Four Regency Rogues

‘Are they still banging?’ Bailey asked.

‘I thought I heard them, but ’tis difficult to be sure. ’Tis not as loud as it was.’

‘Who’s next down?’

‘Joe and Paddy.’

Roland was thoughtful, remembering boyhood adventures with Jacob Edwards exploring the holes and caves in the hills. Their parents never knew or they would certainly have been forbidden to go anywhere near them. ‘There might be some way of diverting the water and draining the level, enough for the men to be able to wade out.’ He went back to where the engineer had left his maps and began studying them. ‘I remember when I was a child, we used to explore the underground caves. Some were dry, some had water in them. If we could find the source of the water and divert it…’ He pointed. ‘There. There is a sump there. I remember we used to dive through it.’ He began stripping off his clothes until he was down to breeches and shirt. ‘You keep on trying to reach them, I am going down to have a look.’

‘My lord,’ Bailey protested. ‘It is too risky.’

Roland ignored him, grabbed a helmet with a candle on it and started to run up the side of the hill towards the smelting mill. ‘Bring a rope,’ he shouted behind him. ‘A hammer, a drill and some explosive.’

A quick search about the tussocky grass and boulders that littered the hillside revealed a hole. It was smaller than he remembered it, but at the time he had been a boy, not a full-grown man. Robert Bailey followed with two men, one of whom carried a coil of rope. Roland took it from him and tied the end round him under his arms while another man lit the candle on the helmet and handed it to him. ‘Pay it out as I go,’ he said, lowering himself into the hole and taking the tools and explosive from the engineer. ‘If I give two sharp tugs, that means haul me up, and three tugs means tie it off. I’ll release myself before carrying on.’

‘My lord, I do not think you should be doing this.’

He ignored the engineer’s protests. ‘Tell your men not to give up digging.’ He was almost out of sight when he added. ‘Has anyone alerted Miss Cartwright?’

‘No, we did not want to worry her in the middle of her ball.’

‘I think she would want to be told,’ he said and continued to descend. He smiled grimly. Charlotte would be furious at being kept in the dark, especially if lives were lost and the rumour went round that she had been enjoying herself while her men were dying.

Charlotte, who had spent what was left of the night after the ball ended going over and over her predicament, tossing ideas this way and that to no good effect, emerged from her darkened room the next morning and told Emily her headache had gone. She had drunk too much wine, become too hot and gone outside in the damp air to cool down. Oh, she knew it had been a foolish thing to do and she had suffered for it, but now she was well again.

‘Good,’ Lady Ratcliffe said. ‘I expect we shall have any number of callers today, paying their respects and complimenting you on the success of the ball, though I found it disappointing in one respect.’

‘Oh, what is that?’

‘The Earl did not stay and he was closeted with Martha Brandon alone for several minutes. It can only mean one thing.’

‘So?’

‘You have lost him.’

‘I never had him.’

‘You could have done.’

‘I did not, do not, want the Earl of Amerleigh for a husband, Aunt, I wish you would believe it. Now I am going to get ready for church.’ She was determined to go, if only to prove that what had happened at the ball had not in any way affected her. Determined to prove her un-hoydenish-ness, she dressed in a forest-green taffeta day gown, a short green velvet cape and a straw hat with a green ribbon.

If she had expected to see the Earl at the service, she was disappointed. The Countess and Mr and Mrs Temple and Captain Hartley took their places in the family pew without him, a fact that had the congregation looking at each other with raised eyebrows. Charlotte concentrated on the service and pretended not to notice. As she and her aunt were leaving, Lady Brandon and Martha joined them. Charlotte bade them good morning with a smile that she hoped would cover the cracks in her armour.

‘I had to be the first to congratulate you on your ball,’ Lady Brandon said, falling in beside her as she made her way to her curricle. ‘And to tell you what happened between the Earl and Martha. It would be dreadful if tattlers like Lady Gilford came to you with the wrong tale. I want you to be able to tell them the truth.’

‘The truth about what?’

‘The Earl of Amerleigh offered for Martha, but she refused him.’

‘Refused him?’

‘Yes,’ Martha put in placidly. ‘I told him we should not suit.’

‘But why?’

‘I do not like him well enough—is that not reason enough?’

‘The poor man is devastated,’ her ladyship put in when Charlotte did not answer. ‘He told Martha he would have to leave Amerleigh to make a recovery from his disappointment. Goodness knows where he has gone, but I heard he left this morning.’

‘Oh.’ He had obviously made the offer when he and Martha disappeared from the ballroom, and that was before meeting her in the garden. Had he kissed her again out of disappointment or to prove something to himself? Or her? Oh, if only she knew! But what would knowing what was going on in that complex brain of his avail her? ‘But how can he be gone? There is so much he still has to do here.’

‘No doubt someone else will do it. It is his mother I feel sorry for, that she should lose him again so soon after him coming home. And she was so happy too. I could spank Martha, I really could.’

‘Mama, I told you, it would not serve. We should make each other miserable and he agreed with me.’

‘I never heard such nonsense, you had him in the palm of your hand, and you let him get away. I hope he realises it was your shyness over the honour he did you that made you answer in the negative and will ask you again.’

‘He said he was going away.’

‘So he did, but he won’t be gone for ever, will he? When he comes back, we will arrange a quiet supper party, to welcome him back. He must know that young ladies do not always accept an offer on the first time of asking; it keeps a man on his toes to turn him down at first. He will ask again or I shall want to know the reason why.’

Charlotte did not want to talk about the Earl and was glad when they reached the carriages and went their separate ways. The sooner she forgot the Earl and what had happened, the better; the man was not worth her anguish. She would go for a ride and gallop herself into a better frame of mind.

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.

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