Through the Smoke (42 page)

She just hoped he wasn’t too bad off already.

Whether she got lucky enough to save him or not, she had to do
something,
and she had to do it fast. If the men she could hear in the mine were planning murder, the earl would be dead before she could bring help. Whoever was down there couldn’t allow themselves to be found inside the mine come morning, and it was inching closer and closer to dawn.

Bringing the cage up so she could use it was much harder than she had anticipated, however. It was possible to lower oneself down—she had seen plenty of men do it—but she had never had to do it herself. Just lifting the metal contraption to the surface proved difficult. She tried to pace herself with a pull, a deep breath, a pull and a deep breath. But the strain caused her arms to shake, and the squeal of the rusted pulleys stretched her nerves taut. Whoever was down there had to be able to hear the noise.

Would they be waiting for her when she reached the bottom?

Once she saw the glimmer of the moon hit the cage, she breathed a sigh of relief that she had managed thus far and hesitated to listen again.

All had gone quiet. Were they in a panic? Would they soon come rushing toward the entrance?

She held her breath and almost collapsed in relief when the same steady hum rose to her ears. Whoever had been talking was still talking. Nothing had changed. But she couldn’t take a regular lantern into the mine, not with the firedamp down there, or she could cause an explosion. She would need a Davy lamp, and she would need a weapon—a pick, if she couldn’t find anything else. That meant she had to figure out a way to break into the supply shed behind the main office.

Fortunately, that wasn’t as hard as she’d anticipated. There were several picks lying around, together with shovels and other tools. They were old and rusted—nothing anyone cared much about—but she was able to use one of the better picks to smash open the door so she could get a safety lamp and some oil.

Her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest as she hurried back to the cage. Putting the pick and the light at her feet so she could use both
hands, she slowly and painstakingly lowered herself down. She refused to imagine what she might encounter when she got there. It took all of her concentration not to let the coarse rope slide through her hands so she wouldn’t go crashing to the bottom.

“I’m coming,” she whispered over and over to herself.

Because of the darkness, she had no way of estimating when she would reach the flats. Thanks to that, she landed with a solid thud, but at least it wasn’t as bad as it could have been had she been going any faster.

The smell, so familiar from when she had worked here, curdled her blood. She hated this place, feared it like no other. Tommy had died here. She couldn’t say if he had been killed quickly or had to suffer for several days, because it had taken a week to dig out the bodies of the five who had died. She didn’t want to face the same end. She would rather die any other way.

But she couldn’t bear the thought of Truman being harmed. So, as quietly as possible, she climbed out, got the pick and the light and began to follow the sound.

The men weren’t far. She had known that going in. If they were very deep she would never have been able to hear them, wouldn’t have known they were even here. She decided to be grateful for that one small thing—that she wouldn’t have to go into the nether regions of the mine, where it was less ventilated and far more dangerous.

It was only a few seconds later that she could pick out distinct voices from the steady drone of earlier. Fortunately, the men were just past where the tunnel curved to the right—at the loading dock—so her light didn’t give her away.

She had expected to recognize Cutberth’s voice as the dominant one. He had been asked to meet the earl at the office and was the most recent person to lose his job, so it made sense. But as Rachel crept closer to where the tunnel turned, she recognized
Wythe’s
voice and stopped.

What was
he
doing here? She’d assumed he had gone to Elspeth’s. Had he been there and back? Did that mean Mr. Linley had found him—or not?

It didn’t appear that he had. None of the men had brought their horses. Maybe that was how Wythe had slipped away from the butler.

“Like Thornick just said, we been loyal to ye. We ’aven’t told a soul what we know.”

A fresh wave of chills went through Rachel, and these had nothing to do with the cold. Collingood was speaking. She easily recognized his voice. So… Wythe was with Collingood and Thornick? Had they formed an alliance? Was that part of the reason he had assigned her to Number 14 Stall? So he could better keep her under his thumb?

No wonder he had been so reluctant to sack those men.
She is only a village wench, my lord. Some of these miners have worked for us for years. We arrived in time. There wasn’t any harm done. Couldn’t we leave them with a warning and be about our business?

“But ye ’aven’t paid us a farthin’ for months.” Thornick’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Ye got us to come all the way out ’ere in the middle of the bleedin’ night, thinkin’ ye ’ad some coin for us at last, and all we’re gettin’ is more bloody excuses!”

“I couldn’t meet you in town. I was afraid I would be followed. It took long enough making sure I could safely come out this direction.”

“A waste of effort, if ye ask me. Yer all talk.”

That was Henderson, Rachel realized. So he was here too.

“You have to give me more time,” Wythe responded.

“Time? ’Ow do ye expect us to survive? ’Tis not like we’re workin’ these days!” Henderson snapped.

“That wasn’t
my
doing,” Wythe told him. “You have only yourselves to blame for that.”

“But we should be able to fall back on yer promises. We’ve done our part.”

That was Greenley chiming in. All four of the hewers she had worked with were here.

“Have you?” Wythe challenged. “The earl knows that someone tried to hire Jack McTavish to fire the manse. That is what made him turn his attention to Creswell and this colliery, and none of us has been able to breathe since. I wouldn’t have to fear being followed if one of you hadn’t talked. So it’s your own fault you’re no longer getting paid.”

“Easy for ye ter say,” Thornick grumbled.

“Yer cousin ’as more money than ’e knows what to do with,” Greenley said. “Surely ye can figure out a way to get us what we need.”

“You received a month’s worth of wages.”

“An’ it’s been over a month,” Thornick complained. “’Ow long did ye expect the money to last? We got families to feed. Bills to pay.”

“I guess you should have thought of that before you tried to rape Rachel McTavish.”

“Ye said we could ’ave whatever fun with ’er we wanted,” Thornick said, obviously appalled by Wythe’s comment.

“That’s true,” Henderson concurred. “Ye even said to make it rough. That there would be a
bonus
in it if we would.”

“Or ’ave ye forgotten?” Greenley asked.

“That didn’t include
rape
,” Wythe replied.

“It didn’t
ex
clude it, either.” Collingood again. “Just ’ave Cutberth pay a friend of ours for a little more than he actually hews, an’ ’e’ll slip us the difference. Problem solved.”

“Except that Tyndale keeps too close a watch on the mine’s productivity. Cutberth would never do it anyway. He’s scrupulous about that sort of thing. You know him and his bloody ideals. He will risk his job to start a union, but he won’t steal a halfpenny, even from a man who’s rich as a king.”

“Cutberth’s a man of integrity,” Henderson said.

“Don’t act like he’s some kind of hero,” Wythe snapped. “If he knew you were the ones who approached Jack, he would turn you in so fast your heads would spin.”

Henderson didn’t let that deter him. He jumped in to defend Cutberth again. “Because he’s an ’onest man. We all know that, an’ we respect ’im for it.”

“Honest or not, he had better watch himself,” Wythe said. “When I am earl, I won’t tolerate any secret meetings. And there will be no profit-sharing, either.”

“Profit-sharing?”

The rocks were beginning to cut into Rachel’s back, she was pressing into them so hard. The earl wasn’t here. She should go. But she was learning so much, so much she could take back to him, providing Cutberth hadn’t killed him.
They
thought Cutberth admirable; she was no longer so sure.

“Forget it, for now,” Wythe said.

“Sounds as if ye’re plannin’ to take over soon,” Greenley said.

“It won’t be long.” The earl’s cousin sounded supremely confident.

“It will if ye don’t start payin’ up,” Thornick said. “Ye ’ave three days. Then we go to Druridge.”

From what Rachel could tell, Wythe didn’t seem the least bit frightened. “It won’t do you any good. By now those paintings have been destroyed. I sent someone over to do it hours ago. He won’t have the proof necessary to save his own neck, regardless of what you say.”

“Our testimony will count for somethin’!” Greenley said.

“It will show you are out to get me—the man who sacked you. Nothing more.”

Rachel had heard enough. She needed to get out before they decided to leave and discovered her listening in.

She had just started for the lift, however, when the arguing got worse. Wythe shouted that he refused to let anyone threaten him. Then she heard two gunshots, fired in rapid succession followed by an exclamation of surprise and some groaning, cursing and scuffling.

Covering her mouth to keep from screaming, she started to run. But once she reached the lift, she was so shaken she couldn’t climb into it. She fell on her first attempt. She managed to get in on the second, but she feared she was making entirely too much noise. Surely Wythe had heard the crash of her lantern when she fell.

She didn’t want him to know anyone else had been in the mine, but she didn’t have time to gather what she had brought.

It doesn’t matter. Go
. She had to reach the surface.
Fast
.

Footsteps pounded toward her. Apparently, he
had
heard. She grabbed the rope attached to the pulley but was so filled with panic, she couldn’t lift the cage, didn’t have the strength for it.

A light appeared as someone rounded the corner, and she heard a shout: “Stop right there!”

It was Wythe. She had no idea what had happened to the others, but they didn’t seem to be coming.

Were they dead? She feared they were and knew this mine would be her grave too, if she couldn’t haul herself up.

Staring at the darkness above her as if she could fly toward it, she yanked on the rope. It took all of her willpower and every last ounce of energy, but the bucket began to rise, inch by inch.

“Come on,” she muttered, straining for all she was worth. She managed to lift herself another few feet and some more once again. But she wasn’t going nearly fast enough. Wythe reached the rope system she was using before she could get all the way to the top, and he began pulling her back down.

Truman sat on his horse, side by side with his butler, staring up at the brothel. Although they were gone now, the paintings had been there. He was sure of it. According to the girl who had let them in and allowed them to search, Elspeth had removed four large, rectangular objects from the attic two days ago. They had been loaded onto an old wagon and taken somewhere—she didn’t know where. Then, shortly after supper, Elspeth had packed her bags and left.

“For good?” he’d asked.

“She told me I could ’ave the brothel, my lord.”

He had no idea what Madame Soward had planned. But at least he had encountered some evidence that the Bruegels had existed after the fire. That alone made Truman feel as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The mysterious objects she had removed, together with his memories, made him feel confident if they hanged him for Katherine’s murder, they would be hanging an innocent man. He wasn’t the one who had hurt her. He wasn’t guilty of starting the fire, even in his rage. He had merely shown up at the wrong time, and he had nearly lost his life, just as she had.

If not for Wythe, he would have died. So… who had started the fire?

“We had better hurry, my lord,” Linley said. Truman had encountered his butler while following Cutberth to the village after their meeting at the mine. He had wanted to see what the sacked clerk might do, wanted to make sure he wouldn’t visit some of the miners on his way home and stir up trouble. But just as he approached the outskirts of the village, riding well behind his quarry so he wouldn’t tip him off, he had found Linley plodding along
the same road. And once he’d heard what his butler was about, he had eagerly accompanied him to the brothel, where they had searched every room—whether they interrupted what was going on inside them or not. Fortunately, it had been a slow night for business.

They had gone into the cellar and attic, too, and found the spot where something had been stored that was now gone.

“If we start off right away, maybe we can find Elspeth,” Linley said.

Truman finally turned away. He too wanted to go after Madame Soward, but it wasn’t realistic to think they would be able to find her tonight. She could be almost anywhere and, at this hour, she was probably holed up somewhere asleep, not out on the road. It wasn’t safe for a woman to travel at night, especially with such expensive cargo. Not only that but Mr. Linley wasn’t looking well. The many hours on horseback and the lack of rest had been hard on him. Truman needed to get him to the manse, where he could recover.