by Zoë Archer
Simon had been careful, though. Protected her.
But Sarah was a good village girl. Alyce remembered Henry’s fevered impatience to marry once Sarah had accepted him. And now she understood why. Sarah had followed the rules.
Would this drive a wedge between Alyce and her sister-in-law? Sarah had every right to throw Alyce out. It was Sarah’s home, and Alyce could be a bad moral influence on the child, once the babe arrived.
“So?” Sarah pressed.
Alyce frowned. “So … what?”
Sarah sent another furtive glance toward Henry. “How was it? He’s got the most lovely manners, but he’s got a way about him, like he’d really take charge. And he’s got those gorgeous hands.”
“Sarah!” Alyce’s mouth dropped open. This wasn’t what she’d expected from her virtuous sister-in-law. “You’re married. Pregnant.”
“But not dead,” Sarah answered with a little smile.
Alyce covered her face with her hands. “God. I can’t discuss this with you.”
“That good, eh?” Sarah let out a small sigh. “Thought it might be. And, Lord, I miss it so. But since I started getting big, Henry’s too afraid to touch me.”
Now Alyce clapped her hands over her ears. “For the love of all that’s holy, stop.”
“Everything all right?” Henry asked.
“Wonderful,” Sarah trilled. “She’s telling me all about the fine sights of Plymouth. So many lovely and strange hats the ladies wore. Some even covered their ears.”
Apparently uninterested in hats, Henry returned his attention to fixing the tea. When his back was turned, Sarah gently pried Alyce’s hands away from her ears.
“Honestly, Alyce,” she said quietly, her face earnest, “he didn’t force you, did he? Hurt you?”
“No. God, no. He was…” Now she sighed. Her heart rose then sank, a hard plunge in her chest.
Sarah’s gaze softened. “Ah, I’m glad. The first time’s not always so good.”
“It wasn’t quite, not the first time,” Alyce clarified. “But … it got better. Much better.”
Sarah pressed her hand to her mouth, holding in a giggle. “You wicked, wonderful girl. But”—her gaze grew serious—“I hope you were careful.”
“We were. There won’t be a baby.”
Her sister-in-law’s gaze grew even more sympathetic, which made Alyce feel suddenly restless and unsettled. “Did you protect yourself here?” She tapped the center of Alyce’s chest.
“There weren’t any promises,” Alyce answered. “Temporary. That’s all it is.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re cheerful as a lamb about it.”
“Didn’t say that. But it wasn’t going to last.” She forced a shrug. “It’s already over.” It would be better, hurt less, if she thought of it that way. He was still in Trewyn, but really, he was gone. She had to keep repeating that to herself.
“I had an uncle on my ma’s side,” Sarah said abruptly. “Bit of a drunkard, Uncle Fletcher. And something of a poet, too.” She gave a wry smile. “Maybe those two things go together. But I remember something he once said to me—one of the few things that made any sense.”
“What’s that?”
“He said to me, ‘Sarah, my girl, we can tell our hearts exactly what to believe, but the cheeky little bastards won’t listen to anyone but themselves.’”
Alyce’s smile faded.
“Oh,” Sarah said, seeming to realize how true her words were, how they stripped Alyce raw. “It truly happened, then. You’re—”
“Going to be fine.” All that mattered was survival from one moment to the next.
Henry finally brought the cups to the table. “Put me down the bottom of a mine shaft rather than make tea. At least there, I’d know what to do.”
“Lord, Henry,” Alyce said, “if it wasn’t for Sarah, you’d be starving, wearing filthy clothes, and talking to yourself like Barmy Sam.”
“Then let’s be grateful for Sarah,” he answered, “for many reasons.” He ran an affectionate hand down Sarah’s hair, then pulled quickly away.
I miss it so. But since I started getting big, Henry’s too afraid to touch me.
Alyce shook her head, trying to knock Sarah’s words, and the uninvited images it brought up, from her mind. Of course Alyce knew where babies came from, and of course she knew in theory that Sarah and Henry had lain together as man and wife, but it was one thing to know it in theory. Quite different to think of it in truth. She’d always sneaked out of the cottage whenever she’d heard Henry and Sarah giggling upstairs, and the squeak of the ropes of their bed.
She took a sip of tea, then set her mug down. Somehow, her brother had completely botched it.
“I’m not so interested in hearing about hats,” Henry said. “But I want to know everything that happened in Plymouth.”
Shifting so she turned away from Henry, Sarah waggled her eyebrows at Alyce. Alyce glared back. Then proceeded to relate all that she and Simon had done during their trip. With a few particular things left out. She wasn’t especially interested in seeing Henry march up the high street, right to the bachelors’ lodging, and then threaten to murder Simon if he didn’t marry her.
But not everything slipped past Henry. “You said you stayed at a hotel in Plymouth.”
“In separate rooms, of course.” Maybe her time working the confidence scheme had changed her, because she found it awfully easy to lie to her brother. And she seemed to do it well, because he didn’t press the issue.
“And the mine,” he continued. “It’s ours?”
“All ours.”
Grinning, he clapped his hands together. “Bloody excellent! We’ll finally have the changes we wanted. A real living wage. Updated equipment. No more company store.”
She hated to crush her brother’s excitement, but they needed to be realistic. “Those things will come. There’s still a dangerous road ahead.”
“It’s all taken care of,” Henry objected.
“Not all of it.” A few days away, and she’d changed deeply. Knew the world more. How it worked. It was far more complicated and risky than she’d ever fully understood. “There’s more to be done.”
“Simon has to have a plan.”
“Simon and I both have a plan.” She forced herself to drink her bitter tea, needing the warmth and the energy it would give her. Once she’d gulped the last of her drink, she stood, and wrapped herself in her cloak. “Grab your coat and hat. There’s a long night ahead of us.”
CHAPTER 16.
Two dozen wary faces stared at Alyce and Simon. She couldn’t blame them for being chary. Again, they’d been pulled from their beds in the middle of the night—but at least this time they had a sense as to why. They’d waited in tense silence as, man by man, their collaborators had joined them. It’d taken over an hour to get everyone here, though that had been by design.
A small Cornish village didn’t offer many places for people to meet in secret. They’d had no choice but to return to the caverns, with a man posted at watch in case Tippet decided to make another surprise visit. Hopefully, if the chief constable showed up, there’d be enough advance warning to get everyone out of there. Although at this point—it almost didn’t matter if Tippet knew. Almost.
Simon had warned her of the risks of showing their hand too soon. It had to be handled carefully. Blunders were dangerous.
As the men had gathered in the cavern, lanterns in their hands, they’d demanded answers from Simon. He wouldn’t speak until the very last of their group had arrived.
Travis Dyer finally trudged in, the final man.
“Well?” he demanded.
“The mine’s ours,” Simon answered.
The men started whooping, but Simon snarled at them to be quiet. “This isn’t finished. Not by half.”
“But you said the mine belonged to us now,” Edgar said.
“The owners don’t know yet that they’ve been gulled,” Alyce answered.
“On
ce they do,” Simon continued, “they’ll put up a fight.”
“Here, now,” Travis grumbled, “you didn’t say anything about a fight.”
“You thought they’d just roll over and let us take everything away?” Simon’s face and words were hard. Difficult to believe that only a few hours ago, he’d made love to her with a tender ferocity, staring into her eyes as he’d gripped the back of her neck and joined with her so intimately. That man and this one were entirely different. But somehow the same. Equally determined to have what they wanted. “Men like them don’t work like that. You saw it when you tried to form a union. They’ll get dirty if they have to.”
The men shifted, uncomfortable. Simon hadn’t seen the ugliness in the wake of the attempt to form a union, but she knew he’d seen combat before, its brutality and cruelty. He didn’t speak lightly of facing battle.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” said Dan Bowden.
Exhausted, edgy, the frayed threads of Alyce’s patience snapped. “Simon and I have stuck our necks out for all of us. We plotted and planned and got into the heart of the spiders’ nest. Everyone agreed this had to happen. No one forced your hand to sign that paper. It was your choice.”
“Maybe we didn’t know the risk,” Christopher Tremaine said.
“You’re a grown man, Chris,” Henry said crossly. “You knew. We all did.”
More grumblings rose from some of the men.
“It was never going to be as simple as a signature,” Simon pressed. “But when has anything worthwhile been simple? Nothing valuable’s ever been gained without a fight. That’s why it means something. Because you fought and struggled and even bled for it.”
The men shifted on their feet and continued to mutter, wavering.
“I never thought it wouldn’t hurt,” Alyce added. “The whole time, in Plymouth, and after, I knew it would. But, damn it, the pain doesn’t mean anything. Not compared to what I’ve had … what we’ll have … because we took that chance. Decent wages. Fresh food. Dignity. And whatever happens afterward … there’s no regret. It was in the trying, in taking a stand.”
She didn’t look over at Simon, yet she felt his presence beside her, and they both heard the words spoken not just to the workers, but to each other.
“Not all of us have your bollocks, Alyce,” Edgar said wryly.
“Then make a pair. Because you’re going to need them.”
The men turned away, gathering in a circle at the edge of the water to confer. Alyce and Simon didn’t speak. She fought the impulse to reach for his hand—not because she needed his strength, but simply because she missed him. Missed his touch. The sensation of his skin against hers and the bright, lively force of him. They had been apart only a few hours, but she felt them, every one.
Could anyone tell, aside from Sarah? Alyce had been away from the village for a bare handful of days. Yet she wasn’t the same woman who’d left. Not better or worse. Only different. Because she knew what she was capable of now. Because she’d pushed beyond the limits of herself. And all the while, Simon had been there, encouraging her, learning her as she learned herself.
He’d return to London, but he wouldn’t be the same man who’d first arrived at Wheal Prosperity. And she tried to tell herself that maybe it was enough, to know that she’d left a mark upon him as he’d done with her. Something to carry with them through the rest of their days.
Yet they lived side by side: her concern over what was going to happen with the owners and the inevitable day when Simon left. The chambers of her heart filled with black, sticky apprehension. Somehow, some way, she’d have to endure it all. As she’d persevered her whole life.
The miners finally broke apart from their circle. It seemed that they’d elected Edgar as their spokesman, because he stepped forward, determination etched into his craggy face.
“We’re with you,” he said.
“You’re with you,” Simon answered.
“But you’ll help us—lead us,” added Christopher. “We don’t have experience in this kind of business.”
Simon looked at the other gathered men. “Is that what you all want?”
The men all nodded vigorously.
“Right,” Simon said. “Tomorrow morning, everything changes. I want you ready for that.”
“Yes, Simon.”
“Good. Now go home and get some rest. These next few days are going to be rough.” But he didn’t sound frightened or concerned. No, he looked like a man spoiling for a fight, and wouldn’t be satisfied until he got it.
* * *
Henry, Edgar, and several other miners met Simon outside the managers’ office—the men restless, faces grim, with their hands stuffed into the pockets of their coats like stones ready to be thrown through windows. But it wouldn’t come to that. Not today. The only weapons they’d need were the documents Simon carried.
He tried not to let his gaze linger too long on Alyce, but his eyes had a will of their own. They craved the sight of her as much as the rest of him did. She was pale, tense, her arms wrapped around herself, yet he’d never seen her look more determined. This was the beginning of the endgame. He wanted to reach for her, to reassure himself as much as her.
His arms remained at his sides. He had to get used to not touching her anymore.
“No weakness now,” he said to the gathered men. “We’re standing together. They’ve got to blink before we do.”
The men all nodded their agreement. So did Alyce. One final glance around at all of them, including her, and then he pushed the office door open.
Clerks looked up from their paperwork, eyes wide with shock. It was nine o’clock in the morning. Long past the time that Simon and the others should’ve been at the mine.
“Get them,” Simon directed one of the clerks. He glanced toward one of the manager’s doors. “Get all of them.”
The clerk gaped. Remained seated.
“Now,” Alyce said.
The clerk leaped to his feet and scuttled out of the room. As Simon and the others waited, the chamber was utterly silent, the two other clerks staring at them as if a pack of wild dogs had stormed into the tidy office, and one slight move or sound would send them into a frenzy.
“What the hell is going on?” This, angrily, from Ware, who led Gorley, Murton, and the clerk into the room. “You’re two hours late at the mine, and you’ve got the temerity to waltz in here like you own the place.”
“We do,” Alyce answered.
The managers exchanged disbelieving glances. Murton began to laugh, and soon Gorley, Ware, and the clerks joined him. Their laughter bounced off him like thrown feathers, but the other workers grew restive, uncertain. Everyone except Alyce.
“Laugh,” she said coldly. “Giggle yourselves all the way up to your fancy house on the hill. Keep laughing as you pack up everything you own. Don’t stop chuckling while you catch the train at St. Ursula. And then you can laugh and laugh yourselves all the way to hell.”
The laughter stopped. Every eye was on Alyce. She planted her hands on her hips and returned the managers’ shocked stares with her own cold glare.
Apoplectic red stained Murton’s cheeks. “It’s you who have to pack your bags, Miss Carr. You’re sacked. And if the rest of you don’t get back to work, you’ll all be sacked, too.”
“With no back wages,” added Gorley, a child determined to get in the final word.
“None of you are in the position to make decisions about hiring and firing,” Simon explained. “That’s for Miss Carr and these fine gentlemen to decide.”
“They’ll be fired, but we’ll have you sent to St. Lawrence’s Hospital,” Murton shot back. “Lock you up with the other madmen.”
In response, Simon pulled the ownership transfer papers from his portfolio and handed them to Murton. The man put on his spectacles and read, the other two managers reading over his shoulders.
“In short, gentlemen,” Simon said, “that document is signed by Messrs. Harrold, Tufton, and St
okeham, the owners of the Greater Cornwall Mining Endeavor, which, at one time, possessed Wheal Prosperity. By their own hands, they’ve transferred ownership to a collective made up of these men.” He nodded to the workers standing behind him. “And Miss Carr,” he added.
She tipped her head regally at him.
“They … they wouldn’t do that!” Ware objected. He looked as chalky as the cliffs of Sussex.
“But they did,” Simon noted, “and Murton holds the proof.”
The managers stood like Lot’s wife, pale and silent. Simon could see their minds frantically trying to come up with a way out, or considering the possibility that this could all be a hoax. Yet the more they stared at the documents, then looked up at Simon and the others, the more it seemed to dawn on them that there was no mistake.
At last, Simon plucked the papers from Murton’s shaking hand, and replaced them in the portfolio. He turned to the others. “Gentlemen, and lady, the question now stands. As the owners of Wheal Prosperity, would you like these men”—he nodded to Murton, Ware, and Gorely—“to remain on as managers of the mine?”
“I believe in fairness,” Alyce said. “We’ll put it to a vote. New owners, all in favor of keeping them, raise your hands.”
No hands went up.
“And who wants to see them sacked like so many potatoes?”
Everyone’s hands rose. Not just the workers and Alyce, but the clerks, too.
“Not you?” snarled Gorley to Simon.
“I’m not one of the owners. Merely a facilitator of the process.”
Alyce folded her arms across her chest. “The Yanks seem to have the right idea with this democracy idea. The owners of Wheal Prosperity have spoken. Time to grab your kits and shovel off.”
Ware sputtered, “But—”
“It’s not polite to argue with a lady,” Henry pointed out.
“So pack it in,” added Edgar.
