Pennyroyal (3 page)

That morning she walked the two miles out of Netherdale to the minehead. It felt good to be walking and it was a novelty to have so much time to enjoy the countryside. The stone cottages were dew washed, windows glinting in the pale sunlight, leaves glistening and fresh.

As she reached the moors, the scenery began to change. She could understand Jake Everand’s annoyance at being stranded there. It was a bleak, desolate spot at the end of Winnats Pass, crossed and buffeted by winds that defied all natural currents. The hills were sculptured from prehistoric formations, erupted wastes that looked harmless enough with their cloak of velvet grass, but which hid great caverns and miles of tunnels.

The minehead was not as she had imagined it. The remains of the old mine buildings looked neglected, gaunt walls and chimneys of the engine house dark and gloomy.

It did not look inviting. She could not identify most of the buildings but she did discover the brick built mine office. A faded sign saying Pennyroyal swung at an angle over a warped and blistered wooden door.

She stamped about the yard, wrapping her arms around herself to keep warm. The Barbados outfit was ridiculous in Derbyshire, although she had the sense to wear a silk shirt under the loose twill blouson that matched her white jeans.

She heard the Land Rover roar up Winnats Pass with some relief. Anywhere out of the wind would be preferable. She hoped the much recommended mining engineer would be in a better mood this morning.

Her hair was blowing fiercely over her face, half obliterating any view of the man as he climbed out of the Land Rover into the yard. But despite this, Cassy felt her heart lurch. It was unbelievable. She had had a whole night to get over that first unnerving meeting, but now it was happening again. He strode across, unconcerned, slim hips moving in patched jeans, a thick dark wool shirt and padded waistcoat over his powerful shoulders. He looked straight at her, grey eyes hard and expressionless.

“Good morning, Miss Ridgeway. I trust you slept well.”

“Perfectly. And you?”

“Couldn’t have been better.” Cassy did not know what that implied nor did she care. “Have you got the keys?”

“Of course. Did you expect we would have to break in?”

She handed him the rusty bunch of keys. She was not going to be confronted by a door that would not yield. He could sort it out.

But the door creaked open with only a token protest. Cassy followed Jake into the low-roofed building, wondering what she would find. The office had been undisturbed for years; dust lay in thick layers on desks and documents and equipment; the old stand-up telephone looked as if it had rusted into one piece; cobwebs laced the pens leaning in ancient tobacco tins; the brass ink-pots mildewy and green.

The windows were covered in grey grime, letting in a wan light; paper and rubbish littered the floor. It looked as though someone had just walked out and shut the door. And nothing had been touched since it closed.

Had her grandfather done just that? Had he walked out, one day, in the middle of writing that page, reading that report, keeping those records? What had happened? There was nothing to go on, and only this difficult man at her side to help her. But he had to help; somehow she had to make him.

“Whatever happened?” she asked, walking round the high desks, grey with dust and debris. “Why was it just left like this?”

“It was obviously abandoned quite suddenly,” he said. “The worksheets and charts are still here. Don’t you know?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I didn’t even know that my grandfather owned Pennyroyal. It all came as a huge surprise.”

Jake Everand’s face was unreadable but again she got the feeling that he did not believe her. She was not used to being doubted and a knot of anger formed in her throat. He filled the small office space with his size and authority, and he awed her despite their abrasive encounters. She looked round, casually, seeking return of confidence from the everyday objects.

“Someone didn’t even wait to finish their tea,” she joked, indicating a sturdy mug festooned in cobwebs. “I wonder what else there is.”

“Since you are paying me good money, I suggest we concentrate on the survey. You can hunt for souvenirs in your own time,” he said.

Cassy was used to the games that some men played but this was a new one. She could have sworn that Jake Everand found her attractive; those first moments had been electrifyingly mutual. Now he acted as if he could barely stand her company.

She hung her thumbs on the narrow belt round her waist and rocked back on her heels.

“I wonder why it is that being employed by a woman is so upsetting for you? Is it your first experience of role reversal?” she asked in a deceptively sweet voice. She followed it with a smile of singular innocence. It was meant to disturb him and it did.

“I can assure you that taking money from a woman doesn’t hurt,” she went on. “And a woman can be a very considerate employer. I wouldn’t ask the impossible. For instance, I wouldn’t ask you to go down the mine if you had a bad cold.”

“How reassuring,” he said laconically.

“I want the mine surveyed and you are apparently the best. I need advice and though I may be reluctant to take it, you are again tops in advice. Money has to change hands even if you don’t care for the idea. I’m not going to order you around. Why should I? I only want the work done fast and efficiently.”

He leaned back on a high shelf, his gaze not on her at all but fixed on the wild, black ridge in the distance. His eyes narrowed to take in the perspective as if he were about to commit the rich landscape to canvas.

“I’m obliged to you, Miss Ridgeway, for putting me in the picture. It sets my mind at rest that we do at least have the same aim in view, to get this work completed in the shortest possible time. So don’t get in my hair; don’t get under my feet; and I never take orders from a woman.”

“Well, that’s really nice,” said Cassy, barely hiding her indignation. “You have a very gentlemanly way of putting things, Mr. Everand. It’s obvious that you went to a top class public school and came first in manners.”

He moved so fast that Cassy did not have time to evade him. He thrust his hands roughly into her hair; she gasped at the pain shocking the tiny roots.

“Don’t patronise me, young lady,” he said, biting into the words. “And don’t try sarcasm. It doesn’t suit your pretty face.”

She knew he was going to kiss her even before his mouth descended to take her lips. Give me strength, she moaned to herself as her spirit leaped to meet him, and her slim body was crushed in his arms. She fell into a swirling pleasure as his mouth began to feast hungrily on her lips, her eyes, her neck.

She was powerless to return his kiss because she was lost in the overpowering wonder that his touch aroused. It was as if she had left this planet and they were locked in an unstoppable acceleration towards another galaxy of stars.

He let go of her so abruptly she fell against a corner of a high workbench, stabbing her elbow. The pain was sharp, exploding along her nerves ends.

She hung her head, rubbing her elbow, a wing of hair hiding the momentary tears. Were they tears for the hurt or for those moments of ecstasy? Cassy seemed to have lost the ability to think. A desperate longing to feel his mouth again was robbing her of coherent thought.

Jake Everand was already unrolling the plans of former surveys which he had obtained from HM Inspector of Mines and Quarries. They were the most recent that could be found; there were probably earlier maps stored somewhere in the office. He cleared a space on the desk and a cloud of dust blew into the air.

“The main canal will take me easily to the old working,” he was saying crisply as if he had never touched her. “I may need to fix some temporary electrics. It depends on what still works. I’ve brought battery lamps to get started.”

“Did they have women working in the mine when it closed?” Cassy asked.

“I doubt it. In the Nineteenth Century they used women and children to drag away the stones and rubble, but that was stopped by law, thank goodness. Why do you ask?”

“There’s a pair of women’s shoes on the floor. Over there, by the door.”

“A cleaner perhaps, or office staff.”

The shoes were small and flimsy, almost calcified with mud and mould. Cassy could not imagine a cleaner coming to work in such a frivolous pair of shoes.

Cassy tried to concentrate on the technicalities of what he was explaining; she thought miners always went down a mine in cages.

“Where’s the entrance?” she asked.

“That’s the entrance,” he said, indicating a bolted wooden door at the back of the office. “Just through there.”

“How do you know the lift is working?”

“There’s no lift. This is what is called a drift mine. The way in was a slowly descending tunnel along which the miners walked or crawled. At some time they may have sunk a vertical shaft which let miners down in a large bucket; more recently a flight of stone steps were built.” He pointed to the map. “Several hundred steps. I’ll check them first.”

“I’m coming too,” said Cassy, striding after him in a manner that brooked no argument.

“No way. You’d be a liability. Mines are no place for amateurs…or women. Especially ones wearing white jeans,” he added.

“I could hold the lamp,” she pointed out. “Or do you happen to have three hands?”

“I’ve teeth.”

“An almost perfect specimen,” she said flippantly.

“Are you sure? You’re hardly likely to be in a position to confirm it,” he said with a wicked grin. The bold look was so fleeting, Cassy wondered if she had imagined it.

Aware that the tension between them had lightened, she spoke quickly, wanting to cement that fragile feeling.

“I would genuinely like to help,” she said. “And I’m not stupid, even though you may think otherwise. I won’t get in the way and I won’t endanger whatever you are doing. Surely it’s not sensible to go by yourself? What if you slipped?”

“It’s never sensible to go down a mine alone.” He paused, trying to come to some conclusion about her. “If I say stop, then you stop. Understand? And if I say go back, then you go back. You do as you are told whether you hold the purse strings or not. I would have brought an assistant, but everyone was busy.”

“I’ll do exactly as you say,” said Cassy. “I’ll be as good as gold. The perfect apprentice.”

“You, the perfect apprentice?” He looked at her with a short laugh. “You’re a high flyer and make no mistake.”

She smiled at the phrase. “Let’s go then. One of these keys must open the door to the steps.”

Jake drew back the heavy, rusted bolts. Cassy felt a thrill of excitement as she followed him along a gloomy passage and then turned a corner into sudden darkness. Cold air from the mine met them like a warning to turn back before it was too late. The wavering beam from Jake’s battery lamp threw into relief the fine dry-stone arching that looked as solid as the Tower of London.

The icy wall of air frosted Cassy’s lightly clad spine. The drop in temperature in just a few feet was startling. Jake took off his padded waistcoat, slung it over her shoulders with a gesture of impatience and began to button up the front.

“No…please,” she began to protest.

“Don’t argue. It’s going to be cold.”

He was throwing the beam around the walls, searching for something. Cassy did not move. She could not see where to put her feet. The blackness was terrifying but she stood her ground, not willing to admit fear.

“What are you looking for?”

“The main switch. There must be one. Let’s hope the electrics still work. If not, then you’ll have to go back.”

“Why?”

“You’re not going down the steps unless there’s electricity. You’d break an ankle or worse. It would be more sensible if you took some of the documents back to the inn.”

Cassy was tempted to go along with his suggestion. The dark and cold accentuated her feeling of unease. She had never tested the extent of her courage. Her childhood had been protected by one set of caring people after another although she remembered little of the early years with her parents in New Guinea. She had returned to England to board at a convent boarding school, spending most of the school holidays with her grandfather and Mrs. Hadlow. Both of her parents had died, within days of each other, from malaria. They were almost like strangers, dearly loved but having no impact on her daily routine. After the double funeral Cassy returned to school, never going back to Derbyshire.

Jake brushed past her and the contact was almost unbearable. She stumbled and quickly he drew her into the safe curve of his side.

“Steady now.”

“Don’t worry, I shan’t move until I can see exactly where I’m going.”

“Stick to that, Miss Ridgeway, and we’ll be underground in no time.”

There was a sharp edge of anticipation in his voice; Cassy supposed that every new mine, large or small, was a challenge. It enabled her to control her yearning for his closeness to continue.

He moved away, stooping under the low arched roof, his powerful shape caught in the crossed beams of light.

“Dammit. Must be somewhere,” she heard him muttering.

Cassy held the lamp steady with both hands, trying to be helpful by anticipating where he needed the light thrown. The stone walls glistened. Her eyes were getting used to the gloom and she saw to her left the flight of stone steps, descending and disappearing, plunging into utter blackness.