For The Lady 0f Lowena (A Cornish Romance Book 2)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “I’m sorry for interrupting your work,” Sophia said, motioning to the tub of dark, murky water. “I can return another time if that suits you better.”

  “No, now be as good a time as any, miss. Ye can keep me company while I finish these dresses. Mama wishes them clean ‘fore the rain sets in and we be required to dry them indoors.”

  Sophia nodded, and Gwynna took up scrubbing the dress along the washboard once more.

  “You may call me Sophia, if you wish.”

  Gwynna arched her brows. “If it suits ye. How ye be farin’ at Lowena…Sophia?”

  She gave a little laugh after saying the name, as if she thought she was silly for speaking it. Sophia, however, was more than pleased to hear someone use her Christian name. It reminded her that she had a friend in this world.

  “I’m adjusting well enough,” she responded. “It is much more manageable now that I have accepted my circumstances. And I cannot complain living so near the sea.”

  “I’m sure ye didn’t have much view of the sea from Fynwary Hall.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Sophia’s mind wandered to her old home. With no view of the sea, she had no desire to stare out of the window longingly apart from when she was forced to play the pianoforte or read aloud to Mother.

  “Have ye been to Fynwary since ye left?”

  Sophia nodded. “Only a few days ago, though not inside.”

  “Pardon me, miss, but—”

  “Sophia,” she corrected.

  “Yes, Sophia. Beggin’ your pardon, but I wonder what could have compelled ye to return? I wouldn’t have had the courage to do the same.”

  “I didn’t go of my own accord, I assure you. Mr. Hawkins invited my family to attend a picnic he was hosting. My parents didn’t wish to accept, so they sent me in their stead to avoid Mr. Hawkins becoming cross.”

  Gwynna raised one eyebrow higher than the other. “Cross? Is Mr. Hawkins capable of bein’ cross?”

  Sophia pulled back. “Do you know the gentleman well?”

  “Only as our landlord, miss—Sophia. But he’s passed by here a time or two, helpin’ folks mend fences and roofs and such.”

  Sophia stared at the water Gwynna splashed farther up her apron. Of course Mr. Hawkins would be more than happy tending to his tenants. That was just the sort of man he was. Always generous, never angry. Unless, of course, a person was behaving the opposite of her true character.

  “Mr. Hawkins always be lively as he works, too,” Gwynna continued. “And he’s handsome. Don’t ye agree?”

  Gwynna’s amber eyes shimmered in the sunshine.

  “You are pressing me for information, Gwynna. Information I am unwilling to divulge.”

  Gwynna beamed, pleased with the information she did receive. “So did ye enjoy the picnic then? Even after your time at the ball?”

  Sophia hesitated. “Well, I will simply say that Mr. Hawkins made it more bearable.”

  Gwynna’s knowing smile was on Sophia again as she pulled the dress from the water and wrung out the fabric. “Well, I be glad it wasn’t terrible for ye. Though, I still be wonderin’ why ye’d attend a party ye don’t enjoy. I’m sure ‘tain’t as fine as what we have for our parties on the beach either.”

  Sophia tilted her head. “Parties on the beach?”

  Gwynna flapped the dress out, droplets of water sparkling in the sunshine as they flew through the air. “Ay. There be singin’, dancin’, horse racin’, games. Good food and drink, ‘course. The Causeys have parties often durin’ the warmer months. They returned from London only a day or two ago and have already sent ‘round invites for a gatherin’ on Tregalwen Beach come Friday.”

  “That certainly sounds exciting,” Sophia said. Far more exciting than sitting around listening to Mrs. Rennalls discuss ribbons with the ever-watchful Mrs. Maddern and the ever-silent Miss Kinsey.

  Gwynna swung the dress over the line that hung from the house to a small tree.

  “Ye ought to join us then,” she said with a bright smile, wiping her hands on her wet apron.

  “Oh. Thank you for the offer, but I couldn’t.”

  Gwynna propped her hands on her hips. “If ye be worryin’ over company, the Causeys are fine folk, as ye know. The Summerfields attend also, and a few other families. ‘Tain’t just upper class neither.”

  Sophia swallowed. “Yes, that is what I am more concerned about, the lower class.”

  Gwynna’s head sunk low, but not before Sophia caught the hurt darkening her eyes.

  “Oh, goodness, no,” Sophia rushed forth. “No, forgive me. I did not mean it in that regard. I only meant that perhaps I would not be welcomed by them. When I went to the mine with you, I was, well, stared at.”

  Understanding replaced the pain in Gwynna’s eyes. “That be because ye were a lady at a mine.”

  “No, it was more than that.” Sophia looked away. “They seemed to be unhappy with me. As if for a specific reason.”

  Especially Gwynna’s father.

  “What do ye mean?”

  “Well, I thought perhaps they didn’t wish me to be there due to my lowered status, or because they blame my father for what happened at the mine.”

  Gwynna’s eyes dimmed once more, but Sophia hardly noticed.

  “From what I understand, he was not paying them proper wages,” Sophia continued. “Of course they had every right to be displeased about that. However, I believe they blame him for the last incident that occurred, as do the investors. But how was Father to know a flooding would take place? He can hardly be blamed. At any rate, these collapses and floodings, they all occur rather frequently, do they not? It all seems rather inconsequential.”

  Gwynna didn’t respond. Her face had paled apart from her ruddy cheeks.

  Sophia paused. “Are you well, Gwynna?”

  “Yes, miss, but ye must forgive me. I need to make ready for Wheal Favour. Papa will be waitin’.”

  She backed up toward her house.

  “Oh, of course. Forgive me for causing you to be late.”

  Gwynna merely gave an awkward curtsy then turned on her heel and disappeared inside.

  Sophia was left standing alone next to the tub. She glanced down at the clothing still submerged in the filthy water.

  Gwynna had left before finishing her chore, and Sophia was certain the young woman didn’t need to depart for the mine yet. That meant that Sophia’s words had, for one reason or another, upset Gwynna enough to make her want to leave.

  And now Sophia was alone once again.

  With a sigh, she trudged away, leaving the Merrick’s home behind, wondering how she had managed to offend the one friend she thought she’d finally attained.

  * * *

  The next few days passed slowly for Sophia. She had attempted to see Gwynna twice since their last visit, but her knock went unanswered each time. Sophia wondered if perhaps the Merricks were simply busier at the mine, or if they had taken ill. Deep down, however, she knew she was being avoided.

  With a week having passed by since the picnic, and three days since seeing Gwynna, Sophia began to feel a mere shell of a person. Having had no contact with anyone, apart from her weakened mother and the ever-faithful Mrs. Cuff, she was anxious for company.

  She wandered across the cliffsides and the beach near the cottage, hour after hour, hoping to come across Gwynna or Mr. Hawkins. Even a stranger would do. But no one appeared.

  No one, until she spotted her father from afar, only now approaching the cottage.

  Sophia narrowed her eyes as he walked across the land. He moved slowly, his head so low he couldn’t see her.

  She didn’t know he had even left Lowena. To be fair, there was really no reason for her to know his whereabouts. She hadn’t seen him for days. She wasn’t exactly sure for how long, as he locked himself within his study so often, she never was sure if he was at home or away.

  “Good morning, Father,” she greeted as he approached.

  His head lifted, his ey
es falling flatly on hers. “Morning.”

  She refused to allow her spirits to sink at his less than enthusiastic response. He was tired, that was all.

  “Where have you been this morning?” she asked lightly.

  “St. Just.”

  He was in no mood to speak, but Sophia was. She needed to converse with someone, or she would go mad from the silence.

  He continued toward the cottage, Sophia following closely at his side. “Were you calling on a friend? Or was it a matter of business, perhaps?”

  By the look Father gave her, and the silence that followed, she knew he caught her inference. She was asking if he’d found work. And he was telling her that he had not.

  Sophia couldn’t understand it. As far as she was aware, apart from the meager funds he received from his small share in Wheal Favour, Father had yet to secure a way to fund their living at Lowena Cottage for much longer.

  If it was up to Sophia, she’d take work herself to help her family, but Father would never allow her to do such a thing. Not to mention the pay they would offer her would be pittance compared to what was needed to support a family of three.

  Whether he was working to solve their problem or not would have to be discovered later, as Sophia knew by her Father’s firmly set lips and sullen brow that he was displeased with the conversation. If she wished to speak further, she needed to change the subject.

  “Well, did you at least enjoy your time while in town?” she asked.

  “Is one capable of enjoying anything when one is this poor?”

  His words dripped with bitterness, his tone void of all hope. But his words weren’t true. After all, Gwynna and her family were not wealthy, but they were happy. Were they not?

  At the thought of the Merricks, Sophia’s brow furrowed, and she wondered again what she’d said to upset Gwynna. She knew it had something to do with the incident at the mine. Was she upset that Sophia had taken Father’s side? Did she blame Sophia and Father for the incident? Had a death occurred?

  Her breath caught, a knot tying in her stomach. A death. She’d been so absorbed in her own sorrow over Gwynna ignoring her that she had not even considered such a possibility until now.

  What if something had happened to one of Gwynna’s friends or even a family member? To be honest, she couldn’t recollect if there had been a death or not. Surely Father would remember.

  He hardly looked approachable with his down-turned lips and hardened eyes. Then again, he hadn’t looked cordial since before Lowena. She may as well speak with him now before he locked himself away again.

  “Father,” she began, carefully choosing her words, “do you recall the last time one of the shafts were flooded at Wheal Favour?”

  His jaw twitched. “I do.”

  “Were there any casualties?”

  He stopped walking, his sharp eyes on her in an instant. “Why?”

  She pulled back. “I was merely curious.”

  He ran his tongue along his lower lip, his voice strained as he spoke. “Yes, there were deaths.”

  An uneasiness crept over her, a looming dread, like the dark clouds creeping toward the shore that very moment. “How many suffered?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  Sophia knew he lied. But why did he? “Do you know the names of—”

  “Good heavens, Sophia. Why would you need to know such a thing?” His eyes were hard, cold.

  She sunk back. “No reason, Father. Forgive me.”

  His eye twitched, his mouth opening as if he wished to say something more, but he shook his head and plowed toward the house.

  As the door slammed behind him, Sophia’s bottom lip trembled, but she bit her tongue. She would not allow herself to cry. Not when she was determined to find the truth.

  She remained out of doors until the rain set in, then she moved inside and took her dinner in her room. There was no reason to dine downstairs. Her parents hadn’t eaten at the dinner table since Fynwary. They claimed there was no space. Sophia knew it was because they couldn’t face the reality of their circumstances.

  But Sophia could.

  She waited patiently in her room as darkness fell, her view of the sea finally disappearing as night crossed the land. She prodded at the fire in her hearth to keep the embers warm then placed a few logs on the flames. There was no need to call Edith to tend to her fire any longer, as Sophia was perfectly capable of doing so on her own.

  The fire crackled, and she stared, mesmerized by the dancing blaze until footsteps sounded, slogging up the stairs.

  She jumped up from her spot in front of the fire and moved to listen at her door, holding her breath as Father’s steps stopped nearby. A knock sounded on Mother’s door.

  There was no response.

  His footsteps, slower than before, slid down the corridor before entering the other room. When the latch sounded, Sophia knew Father had entered his room.

  Still, she needed to be sure he was settled for the night. After waiting nearly a quarter of an hour, silence having fallen over the house, Sophia ventured from her room.

  Slowly, she opened her door, pausing only when the creak echoed down the corridor. The light of her small candle flickered on the dark walls and across the wooden floor. When no responding sound came from her door’s disturbance, she stepped into the corridor, closed her door behind her, and fled toward the stairs on her tiptoes, her dressing gown fluttering behind her.

  She did not stop her progress until she reached Father’s study downstairs and her hand hesitated on the latch. Was she truly going to enter? Invade his privacy? She didn’t wish to betray his trust, but she needed to discover the truth about what had occurred at Wheal Favour. If he wasn’t going to tell her, she hoped to find something that would.

  With a resolute nod, she entered the study and pressed the door closed behind her.

  Casting her eyes about the room, she blew out an unsteady breath, the only sound apart from the rain plinking against the small window. She’d not been inside until that moment. It was nothing like Father’s old study—a quarter of the size, holding only one bookshelf, a small desk with thin legs, and an uncomfortable-looking chair with a wicker back. The walls were bare, and the floor was covered with scratch marks from the furniture.

  How Father remained in such a depressing room for so long was beyond her. But now was not the time to wonder about such things. She needed to be about her business or risk the chance of being discovered.

  Though, she had no idea for what she was looking. A letter, perhaps? A document mentioning Wheal Favour? Anything would do, so long as her questions were answered.

  She moved straight to the desk and opened the three small drawers, thumbing through correspondences and spare pieces of paper. Yet, nothing stood out, not a single mention of the mine written anywhere.

  Had Father disposed of all the old documents he had? Or had he simply transported them to the mine for Mr. Trevethan to keep when the man took over ownership of the mine?

  She took a step back from the desk and placed her hands on her hips, sighing with disappointment. Whatever the answer, it was clear that her search was in vain. There was nothing of consequence in the study. She might as well leave before someone discovered her prying.

  She turned to depart, but her eyes caught sight of a folded piece of paper peeking out from beneath a few books on top of the desk.

  She settled the candle on the desk and leaned down toward the paper, sliding it out from under the books and eying the writing on top. It was a correspondence addressed to Father in a hand she did not recognize.

  She glanced to the door, her heart tapping against her chest. Fold by fold, she opened the broken seal. Her eyes moved first to the signature at the bottom.

  Mr. Peter Trevethan

  Once one of Father’s investors in Wheal Favour. Now the owner. With haste, she read his words.

  Mr. Rosewall,

  I trust this letter finds you well. My intention of writing you today is twofold, one of ad
visement, the other, business.

  First, I understand you have been somewhat oppressed of late. Not only because of your reduced circumstances, but also because of the guilt you undoubtedly feel after the flooding at the mine. I must say, though we did advise the use of an extra surveyor, you could not have known further blasting would produce such an incident. Nor, I’m certain, would you have wished for one. Because of this, I suggest you attempt to forget the mishap and move forward with your life and with your family. You will feel all the better for it.

  Sophia paused in her reading. She recalled that night many weeks before, when Father had revealed that he’d sold the mine. He’d told them that the investors had lost faith in him after the decisions he’d made. Was not using an extra surveyor one of those decisions? A surveyor that would have looked over the mine, found any weaknesses in the structure, and ensured its safety to be worked?

  She’d not given Father’s decisions a second thought before, too concerned with her own well-being. But now her stomach tossed with unease as she continued reading Mr. Trevethan’s words.

  Now I will move to the business portion of my correspondence. After reading over the papers you left with me, I discovered a discrepancy in the number of deaths caused by the flooding. I believe there were six, and yet, only four names are recorded.

  A chill slid over Sophia, colder than any bitter draft in her room, icier than any freezing rain sliding down her back.

  Six. Six deaths. Were they older fathers? Or younger brothers and sons? She knew mining was a dangerous occupation, but never before had she realized, never before had she truly considered the full scope of what had occurred.

  Death. Death that could have been spared had her father followed the advice of others.

  She pressed a hand to her mouth and continued reading, disparaging feelings swirling round her heart.

  I have asked a few other gentlemen and miners if they recall the names of those who drowned, but I should like help from a few sources, to be certain the information is correct. As you know, I prefer a proper recording of the happenings here at Wheal Favour. As such, I would greatly appreciate your help in this regard. Names, as well as ages, would be most beneficial.