by Jenna Kernan
‘You haven’t let that stop you in the past. I will carry you down.’
Why was he being so insistent? ‘You couldn’t possibly.’ She shuddered.
‘You are no heavier than a hod of coal and I have carried a few of them in my time. Come on, Miss Wilding. Buck up.’ Before she knew what he was about, he had lifted her off her feet and tossed her over his shoulder. ‘Don’t move now, Miss Wilding, or we will both fall.’ He heaved one leg over the side of the hole, grasping on to the railing. He paused. ‘Light my candle for me, would you, Trelawny?’ he said with great good cheer.
Never had she felt so undignified. Or so foolish. Oh lord, that was his hand on her posterior. Holding her steady? Was he going to climb down using only one hand? ‘Really, my lord. I would be quite happy to wait up here for your return.’
‘You must think I am a complete fool, Miss Wilding, if you think I am letting you out of my sight for more than a minute so far from the Abbey.’
Oh, drat. He thought she intended to run away. He began to descend and she pressed her teeth into her lip to stop herself from crying out in fear and clutched on to the tails of his coat. The walls of the shaft glowed softly in the light of the tallow candle on his hat and after a while she began to relax. His movements were lithe and sure and his body in perfect balance. She trusted him. In this, at least.
After what seemed like a very long time with his shoulder pressing beneath her ribs and making it hard to breathe, but was probably only a minute or so, another light appeared. Several, in fact, dotted here and there on ledges around a wide cave.
Her ears were filled with the sound of rushing water. It echoed off the walls, yet sounded far off.
Bane set her carefully on her feet, held her for a moment while she found her balance, then stepped back.
Mr Trelawny jumped down beside her.
A bent and bowed figure appeared out of the dark. He had a clay pipe in one hand and a disapproving expression. ‘For what brought ’ee a woman down here? Bad luck it is.’
Mary stared back up the ladder and was able to see a faint glimmer way above them. The candles.
‘Don’t be foolish, man,’ Bane said. ‘Miss Wilding is the owner of this mine. If she wishes to look at her property, she has every right. Besides, women are only unlucky on ships.’
Mary’s jaw dropped at his quick defence and at his announcement of her ownership.
The old man grumbled under his breath. ‘She ain’t got a light.’
‘She does,’ Mr Trelawny said, producing another of the hats. ‘If you would just slip your bonnet off, Miss Wilding, let it hang by the strings, if you will, and you can put this on.’
She did as he suggested and he tied on the stiff felt hat, pushing it down hard, then lighting the candle. She was surprised at how much better she could see around her. ‘Thank you.’
‘Try to keep you head down as we go through the tunnels. They are low in places and while the hat will protect you somewhat, you can still get a nasty bruise if you are not careful. Follow Old Jem there and I will bring up the rear. Not too fast, now, Jem. I don’t want anyone getting lost.’
‘No indeed,’ Bane said. ‘Miss Wilding, hold on to my coat-tails if you please. I shall feel better if I know where you are at all times.’
The strange little cavalcade set off, stopping now and then when Mr Trelawny called out to Jem to stop so he could point out items of interest. Bane seemed greatly interested in each tiny detail.
‘Where are the men working?’ she asked on the third-such stop.
‘Further along, Miss Wilding. They are hewing and hauling today. I thought it best we didn’t use any black powder during your visit. We will find them near the horse-whim stope.’
When she looked at him blankly, he smiled. ‘Whim means the drum turned by the horse to bring the buckets up. Stope refers to where we dig it out. There is a significant lode of ore in that part of the mine.’ He pointed to a dark seam of rock running along the tunnel. ‘This is also ore. Blue peach, we call it. But it is pretty well worked out and what is left is of poor quality. Further on, the lode is heavy with tin.’
‘Then let us go there, since it is what Miss Wilding wishes to see,’ Bane said.
And they set off again. In places the tunnel was narrow and low and both she and Bane had to duck to avoid the sharp rocks in the roof. Once her bonnet got hooked up on a promontory and Mr Trelawny had to set her free. They laughed about it, while his lordship, unable to help from where he stood, simply glowered at them. And what a glower it was with the flickering light of their candles bouncing off the rough granite walls and the brim of his hat throwing his eyes into deep shadow. Why, he looked almost jealous.
She shivered. And it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. It seemed that his seductive words in the carriage had infected her body.
To prevent getting hooked up again, she untied the ribbons of her bonnet, retied them and hung it over her arm. ‘I’m ready,’ she said at his lordship’s impatient sigh.
A short while later, the tunnel opened out and all around her were moving pinpoints of light and the sounds of shovelling overpowering the background noise of running water. It was a bit like watching Oberon’s fairies, until you realised that the sparkling lights were attached to rough felt hats worn by men shovelling rocks into iron buckets. And lads running from smaller tunnels and crevasses with wooden wheelbarrows. Small boys of eight or nine.
Work stopped as they realised that their visitors had arrived. There were some startled looks between the miners as they realised they had a woman in their midst and then some touching of forelocks and awkward bobbing of heads at her and Bane.
‘This is the shift foreman, Michael Trethewy,’ Mr Trelawny said. ‘Lord Beresford. Miss Wilding.’
Another very Cornish name. These people had lived in this isolated part of the country for centuries. The man himself was big and brawny. He bowed to Mary and looked surprised when Bane held out his hand, but shook it anyway with a ham of a hand. The two men stared into each other’s eyes for a moment with a measuring look and then released the shake. Both looked satisfied with what they had discovered from that brief contact.
A meeting of like minds. Mary inwardly shrugged. Men had their own secret codes, Sally had said. This must be one of them. She was more interested in the condition of the boys pushing those heavy barrows. While the foreman introduced Bane to the other men and they talked about lodes and weights and percentages and even black powder, Mary followed one of the boys into a side tunnel. It came to a dead end. A man lying on his back picked away at the roof. Rock fell around him and the boy shovelled it into his barrow.
They looked up at the appearance of Mary’s light. The man struggled to stand. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Don’t let me interrupt, but the rest of the men are back there, meeting his lordship. The new earl.’
‘Aye. I ought to have come.’ He wiped his face on his sleeve. ‘Me and the boy had a bet on that we could finish out this stope by day’s end. I forgot about the visit.’ To her surprise, he sounded a little resentful.
‘Are we interrupting?’
‘The lad is paid by the barrowful. He’s the only one in his family working after his da’s accident.’
The boy ducked his head. He looked healthy enough, if a little pale. So why was he anxious?
She crouched down to meet his gaze full on and to ease the ache in her back from stooping over. ‘Do you find it hard, pushing that barrow?’
‘I’m stronger than I look,’ he said defensively. ‘I don’t need Peter to break the rocks, not really.’ He looked anxiously at his companion.
‘I do my share.’ The man’s face looked sullen.
‘I am sure you do. Both of you.’ She couldn’t quite grasp why she was ruffling their feathers. ‘Is it good working here at this wheal?’ She was proud that
she had remembered the correct word. ‘Are you treated well?’
If anything the man looked even more sullen, perhaps even suspicious. Perhaps because she was a woman. Perhaps he was worried about bad luck.
‘We haven’t had our pay this month,’ the boy blurted out. ‘The men aren’t happy.’
The man hushed him with a look.
‘Why is that?’
‘We hear the old earl’s will is all tied up,’ the man said.
Oh, Lord, did that mean there was no money to pay these men until she was married? She couldn’t believe that was so. She would have to tackle Bane about it. No, not Bane, his lordship.
‘I am sure Lord Beresford will sort something out as quickly as possible,’ she said. Was this the reason for his emphatic proposal?
The man shrugged. ‘We best be going to pay our respects, lad, or be found lacking.’ He sounded a little bitter. ‘After you, miss.’
She could do no more than make her way back to the cavern, where she found Bane and Trelawny deep in conversation with a couple of men as they stared at yet another of those blue veins in the rock. There were pink veins, too, she noticed, and white ones. The veins did not run straight along the walls but at an angle. She followed one of the pink ones with her gaze, it glistened in the light of her candle as it disappeared into another, even smaller tunnel. She decided to see where it led.
A short way along was another of those horrid shafts, with a ladder disappearing into the darkness above her head. No candles glimmering up there from this one. An old disused entrance, perhaps.
With her fingertips running along the rough rock, she turned a sharp corner. Here the tunnel divided. Something about this configuration seemed familiar, as if she had been here before. Was that a light she saw in the distance? Another man working, unaware that the new earl had arrived and wishful to meet him?
Should she let him know? Would he be equally unfriendly? She decided to take the other fork.
This tunnel was much darker, the air stuffy, yet cold. The sound of running water drowned out any noises from the cavern behind her. The tunnel was getting lower and narrower and the terrain rougher under her feet. Time to go back. This must be a disused part of the mine.
As she halted, she saw the lip of yet another shaft. This one right in front of her feet, going down. Only a small ledge on one side allowed for passage. Ugh. She was not going to think about going around it.
The air stirred behind her. The hair on her nape rose. She started to swing around. ‘Who—?’
‘You little fool,’ a harsh voice whispered in her ear. A hand shoved her in the middle of her back and she was falling.
Chapter Ten
She grabbed for the edge of the hole and managed to catch it. Heart in her throat, blood rushing in her ears, she dug with her toes, seeking purchase.
‘Help me,’ she croaked.
There was a soft laugh and then silence. Somehow she knew she was alone. And she could not hold on. Slowly, her weight was dragging her down. Where was the ladder? She could feel nothing but the smooth sides of the shaft. There. Her knee hit something jutting out from the wall. Her arms trembled with the effort of holding her weight. They weakened. Then gave out. Her fingernails scrabbled to hold on. She was slipping. Falling.
Only to stop with a jerk. She was caught. By her elbow. Not her elbow, the bonnet strings hooked over her arm. She was dangling from her bonnet. She grabbed on to the strings with her other hand.
Gasping for breath, sobs forced their way up into her throat. No. Don’t panic. Think. Those ribbons were not going to hold her for very long. Carefully she turned her head, letting the light from her candle show her what her feet had missed. The ladder. Just off to her right. The ropes looked frayed and rotten. Not strong at all, but it was her only chance.
Carefully she inched one foot over to the closest rung. She got her foot into it. Then her other foot. She had to let go of the ribbons, her only lifeline, and reach for the ladder.
What if it wouldn’t hold her weight?
Don’t be afraid, a soft female voice said in her head. Do it.
It was the same voice she had heard in her dream.
She let go of the ribbons and grabbed for the rope with her right hand. Got it. Shifted her weight on to the ladder, then let go of the ribbons and grabbed on with her left hand. With a whisper, the strings, lightened of their burden, slid off the spike. Her bonnet fluttered into the darkness below.
The ladder gave an ominous creak.
She gasped and clung on for dear life, frozen in place.
Do not panic. Climb. Slowly. Three rungs. That was all she needed to climb. Gritting her teeth, swallowing her sobbing breaths, she made the painful ascent.
And then her head was above the lip of the shaft.
Oh, God, what if the person who had pushed her was still there? There was nothing she could do. She had to get up and out. She forced herself up the next rung and then threw her body over the edge. The next moment she was rolling away from that dreadful hole and lying gasping on the floor of the tunnel. Rocks were digging in her stomach. Her hands were burning. But she was alive. She dragged herself to the tunnel wall and sat leaning against it, gasping for breath.
And then she realised the way back was on the other side of that horrible hole. She gazed at the ledge and her body shook. She could not cross. She could not.
Slowly her pulse returned to normal and her breathing eased. She felt the chill of sweat cooling on her face and down the centre of her back. She could not stay here. She had to do something. Call for help? But she kept hearing that voice in her ear. The triumph. You little fool. That deep, dark whisper. It could have been anyone. Her heart clenched.
He wouldn’t.
But he had. Mary, stop being such a trusting idiot. There was no other explanation. She hadn’t agreed to marry him, hadn’t fallen for his seduction, so he’d decided to take his drastic action.
She’d walked right into his trap. No wonder he had seemed so willing to bring her along to the mine, when previously he had seemed opposed to the idea. She should have known a man like him wouldn’t really want her, a spinsterish schoolmistress. It had been all a ruse to get his own way.
And for some stupid reason, there was a terrible ache in her chest. It felt as if a hole had opened up and she wanted to cry.
The candle spluttered, then died.
Her misery was complete. Now she was alone and in the dark, with a murderer lurking somewhere about. She leaned back against the rough wall and closed her eyes, holding back the tears that wanted to run down her face. Why, oh, why had she given in to her longings for a home, a husband of her own, given in to the hope that somewhere in the world there might be a smidgeon of love just for her?
She swiped at her face with the heel of her hand. She’d shed enough tears over what she could not have. She would not shed any more.
She opened her eyes. To her surprise a light glimmered off in the distance, a soft sort of glow. Like the one in her dream. She pushed to her feet and, bent double at times, followed the source of the light.
It wasn’t long before she realised that it wasn’t men working and it wasn’t the ghost of the White Lady leading her astray. It was daylight.
Wonderful daylight.
On her hands and knees now, splashing through freezing water that trickled down the walls and turned into a rivulet, she crawled out on to the hillside. She was out.
She collapsed and lifted her face to the sky, inhaled deep breaths of cold air and thanked God. Slowly her brain started to function. First, she took an inventory of her person.
Her knees were scraped, her skirts torn and soaking wet, her hands hurting. Her cotton gloves had been shredded by the rocks and her fingertips were raw and a couple of them were bleeding. She was still trembling inside, st
ill shaken to her very core. But she was alive.
What had happened made no sense. Why had he been so seductive, talking of marriage on the carriage ride here, if he had intended to kill her? Or had he meant only to allay her fears?
Did she go back to the mine and face him? Or did she get as far away from here as possible? Wasn’t now her chance to leave, when they would have discovered her missing and be busy searching in the dark?
You little fool. She’d be a fool to stay.
Hot moisture trickled down her face. She dashed the tears away. She didn’t even know why she was crying, why she felt so betrayed. She’d known all along he hated the idea of their marriage.
The pretty words, the hot gazes, the kisses—they’d all been designed to allay her suspicions. And she’d let female sensibility overcome good sense, just as he’d no doubt planned.
She struggled to her feet, tossed her miner’s hat aside and made for the nearest stone wall. For once, luck led her in the right direction. It was the wall that lined each side of the road up to the mine. After a while, she found a farmer’s gate into the road. Now if she was really lucky a farmer would come along in a cart and offer her a ride.
She half-walked, half-ran along the rutted lane. How long would he search for her underground? How long would he keep up the pretence of looking for someone he already knew to be at the bottom of a deep hole?
At the sound of bridles jingling and the grind of wheels, she spun about. It wasn’t the hoped-for farmer’s cart, it was a carriage. His carriage. He wasn’t searching the mine, he was sitting beside the coachman, driving his team straight towards her. He wasn’t searching for her, at all. Why would he waste his time, when he had thought he knew where she was?
Dizziness washed through her, the world seemed to spin around her head, the grey clouds, the distant thumping of machines pounding in her ears. She should never have followed the road. She should have cut across country. And then she was falling. Falling into darkness.
