Thunder and Roses (16 page)

She shivered. “I see why you’re called the Demon Earl, for you talk the devil’s theology.”

“In the course of my education, quite a bit of religion was shoved down my throat. I don’t recall hearing that pleasure is inherently

wicked. Evil is hurting others, white passion is a source of mutual joy.” He started to walk toward her. “It’s past midnight—another day. Shall I collect my next kiss?”

“No!” She whirled and dashed out the door.

The last thing she heard was soft laughter. “You’re right—it would be a pity to use it so early. Until later, Clarissima.”

As she hastened through the hallways to the safety of her room, she thought a little wildly that whoever said it took a long spoon to sup with the devil was right, for Nicholas’s thinking was beginning to make sense to her.

Not only was she halfway to perdition—she was beginning to look forward to it.

9

 
When they came into sight of the mine, Nicholas reined in his horse and studied their destination. It was not a pleasant scene. The tallest structure was a chimney that poured dark smoke into the cloudy sky. Waste stone was heaped around the grimy buildings, and no trees grew for hundred of

yards.

Clare said, “The main shaft is right in the middle of those buildings. It’s used for ventilation, access, and lifting the coal out.” She gestured toward the left. “You can’t see it from here, but there is also a small older shaft, called the Bychan. These days it’s used mostly for ventilation, and sometimes for access to the south end of the pit.”

Though they were over a quarter of a mile away, the pounding of a steam engine was clearly audible. “Is that racket from the engine that pumps water from the pit?” Nicholas asked.

“Yes, it’s an old Newcomen engine. The modern Watts engines are much more powerful.”

He set his horse in motion and they rode down the hill. “Is the engine one of the problems?”

She nodded. “Not only is it too small for a mine this size, but it’s almost a hundred years old and unreliable.”

“Why hasn’t it been replaced? When Michael Kenyon bought the mine, he planned to modernize the equipment so production could be increased.”

“Lord Michael did make some improvements

in the first few months, but he soon lost interest and left the running of the mine to George Madoc,” she explained. “The mine has several old
adits
—underground tunnels that drain water from the lower levels—so Madoc decided that it would be a waste of money to buy a better pump. That’s also his excuse for using an old-fashioned whim gin to raise and lower loads. A modern steam winding engine would be faster, more powerful, and much safer.”

“Short-sighted thinking on Madoc’s part. New equipment would be expensive, but would pay for itself fairly soon. I’m surprised that Michael didn’t maintain control of the mine’s daily operations—he always had a shrewd head for business.”

Nicholas glanced at Clare. “As you know, the Davies family used to own the mine, but my grandfather considered it more bother than it was worth. Michael became interested in the mine when he visited me. He thought that with better management it could be very profitable, so he made an offer. My grandfather was delighted to be rid of the nuisance of running the mine as long as he retained ownership of the land.”

“So that’s why the mine changed ownership,” she said dryly. “No one bothered to explain to the people who worked there. It was said that Lord Michael took a passing fancy to the valley, so he bought a house and a business on impulse.”

“There’s some truth to that—Michael did fall in love with this part of Wales the first time he visited Aberdare. As a younger son, he wasn’t in line to inherit any land from his family, so he bought Bryn Manor at the same time he acquired the mine.” A thought occurred to Nicholas. “Has he neglected the house as thoroughly as he has the mine?”

“As far as I know, Lord Michael hasn’t set foot in the valley for years. At least another fifteen jobs were lost when Bryn Manor was closed.” Clare accompanied her second sentence with a pointed glance.

Nicholas winced. “The gentry hasn’t done very well by the valley, has it?”

“Things have been going wrong for years. Only desperation could have driven me to seek the aid of a reprobate like you.”

Seeing the mischievous gleam in her eyes, he said promptly, “At least that is turning out

well. Look at the splendid opportunity for Christian martyrdom that I’m giving you.”

Their gazes met, and they both burst out laughing. Damn, but he liked this woman and her tart sense of humor. She was more than capable of holding her own against him.

They both sobered as they reached the grim buildings. He asked, “What’s the ghastly racket coming from that big shed?”

“The coal is being screened and graded. Most of the above-ground employees work in there.”

He brushed at the smudges appearing on his white cuff. “It also appears to be the source of the coal dust that covers everything in sight.”

“Since you like wearing black, you shouldn’t mind.” She gestured toward a shed. “We can leave the horses here.”

As they dismounted, a compact, muscular man came forward. Clare said, “Lord Aberdare, this is Owen Morris.”

“Owen!” Nicholas held out his hand. Raising his voice to be heard over the noise of machinery and rattling coal, he said, “Clare didn’t mention the name of my guide.”

The miner smiled and shook hands. “I wasn’t sure you would recognize me after all these years.”

“How could I forget you? I showed other boys how to tickle trout, but you’re the only one who ever developed a real knack for it. Is Marged well?”

“Aye. Even lovelier than when we married,” Owen said fondly. “It’s pleased she’ll be that you remember her.”

“She was well worth remembering. Of course, I scarcely dared say hello to her, for fear that you’d break my neck.” As he spoke, Nicholas studied his old friend’s face. Under the coal dust Owen had the usual miner’s pallor, but he seemed healthy and happy. Even as a boy, he had had an enviable inner serenity.

Owen said, “You’d best change to pit dress. It would be a pity to ruin your fancy London clothes.”

Nicholas obediently followed Owen into a shed and stripped off his outer clothing, then put on a shirt, loose jacket, and sturdy trousers similar to what Owen wore. Though the coarse flannel garments had been carefully washed, they

were still impregnated with ancient grime.
 
He grinned as he added a heavily padded felt hat to complete the outfit. His London tailor would have
vapors
at the sight of him.

“Knot these through a buttonhole,” Owen ordered as he handed over two candles. “Do you have flint and steel?”

Nicholas did, but if he hadn’t been reminded, he would have left them in his own coat. As he transferred the tinderbox to the pocket of his flannel jacket, he said, “Anything else?”

The miner scooped a handful of soft clay from a wooden box and used it to form a lump around the base of two candles. “Take one of these. When we have to crawl, you can use the clay to fix the candle to your hat.”

They went outside and found Clare waiting, also dressed in pit costume. In the baggy garments, she looked like a young boy.

“You’re coming with us?” Nicholas asked with surprise.

“It won’t be my first trip down pit,” she said coolly.

With a surge of irrational protectiveness, he

wanted to forbid her to go, though he had the sense to hold his tongue. Not only had he no right to give Clare orders, but she had more experience with mines than he did. And, judging by her expression, she’d probably bite him if he tried to stop her. He smiled to himself. Not that he’d mind being bitten, but this wasn’t the time or place.

They had to circle around the whim gin to reach the pit mouth. The gin was a huge spindle that resembled a water wheel lying on its side. Turned by a team of horses, it powered the squealing pulleys that hung over the main shaft.

As they approached, a heaping basket of coal reached the top of the shaft. Two
laborers
swung the load to one side and dumped the contents into a wagon. As the coal rumbled into the wagon, an older man came out of a hut. “This your visitor, Owen?”

“Aye. Lord Aberdare, this is Mr. Jenkins, the
banksman
. He’s in charge of all that goes in or comes out of the pit.”

Nicholas offered his hand. After a startled moment, the
banksman
took it, gave a hasty shake, then touched the brim of his hat. “An

honor, my lord.”
                   

“On the contrary—visiting the pit is my privilege. I’ll try to stay out of people’s way.” He surveyed the open shaft. “How do we get down?”

Mr. Jenkins braked one of the pulleys to a halt and gave a rusty chuckle. “Light your candle from the one in the hut, then grab hold of the rope, my lord.”

Looking closer, Nicholas saw that the rope had a cluster of loops attached at varying levels. “Good God, that’s how people come and go from the pit? I thought that metal cages were the usual method.”

“In modern mines, they are,” Clare answered.

But Penreith was primitive and unsafe, which was why Nicholas was here. He watched Owen light his candle, then step into a loop and sit down, one hand casually holding the rope. Acutely aware that he was leaning over a sheer drop of hundreds of feet, Nicholas did the same. He felt that he was being tested. Being a peer of the realm counted for nothing here if he didn’t have the courage to do what every miner did daily.

Settling into the loop was nowhere as difficult as watching Clare do the same. As she stepped out over the abyss, Nicholas again had to clamp down on his protective instincts.

With a creak, the pulley began to turn and they dropped into the darkness, hanging from the rope like a cluster of onions. The candle flames swayed wildly as smoky air rushed past them. They revolved as they descended and Nicholas wondered if miners ever got dizzy and fell. Clare was perched slightly above him, so he kept his gaze on her slim back. If she had showed any signs of imbalance, he would have grabbed hold of her instantly. But she was as calm as if she were taking tea by her own hearth.

As the light at the top of the shaft diminished, he saw that a red dot below them was expanding. Earlier Clare had mentioned that a fire burned at the bottom of the shaft as part of the ventilation system. That explained the smoke and heat of the air rising around them; in effect, they were going down a chimney.

He glanced down again and saw that the fire had partially disappeared, obscured by a huge black object that was hurtling upward at lethal speed.

Instinctively he tensed, though God only knew what he could do to prevent a collision.

With an explosive impact of air, the object whipped by them, missing Owen by inches. The miner didn’t even blink. Nicholas expelled his breath with relief when he saw that it was only a basket of coal. Still, if the rope that held them had swayed more, one of them might have been struck. The mine definitely needed a steam winding engine and lift cages.

After about two minutes their descent slowed and they came to a halt several feet to one side of the roaring ventilation fire. As they
unlooped
themselves from the rope, Nicholas saw that they were in a large gallery. Several feet away, dust-blackened figures were loading another basket for lifting. He remarked, “This place bears a distinct similarity to the infernal regions your father used to describe with such relish.”

Clare smiled a little. “I should think you’d feel at home here, Old Nick.”

He smiled back, but one thing he did not feel was at home. The Romany half of him had always craved fresh air and open spaces, both of