“Is that all?” he asked with a chuckle.
She paused, looking over her shoulder. He pulled the leather reins to the side, moving his horse to stand before her.
“I save your place at the mine, and that is all I receive, a simple thank you?”
Indignation festered, and her brow twitched. “Oh, ye be expectin’ another walk in’t gardens?”
Why did she have to happen on this man instead of the gentleman she’d danced with the night before? What was his name again?
Mr. Trevethan threaded the reins through his gloved hands. “Ah, you are still upset about my behavior last night. I suppose I ought to be grateful then that you even condescended to thank me.”
She needed to proceed with care, to remember who this man’s father was, that he still held her fate in her hands. He’d also admitted to his wrongdoing. Almost.
Unfortunately, she disregarded her warning completely.
“Yes, ye ought to be grateful.”
She tipped her nose to the sky then walked along the pathway again. His horse’s hooves thumped against the earth, the steed coming up behind her as his broad, brown nose stuck out at her side.
She turned her head the opposite way to view the sea, willing it to share its comfort with her again, but the pain in her hands called out and the aches in her muscles gnawed—and his horse snorted just above her ear.
Her nose wrinkled. Mr. Trevethan really wasn’t a gentleman. Of course, there was no need for him to treat her as a lady. Why wouldn’t he be riding his horse alongside her, talking down at her like the working class female she was?
“Do ye need somethin’ more, sir?” she asked.
“Merely an answer or two, if you would be so kind.”
She bit her tongue for as long as she could. “And if I don’t, will ye threaten to reveal me secret to others again?”
“Not necessarily. I just feel, in light of our situation, you would be more than willing to divulge certain information.”
She folded her arms over her belongings, wincing as her blisters brushed against the rough fabric. “Such as?”
“Such as why you were at the ball in the first place. Where you found the lovely gown you wore.” His leather saddle creaked as he leaned forward, his voice lower. “If you’ve ever tasted lemonade before last evening.”
Her feet stopped, and she craned her neck to eye him astride his horse. He raised a knowing brow, and her cheeks overheated, as if the sun had just doubled its light. He’d seen her gulping down the lemonade then, had he? Blast. Sophia had warned her that impropriety would be the death of Gwynna at the ball.
The scent of leather and musky cologne drifted under her nose as he dismounted. “I also wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins would be upset knowing a bal maiden had snuck into their ball, sampled their drinks, and shouted at one of their guests.”
Gwynna’s embarrassment fled at his veiled threat. He thought he could intimidate her by telling Sophia what Gwynna had done? Oh, how she wished he would tell her friend. She could only imagine the tongue lashing he’d receive.
A thin smile spread across her lips. If he insisted on playing games with her, she would play right back. “Per’aps ye ought to ask them then.”
He blinked. “Very well, I think I will.”
She sniffed out a laugh then walked away. What was the matter with her, goading him into action? What if he became angry with her friendship with Sophia then he really did tell his father?
She was mad. Pure and simple.
“I have more questions,” he said, walking up behind her. “If you answer them, I promise not to say a word to anyone.”
She kept silent. Why was he following her, expressing such interest in her reasonings? Had he not better things to do as a gentleman than pester a fatigued maiden?
“That first day at Wheal Favour,” he continued, “I learned you were returning to work at the mine. What caused you to leave in the first place?”
She pressed her lips together. Her parents had always taught her to respect others. They’d also encouraged her to have a strong mind and will. In this case, she truly did not feel she was obligated to answer.
“Was it because of someone you worked with perhaps?” he guessed. “A friend, or perhaps someone more?”
The silence was heavy, but Gwynna would not be prodded into saying another word. She eyed the smooth, white sand of Tregalwen Beach, only now just coming into view.
“Or did you leave because of an injury, or perhaps the workload? I’ve heard a bal maiden’s task is as arduous as a miner’s.”
She gritted her teeth. She would not turn around. She would not turn around.
“Were you not up to the task? I suppose some women prefer being a lady and just aren’t capable of doing—”
She spun on the heel of her boot, facing him with nostrils flared. Why did he insist on provoking her? Following her like a fox tracking a rabbit? His smile was innocent, but his eyes glinted playfully.
Gwynna felt anything but playful. “Ye think I can’t handle the work of a maiden?” She raised her hands between them, fingers in the air, palms facing him. His smile faltered as he eyed the blisters stippling each crevice in her skin. “I’d like to see your own hands doin’ the work I just did with these.”
She lowered her palms. “‘Tain’t your business why I left the mine, or why I chose to do what I did last night. As ye can see by the sweat on me brow and the calluses on me skin, I ain’t be no lady. I be a bal maiden, through and through. And that, sir, be enough for I.”
His brow rose only a fraction—from being impressed or stunned, she couldn’t tell.
Gwynna bobbed up and down in as dignified a curtsy as she could muster then left the man behind.
This time, his footsteps didn’t follow.
She reached the top of the next ridge, the green cliffside accented with purple heather opening up in front of her. She clenched her fist in frustration, but the piercing pain of her blisters nearly made her cry out.
She couldn’t understand him, mocking her, speaking with her. What did he want?
Before she could fathom an answer, she noted two girls standing at the sandy mouth of the beach.
She narrowed her eyes. Delen, Tamesin? Kerensa’s sisters. What were they doing out here alone?
She rushed toward them when they turned worried eyes on her.
“What be the matter, girls?” Gwynna asked at once, leaning forward to better hear them over the sound of the sea.
“It be Kerensa,” Delen said, pointing to the beach. “She be gettin’ into a scrap and told us to stay up here, but we be fearin’ she be gettin’ into too much trouble.”
Gwynna followed their line of sight to farther down the beach where a group of seven young women joined together on the sand, fists flying and intermittently screaming.
She cursed under her breath. With a dull pounding of her heart, she glanced up the ridge from which she’d come. Mr. Trevethan had followed her and was now watching the fight with an intent stare.
If the girls didn’t stop their fighting now, they’d be spaled for certain, and none of their families could afford to lose a single pence.
“Stay here,” she commanded the girls, then she sprinted down the sandy slope alone.
As she neared the brawl, she recognized three of the young women from Wheal Favour. The other four hailed from a neighboring mine, Wheal Jenny.
“Aye!” she called out, cursing the sand that jumped into her ankle-high boots and slowed her down.
The girls didn’t stop, their shouts mounting as she approached, their fists clenched as they swung pitch after pitch.
“Stop! Kerensa! There be someone watchin’ ye!”
A few maidens turned as she called, backing up out of the crowd as their eyes caught sight of Mr. Trevethan above.
“Kerensa!” she tried again, heading straight for her friend.
Kerensa was the largest of them all, hitting girl after girl who pushed toward her, but when
she found Gwynna, she paused. Anger pulsed across her red face, veins bulging in her neck. “They be stealin’ our goods, Gwynna!”
Gwynna had an inkling as to what she was speaking of, but fighting wouldn’t resolve the issue, especially not with a gentleman observing them. “Mr. Trevethan’s son! He be watchin’!”
Kerensa easily pushed aside a girl attempting to assail her, then focused on the cliffside. She blinked, taking a step back from the group, though the others continued their fight.
Gwynna jumped right into the middle of them, heading straight for a girl atop another, pulling them apart by their collars. Fabric ripped as she shouted for them to look to the cliffside.
“Do ye want to lose your wages?” she cried out. “Do ye want him to ride for the constable?”
“Aw, get’on outta here!”
Gwynna turned just as a girl she recognized from town, Ruth Ayer, raised a fist and dealt a blow to Gwynna’s ribs.
Gwynna growled in pain. Ruth raised another fist, but Gwynna ducked just in time. The girl was considerably larger, but Gwynna used her anger to propel her forward, shoving her shoulder into Ruth’s stomach and pushing her with all her might until Ruth stumbled in the sand.
As Ruth lay winded, face-up on the ground, the others finally stopped.
Gwynna turned to the girls from Favour, chest heaving. “What are ye all doin’? Have ye no sense? If that man tells his father, we’ll lose half a day’s wages!”
“What that be to us?” Ruth had finally managed to stand, shooting a scowl toward Gwynna.
“It matters to ye ‘cause he’ll tell Mr. Bargus, as well. Ye know how the mine owners speak.”
The girls exchanged glances. Tears riddled their dresses, sand carpeting their hair and speckling their faces. The energy between them simmered, like the crest of a wave about to dive headlong into the water.
“Calm down,” she commanded, “then tell me what be the cause o’ all this.”
Everyone spoke at once.
“They stole our belongings!”
“Go on, we found ‘em first!”
“They be liars, the whole o’ ‘em!”
Gwynna raised her hands between the two sides. “If ye start fightin’ again, I’ll run to that gent and get ‘im to alert the constable meself!”
They grumbled again but kept apart.
She faced Kerensa. “Ye tell me what ‘appened.”
“‘Course she be listenin’ to her friend first.”
Gwynna shot Ruth a look of exasperation then faced Kerensa once more.
Kerensa wiped the blood trailing down her lip and pointed to a small pile of boxes and crates poking out of the sand. “They be stealin’ the goods we found, Gwynna. They dug ‘em up and was takin’ ‘em for themselves ‘fore we caught ‘em.”
“Who’s to say ye buried them?” Ruth returned. “Ye could ‘ave claimed they be yours when ye found us diggin’ ‘em up.”
Their voices merged, each shouting their version of the story before Gwynna’s rose above the rest.
“I be sorry, friends,” she said, addressing the other maidens, “but the goods here belong to Kerensa.”
Gwynna had no evidence for the truth, but she knew Kerensa, and she knew her friend wouldn’t lie.
“‘Tis true,” Kerensa said. “We found ‘em mornin’ last, on our way to the mine. We hadn’t time to bring ‘em home, so we buried ‘em and marked ‘em with the twigs ye saw here ‘fore.”
“Ye ‘ave no proof,” Ruth protested.
Gwynna motioned to the pile. “Kerensa, can ye name everythin’ ye found?”
“‘Course I can.” She rattled off the small list as the girls inspected the goods. “There be a crate o’ wine padded with straw, a few writin’ boxes, and one with an officer’s name on it.”
“Ye could have easily seen all that simply by bein’ right here,” Ruth muttered.
Kerensa raised her eyebrows daringly. “In the lieutenant’s box be a golden sextant, a compass, and a small purse with coins in it.”
The girls glanced to one another as Ruth rifled through the box. With a scowl, she stood, thrusting the box to the ground. Coins jingled, and the compass jumped to the sand. “Fine. They be yours, then. But a word of warnin’, next we find any o’ your treasures left behind here, we’ll be sure to take ‘em ‘fore ye come back.”
She left them with a look of warning, then motioned for the girls to follow her, leading them down the beach.
“Thank ye, Gwynna,” Kerensa murmured as soon as they were alone with just the girls from Favour. “We would’ve been in a world o’ hurt had ye not shown up.”
“Would’ve been?” Gwynna eyed the red mark on Kerensa’s cheekbone and caressed her own ribs.
Kerensa merely grinned as she knelt down in the sand by the goods.
Gwynna glanced up to the sandy ridge. Delen and Tamesin were just beginning to approach, but Mr. Trevethan still stood there, perched and focused, like Mr. Harvey at the mine. Was he waiting for her so he could learn what had caused the ruckus? Well, she wouldn’t give anything away if it was going to injure the maidens.
She joined the other girls in the sand, moving to the small officer’s box and replacing the compass with the rest of the navigational equipment. She closed the lid and eyed the engraving on the side of the box, smoothing her thumb over the metal to wipe away the sand.
“E-d-m…” She finished with a sigh, frustrated with her poor attempt to read the name. “Can any of ye read this?”
One of the girls examined the letters. “Edmund…Har-Harris?”
Gwynna dropped her gaze to the box. She knew the lieutenant. He was working at Golowduyn Lighthouse with his previous captain after their ship wrecked nearby. He was a good man who didn’t seem to mind very much about classes. They’d carried on conversations themselves at a few gatherings on the beach.
She eyed the goods the girls began to divvy out. “These must be from the HMS Valour.” The ship once headed by Captain Gavin Kendricks. “They’ll fetch a pretty penny if ye choose to sell.”
“Exactly.” Kerensa paused, looking at the other girls. “I think it be only fair that we share some o’ this with Gwynna. After all, she did ‘elp us to keep it.”
The other maidens instantly agreed, but Gwynna protested. “No, I ain’t be takin’ what rightfully be yours.”
“Not even a bottle?”
Her parents would certainly appreciate the wine, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t been the one to discover the items. “No, I be all right. Only…”
She eyed the box. She couldn’t tell them she wished to give the box and its contents back to the lieutenant. There were far too many valuable things here to improve the lives of these maidens and their families. Besides, it was common practice for locals to keep what they found on the beach.
Still, she couldn’t keep the box, knowing who it had belonged to. She could simply tell the lieutenant she’d found it empty. She didn’t want to lie, but if it benefited the greater good, she almost needed to.
“Can I keep this? Not what be inside, mind. Just the box.”
They agreed, then Gwynna helped fill Kerensa’s towser pockets with the navigational equipment.
“I ain’t be keepin’ all o’ this,” she said.
Gwynna continued unimpeded. “Ye be needin’ this more than any o’ we.”
“‘Tis true,” another maiden agreed.
Gwynna motioned over her shoulder to where Kerensa’s sisters were almost upon them. “For your family.”
Kerensa blinked furiously, hiding the moisture in her eyes. “Thank ye,” she mumbled in a broken tone.
Gwynna squeezed her friend’s shoulder in response, then wrapped the box in her apron and held it close to her chest. She’d deliver it to the lieutenant when she had a spare minute.
“Ye best get these home quick, girls,” she said, motioning to the goods. “Mr. Trevethan still be up there.”
The girls worked more swiftly, thanking Gwynna again before she
made her way up the beach. She touched her aching side where Ruth had hit her. She didn’t believe anything had been broken, but that girl’s fist was like the head of a spalling hammer.
A horse’s nicker at the top of the beach reminded her of Mr. Trevethan’s watchful eyes. She wasn’t sure what she could say to the man to avoid his alerting the constable as to what had occurred, or his father. Of course, if she did attempt to do so, he’d probably agree, then ask for something in return. Answers to his questions, a kiss. She wouldn’t put anything past the man.
In truth, it would be better if she simply remained silent.
And this time, really remained silent.
* * *
Jack stared speechless. What on earth had he just watched?
Gwynna approached his spot at the mouth of the beach, flitting her eyes toward him. A squared lump had formed beneath the apron she held against her chest.
“Are ye still here?” She plopped down on the sandy grass and removed her boots one by one.
“What was that about?” he asked.
She poured a stream of sand from her footwear. “Life, Mr. Trevethan.”
He fixated on the maidens on the beach as they packed away items in their own aprons. He’d seen the whole thing, the fists swinging from girl to girl, Gwynna being hurt and responding with a tackle of impressive force, especially for one so thin. Then she’d broken apart the fight and held her hands up, as if controlling the girls with an invisible force.
Footsteps retreated against the dirt pathway. When had Gwynna replaced her boots and begun to walk away?
He tugged his horse from the grass to catch up with her. Gone was his teasing nature from before, set abruptly aside at the sight of women—women—fighting.
Now he had even more questions.
“What were you all fighting over?”
“Some o’ the maidens took things that didn’t belong to ‘em.”
He reached her side, shocked at her unconcerned state. Was this an everyday occurrence for a maiden, brawling? “So they chose to fight? Couldn’t they have simply discussed the matter?”
Gwynna scoffed. “Oh, and ye ‘ave never exchanged fists ‘fore? Gotten angry o’er a game o’ cards or a misplaced bet?”
Near the Ruins of Penharrow (A Cornish Romance Book 3) Page 7
