by Mary Nichols
She rode for miles, trotting, cantering, galloping, covering the green turf and the boulder-strewn slopes without noticing how far she had gone or how long she was out. It was only when she realised Bonny Boy was tiring that she halted and dismounted to rest him and realised where she was. It was here they had met, here he had accused her of trespass, here they had quarrelled over the ownership of Browhill. Had she begun to love him even then? Why had she not allowed him to explain? What was she afraid of? Of letting go, she decided, of letting go of her self-control, her independence, her dignity, of her father’s influence. That most of all.
She was about to remount when she saw one of her mine workers riding towards her on what looked like Roland’s stallion. Her heart went to her mouth. Something had happened to him, something dreadful. He had been thrown and killed. Her inclination was to run towards him, but she made herself stand still and wait.
‘Miss Cartwright I am sent to tell you, there’s been an accident…’
‘Accident?’ She felt the breath leave her body and had to hang on to her horse’s neck to steady herself. ‘When? Where is he?’
‘He, ma’am?’
‘The Earl. That is his horse, is it not?’
‘Yes, but it ain’t him what’s hurt, leastways I don’t think so. There’s two men down the bottom level an’ they’ve been trapped by rising water…’
She ought not to show relief that it was not Roland, though it was profound. ‘What were they doing down there? I have never asked any of you to work on Sundays.’
‘They’ve been down there since last night’s shift.’
‘Last night! Why was I not told?’
‘Mr Bailey said not to worry you, what with your ball an’ all.’
‘Damn my ball!’ she exclaimed angrily, then realised it was not fair to take her anger out on the messenger. ‘Never mind that.’ She hauled herself back into the saddle and began to ride up towards the mine. He turned to ride beside her.
‘What are you doing on the Earl’s horse?’ she asked.
‘It were the only one available. Mr Bailey came in his trap.’
‘Where is the Earl?’
‘His lordship hev gone down a hole. He reckons he knows ’ow to get at the men.’
‘Down a hole? You mean down one of the levels?’
‘No, down a hole up by the smelting mill, one o’them queer shafts.’
‘Show me.’
He led the way past the main adits where the pump was still working and men were moving about in the last stages of exhaustion, to the smelting mill. Here several men were gathered, among them Robert Bailey. They had rigged up a block and tackle over a hole in the ground. She dismounted and went over to them and peered down. The hole was very narrow and she could see nothing. ‘The Earl is down there?’
‘Yes, Miss Cartwright,’ the engineer said. ‘I tried to stop him…’
‘What does he think he can do?’
‘He says he knows the underground passages. I knew of them; we have come across one or two when mining, but I had no idea they had been explored. His lordship hopes to divert the water by blasting a hole from one passage to another.’
‘And drowning himself in the process.’ She could hardly breathe for worrying about him. If he died…Oh, she could not bear it. She forced herself to sound practical. ‘Is he alone?’
‘Yes, he would not allow anyone to go down with him.’
‘How long has he been down there?’
‘Nigh on two hours, Miss Cartwright.’
‘And no one thought to send for me?’
‘We did not want to worry you, Miss Cartwright, and you could do nothing in any case.’
‘So you sent for his lordship instead.’
‘No, ma’am, he was out riding. He found us trying to reach the men from the second level.’
So, he had not given up wanting the land back. He had probably heard about the barytes and had come up to see how his mine was doing, and, finding it in trouble, must needs interfere. How could she be so angry with him at the same time as she was out of her mind with worrying about his safety?
‘Are the miners still alive?’
‘We think so. There has been no more rain since last night and the pumps are keeping the water at the same level.’
‘But it is not going down?’
‘No. We cannot know how much air the men have left and digging is taking too long.’
‘Who are the men?’
‘Daniel Biggs and Jake Salhouse.’
She would be concerned for any of her workers, but Daniel Biggs was one of her special protégés whom she had taken on when the new adit was opened. How she would break the news to his mother if anything happened to him, she did not know. ‘Do you think his lordship can do anything? Or is he foolishly risking his own life?’
His answer was cut off by the sound of an explosion. It rocked the whole hillside and a few stones and boulders began tumbling down from above. They took shelter behind the smelting house and waited until the movement subsided and the loose stones stopped bouncing down towards them. What had happened below their feet? Had the explosive been set off on purpose or had there been an accident? The men looked significantly at each other. ‘He’s gone,’ Job Bunty said and crossed himself.
Charlotte felt weak in the knees and it took all her self-control not to fall to the ground and howl. The man she loved was dead. She would never see him again, never watch his smile light up his face, never see his eyebrow lift as it did when he teased her, never hear his soft voice, never be touched by him, feel his lips on hers, his warm body pressing against hers, setting her on fire with desire. Never quarrel with him again. It was too much to bear and she turned away so that the men might not see her grief.
Chapter Nine
In the confined space of the narrow tunnel the force of the explosion sent Roland flying back against the wall, knocking him unconscious for a moment and putting out his candle. When he came to his senses he could not see, or breathe, because of the dust that filled the air. He felt in his pocket for the flint with which to relight his candle. It took several attempts before he had a glimmer of light and could see the result of the explosion. Apart from making a big hole in the wall, nothing had happened. The tunnel was still dry. His memory must have been at fault and he was not in the right place at all. He began to crawl forwards, feeling his way along until he came to the hole he had blasted in the rock. He had no idea what was beyond it and found himself looking into a huge cavern. Its floor was uneven and there was water in the bottom of it, caused by a stream running through it. Downstream it disappeared into a cleft in the rock and from there he had no doubt it found its way into the mine where the men were trapped.
He waded in and turned upstream, feeling his way carefully to where the water was coming in through a narrow tunnel that was almost full. There was a few inches from the surface to the roof, no more. He edged his way into it very slowly. It was back breaking because it was lower than his height and he had to bend and at the same time keep his head above water. When the roof became even lower, he took a deep breath and dived, knowing that if he could not find a way out he would surely drown. And he was once again in the dark. He kept reaching up for the roof.
Just when he thought his breath would give out, he felt air on his hand and came to the surface, blowing hard. Ahead of him was a tiny patch of daylight, enough to allow him to see that the water was coming through a fissure in the rock and was running down the tunnel from which he had emerged. When he moved forwards, he found himself in a smaller cave and there was another tunnel running almost parallel and on a slightly higher level, which was dry. Exhausted as he was, he clambered over the rock and set off to explore it. It lead to an old working of the mine, probably abandoned as unprofitable by Mr Cartwright in the early days of his venture. He turned back to the daylight and began the long, slow and difficult climb to the surface. He did not even have help because the men he had left at the top were watching at an
other hole, waiting for him to tug on the rope to be hauled up.
It was like a rough chimney and he inched himself up, using his back against one side and his feet against the other. He had no idea how long it took and several times he had to stop and rest, but at last he hauled himself out and lay on the grass, too exhausted to move. Knowing time was running out, he sat up and looked about him, wondering how far he was from his starting point. The men he had left were about two hundred yards below him and Charlotte was with them. He got up and staggered down to them.
Charlotte was sitting on a boulder looking despondently at her feet when one of the men yelled, ‘There he is!’
She looked up and saw Roland stumbling towards them. He was soaking wet, his breeches clung to his muscular legs and his shirt was torn to ribbons and there was blood running down his arms and from a cut on his forehead to which his soaked hair adhered. She stood up and ran to meet him, wanting to throw herself into his arms, but she stopped when she realised he was so exhausted she would knock him over. ‘So you could not keep away,’ she said, relief making her voice squeaky.
He grinned lopsidedly, but did not answer. Instead he addressed himself to Robert Bailey who was right behind her. ‘I think I’ve found a way. We need to divert the water into an old mine working. If you fetch the map, I’ll show you where.’
Charlotte watched them poring over the map and talking quietly, then they folded it up and Robert Bailey began issuing instructions. Now the rescue was in other hands Roland sank to the ground, too tired to move. Charlotte went and dropped down beside him.
‘You idiotic, headstrong man,’ she said. ‘You could have killed yourself.’
He reached out and took her hand. ‘Would you have cared?’
‘Of course I would. I would have cared very much.’
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. ‘Bless you for that.’
Embarrassed, she said, ‘I could not have you dying on my land trying to save my workmen, could I?’
He let that go, which surprised her; he had never before failed to rise to the bait when she goaded him about the ownership of the land. If he gave up fighting for it, would she be glad or sorry? It had added a zest to their relationship while keeping her feet firmly on the ground. ‘You ought to change out of those wet clothes before you catch a chill,’ she said.
‘I am not cold. I will stay here with you until the men are ready.’
‘You are surely not thinking of going down that hole again?’
‘Of course. I must show them the way.’
‘They can find their own way. You are not to go, I will not hear of it.’
He chuckled. ‘How will you stop me?’
‘Like this.’ She turned and pushed him back so that he was lying face up to the sky and pinned his wrists to the turf either side of his head, so happy to have him back in the land of the living, she did not care that she was exposing her feelings so blatantly.
He could easily have freed himself, but chose not to. Instead he looked up into her face, only inches from his, and searched for a sign, a sign that she had forgiven him and returned his feelings. ‘Oh, Charlotte, why must we always fight when we should be making love?’
‘Making love?’
‘Yes. Love. It is what I feel for you and if I had had any sense six years ago, I would not have been so quick to turn my back on it. But I was young and foolish; the world was before me and I did not like being dictated to. My father was a tyrant and I was a rebel. Can you not forgive me?’
His words set her mind and heart in a whirl. Did he mean what he was saying? It was easier to answer his question than dwell on what he meant by making love, which she could not quite grasp. After all, he must have said something similar to Martha little more than twelve hours before. ‘I might, if I thought you had truly repented.’
‘Indeed, I do. I have done since the day I came back to Amerleigh. I was wrong to say what I did, not only because it was insufferably arrogant, but because it is palpably not true. You are beautiful. Even in that rig.’ He chuckled and indicated the riding breeches and open skirt she was wearing.
‘Then you are forgiven for that, but it does not explain why you offered for Miss Brandon and then kissed me last night.’
He sat up beside her. ‘I kissed you because I could not help myself, any more than you could help yourself and I will do it again, given the chance.’ He freed his hands and pulled her face down to his and kissed her soundly.
It set her on fire again and she knew she had not mistaken her own feelings the night before, but what had changed? Their dispute had not been solved and he had still offered for Martha. She tried to regain some of her dignity by scrambling back to a sitting position and spreading her skirt demurely about her breeches-clad legs. ‘You are an incorrigible rake.’
‘No, just a man in love.’
‘In love! You can’t be.’
‘Why not? Do you think I am incapable of it?’
‘No, but—’
‘I can and I am,’ he insisted, sitting up beside her. ‘I don’t know when I recognised it for what it was. When I followed you to Liverpool, I suppose, but it was probably there, deep inside me, long before that, waiting for me to come to my senses.’
‘But you proposed to Miss Brandon.’
‘It would seem so,’ he said laconically.
‘What exactly does that mean?’
‘Ask her what happened.’
‘She told me. She said you offered and she turned you down and what was more you would have to leave Amerleigh to get over your disappointment.’
He smiled crookedly. ‘Was her mother present?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then ask her again when she is alone.’
‘Oh.’ There was more to it than was immediately obvious and her heart was so filled with joy she thought it would burst, but then she quickly sobered again. It did not solve anything. ‘Roland, what are we to do?’
‘Say it again.’
‘Say what again?’
‘Roland. It sounds good to me.’
‘It just slipped out. So, what are we to do?’
‘If I ask you, say, in a few weeks’ time when the tattlemongers have run out of ammunition, will you marry me?’
‘Marry you?’ She could not hide her astonishment. ‘You cannot mean it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you are who you are and I am who I am, children of our respective fathers.’
He knew what she meant, but he did not see why their differences could not be overcome. ‘That is a silly answer, if it is an answer at all. You asked what we should do and I made a perfectly sensible proposition.’
‘That was not what I meant. You once said to me that I had too much money and you had too much rank to find true love.’
‘I seem to make a habit of making ridiculous and erroneous statements.’
‘Perhaps you were right.’
‘Do you mean by that you do not love me?’
‘I am not sure I know what love is. I have never been brought up to consider it.’ She might not have been brought up to think about it, but she was learning fast and she had discovered it was both wondrous and extremely painful.
‘Then I feel for you.’
‘I do not need your pity, my lord. I am content as I am. I have sworn not to marry.’
‘Fustian! I could change your mind if you would let me.’
‘According to my father, nothing is done for nothing and behind every offer there is a price to pay.’
‘And what do you expect to have to pay?’
‘My independence, everything I own. You know as well as I do that a married woman can own no property; it all becomes her husband’s to do with as he likes, no matter what she wishes. How do I know you are not asking me in order to get your hands on Browhill?’ It was said half-jokingly, but underneath was a core of real concern. Could a man who had so thoroughly disdained her suddenly discover he loved her?
&
nbsp; ‘Damn Browhill! I told Mountford long ago not to pursue that claim.’
‘Why did no one tell me?’ She gave a strangled laugh. ‘To keep me on my toes, I suppose.’
‘Does it make a difference? To your answer, I mean.’
She was thoughtful, considering his question. ‘If I agreed to marry you, you would get it anyway.’
‘I do not want it.’
‘But you have just risked your neck to save it.’
‘I did that for two men trapped underground and they are still there, so if you do not mind, I will go back to helping fetch them out.’ He rose and hurried to join the men, who had pulled up the rope and dismantled the block and tackle and were re-erecting it over the hole from which he had emerged. He was furious. It was her father’s fault and he cursed him with all the invective of which he was capable for all the harm the man had done, the damage to a sensitive being that could not, it seemed, be repaired. And included in his condemnation was his own father. If they had left well alone, nature might well have done what they had plotted and failed to achieve.
She sat and watched the rescue efforts, but did not take in what she was seeing. He had left her so suddenly she was forced to the conclusion he was angry because she had dared to refuse him—him an Earl and the owner of an estate that matched hers in extent, if not in opulence. How had she come to make such a mull of everything? He had declared his love, asked her to marry him—was that not what she wanted? She remembered Mrs Cater once saying to her that she wanted to have her cake and eat it too. It had been over some trifling thing that she could not remember. But was it true now? She had sworn never to marry, but she wanted Roland Temple more than anything she had ever wanted in her life; material possessions meant nothing in the face of that. So why could she not give way?
It was the ghost of her father, of course. It would not leave her alone, lecturing her, telling her she was as good as any man, that she had the ordering of untold wealth and hundreds of people depending on her business acumen and her first duty was to them and to the profitability of the Cartwright empire. A husband would get in the way of that.
