn’t see Simon’s face well, she felt him looking at her.
“If they don’t agree to let me help,” he murmured, “we know it’s because of me. Your speech was … incredible.”
Warmth spread through her. “I meant every word.” She faced him. “You want all of my trust? You don’t have it. Not all of it. However, there’s one thing I do believe—you’ll do everything you can to help us.”
She felt him smiling in the darkness. “Suspicion is healthy. Keeps us alive.”
“I plan on living a good, long life.”
“That’s my plan for you, too.”
She started to speak, but quieted when she heard footsteps approaching. It was Henry.
“We’ve reached a consensus,” he said.
“And?” Alyce demanded, her heart pounding.
Henry glanced back and forth between Simon and Alyce. “We’re going to work with Simon. We’ll do what he asks us.”
Alyce exhaled, and Simon stepped closer to the ring of men.
“I’ve got a plan,” he said. “And it starts now.”
CHAPTER 8.
Simon didn’t ask if the men were certain, or congratulate them on making the right choice. Hesitation now—on his part or theirs—could send the operation into a downward spiral. And the longer they remained in the cavern, the greater the possibility that someone might discover them. He pulled a piece of paper from an inside pocket in his jacket and held it out to Henry.
“I’ll need each of you to sign this at the bottom,” he said.
Henry took the paper and studied it. “There’s nothing on it.”
“But there will be. And what’s going to be on that paper is going to help you win the mine.” From another pocket, he fished out a pen and bottle of ink. “You can all write your names, can’t you?”
Travis sniffed. “’Course we can, but we don’t sign anything without knowing exactly what we’re putting our names to.”
Simon glanced at Alyce, looking for support. But she folded her arms across her chest. “Not an unreasonable request,” she said coolly.
He bit down on his frustration and reluctant admiration. Of course she wouldn’t blindly agree to whatever he proposed. It was part of what made her so maddening—and so beguiling.
“This paper,” he explained, “will be part of the incorporation documents that will ensure the ownership and management of Wheal Prosperity will belong to you. To all of you, not the men managing the mine now, nor the owners in Plymouth.”
The miners broke into excited, confused murmurs. Edgar said, “Wheal Prosperity? Belonging to us?”
“All policy, all decisions on the distribution of profits, everything that has to do with the running of the mine—all of it will be in your hands. Not theirs, but yours.”
Alyce stared at him with cautious wonder. “How’s that going to happen? None of us have the money to buy them out, and they sure as the devil won’t just hand us ownership of the mine.”
“Nemesis earned its reputation by making the impossible possible.” At her continued look of skepticism, he said, “I’ve already been in touch with my colleagues in London, and we’ve got a plan in motion. But in order to make it come to pass, I’ll need your signatures.”
Everyone, including Alyce, remained where they were. No one took the offered pen.
His patience frayed. “Once, some Nemesis agents and I holed up in a Whitechapel rattrap to plan an assault against a gang leader—but we stayed too long, and his mob found us. Had to fight our way out. It’s time for us to clear out of here, or you’ll have much more to worry about than a piece of paper. It’d take all night for me to explain the plan. But our top people have got all the pieces in place. I’ll be the one sticking my neck out in order to make everything work. You only need to sign.” He stared at each man, and Alyce, in turn. “Want my help? Then trust me, and I will make things better for you and your families.”
Another stretch of tense silence. Then Henry took the pen. He smoothed the piece of paper over a flat-topped rock on the ground, and signed his name. As he did, men queued up behind him, and, in turn, put their signatures to the paper. Once every man had signed, the pen and paper were given back to Simon.
He turned to Alyce, who had been looking back and forth between the men signing the document and Simon. Her expression was guarded—but hopeful, the desire for change plain in her face.
“You, too.” He held the document and pen out to her.
She started. “Me?”
“Think of Dr. Blackwell. And women own businesses, too. Lady Olivia Xavier in London, for one. Greywell’s Brewery belonged to her. Exceptions are rare, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be one, too.”
Still, for a moment, she didn’t move, as if too stunned. A few of the men called out their support, even her brother giving her an encouraging smile. Simon made sure to keep his own expression as neutral as possible, knowing that she wouldn’t like being cajoled like a reluctant child. He simply continued to offer her the paper and pen, letting the decision be hers alone.
She took one step closer. Then another. With a look of wonderment, she took the pen and document. Crouching down next to the flat-topped rock, she signed her name, her hand moving slowly over the paper—either because she wasn’t familiar with writing, or because she wanted to savor the moment. He suspected the latter. She was being given the same rights and privileges as a man, and treasured them. And he could help make that happen for her. His heart contracted, a sweet pain threading through his chest.
Damn it, this is supposed to be a job. Nothing else.
But he couldn’t stop the
satisfaction flowing through him as Alyce put her name on the document that would, hopefully, make her one of the owners of Wheal Prosperity.
When she finished, she brought the paper and pen back to him, her chin tipped up and pride in her gaze.
“You’re the best of the lot,” he whispered to her. “The one most suited to the job.”
She allowed herself a small smile. “Don’t want anyone to feel left out, poor lads.”
An unexpected laugh burst from him, and even more warmth filled his body as she shared in the laugh. A small, private moment for Simon and Alyce alone. He hadn’t heard her laugh very often. It was low and rough, like raw silk, a laugh of real pleasure rather than calculated flattery or something engineered to sound charming. Unselfconscious. Genuine.
Like her.
He slipped the paper into his jacket, careful to keep it unwrinkled. Marco would need it as smooth and unblemished as possible—though with his skills, Marco could take a wadded-up, muddy playbill and make it look as pristine as the queen’s own Bible. Amazing what they taught agents of the crown. Simon was almost glad he didn’t know the extent of Marco’s abilities. He’d probably never turn his back on Marco again if he did.
“And now?” asked Henry.
“Now, you go about your lives, just as you have been. Change is coming, change that’s going to make things rocky for a time. But I know,” he added before anyone could voice concern, “that you’re all strong and courageous enough to face whatever happens.”
Only he heard Alyce’s soft snort of amusement. She seemed to know exactly what he was doing—plying the workers with careful flattery. Still, the men needed to know what lay on the horizon, and none of them could afford uncertainty.
“Time to head home, lads.” Simon waved toward the entrance of the cavern. “We’ll leave singly every five to ten minutes, lanterns off, to make sure no one sees us.”
He’d commanded troops before, and the men of Trewyn responded to his order like obedient soldiers. Gradually, they filtered out of the cavern, until only Simon, Alyce, and Henry remained.
