His lips twisted in a wry and distinctly self-deprecating smile. “Don’t worry. By tomorrow, I’ll have come around and will be my usual irrepressibly positive self again.”
But he wasn’t his usual indefatigably confident self now, and he’d come to her for comfort, for support.
She felt her heart squeeze. She released his arms and ran her hands down to grasp and grip his hands. “We will come about.”
He sighed. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” More quietly, he said, “But sometimes even I find myself asking Fate: What is it going to take?”
* * *
The bad news started to filter through the ranks of the captives in midafternoon.
During the usual brief midday break, Dixon, Caleb, Lascelle, Hillsythe, Fanshawe, and Hopkins, along with the carpenters and several of the men assisting with the work in the farther reaches of the second tunnel, had been notable by their absence. Anxious glances had been cast toward the mine, and by the time Kate, with Annie, went out to check through the children’s daily discards, rumors abounded.
One of the girls, Heather, fixed her gaze on Kate’s face. “Do you know if it’s true, miss?”
Kate hesitated, but she couldn’t not answer. “I’m not sure—I haven’t heard. Until Captain Dixon tells us what he’s found, none of us really know.” She managed a smile. “Best not to worry until we know we have cause.”
Isolated in the cleaning shed, until then, none of the women had heard the rumors. While she and Annie were with the children, Kate noticed Caleb and Lascelle going into the cleaning shed; despite the setback in the mine, apparently the men hadn’t forgotten about tacking the canvas pockets beneath the women’s stools.
Later, as she and Annie walked back to the shed, Annie murmured, “That was good advice you gave, about not worrying. Not that it’s going to stop anyone doing it.” She glanced toward the mine. “I just hope they tell us straight and don’t think to keep it to themselves.”
Kate could only agree.
When evening fell and they all gathered about the fire pit, the mood was subdued. And that was before Dixon made any report. Just one look at the men’s faces—so many grim and strained—was enough to tell everyone that the situation had lurched toward the dire.
Finally, once the meal had been consumed and the plates ferried back to the kitchen and washed and stacked, and everyone was back around the fire pit, Caleb, not Dixon, who was seated alongside him, stirred—instantly attracting everyone’s attention.
Once he was assured of that, Caleb said, “We finally completed shoring up the lower level of the second tunnel, and Captain Dixon and several of the rest of us have crawled down and inspected the rock face—essentially the continuation of the pipe of diamonds we’re mining on the upper level.”
He spoke calmly, factually, with no hint of dismay or desperation detectable in his tone. “As you all know, the deposit on the upper level is densely packed with diamonds. We’d hoped that deposit continued with the same density of stones on the lower level.” He looked around the circle, scanning all the faces. “Sadly, that hope has not been borne out. For some geological reason, the diamonds in that pipe have been pushed into the section on the upper level. Overall, the number of diamonds in the second deposit is likely similar to what was in the first, but almost all the stones are in the rock face we’ve already exposed along the upper level, making them readily accessible.”
He paused, allowing his words to sink in, then continued, “The reality is that there are very few diamonds in the lower level of the second deposit.”
Again, he paused. Seated tonight with the women and several logs from him, across the fire pit, Kate met his gaze.
For a moment, he returned her regard, then his gaze passed on. “The most important—indeed, crucial—aspect of this situation that we all must strive not to forget is that while we now know that this is the reality, Dubois and his men do not.”
Kate heard the compelling steel in his voice as his tone changed from informative to commanding. When they spoke around the fire pit, they all kept their voices down; the guards weren’t close, but strong voices might carry. So Caleb was speaking quietly, yet he still managed to fix the attention of every man, woman, and child about the circle.
“We have not reached a point of surrender—a time when there’s no more hope. Not yet. We can still come about, and we will. But the first thing we all must remember is to say and do nothing that might bring on one of Dubois’s inspections of the mine.”
Caleb paused to let everyone absorb what he was saying, then went on, “He came into the second tunnel six days ago. If he follows what I’ve been told is his usual pattern, he won’t come into the mine again for at least the next four days. We’re going to use that time to plan our way forward. Meanwhile, the stockpile in the mine is growing, and we’ve taken steps to start another in the cleaning shed.” He looked at the children. “Tomorrow, Mr. Hillsythe, Lieutenant Hopkins, and Miss Katherine will come and talk to you children about setting up another type of stockpile among your piles. We need you to be extra careful, but we need you to be a part of this, too. We’ll each have our roles to play”—the quality of his voice changed, effortlessly capturing them all—“and if we all pull together, we’ll still be here when the rescue force arrives.”
He paused, then went on, quieter, somehow calmer, “That’s what our goal is, and we—each of us—need to never take our eyes from it.” He looked around the circle, meeting everyone’s eyes fleetingly but with intent, including every person. “We can do this, and we will. Remember that.”
Kate felt emotion well up—pride, and something finer. She could feel a tide of dogged commitment rising in all those around the circle. He’d used his gift and turned that tide from despair, not to hope—not yet—but to resolution.
He’d given them what they needed.
He turned to speak with Dixon, who looked a trifle less grim. Gradually, the usual groups formed, talking quietly. Then the women rose, gathered the children, and shepherded them off to their hut and their hammocks.
Kate lingered by the pit. She circled to come up beside Caleb; he was speaking with Hillsythe. She rested her hand on his shoulder. Without glancing at her, he reached up and closed his hand over hers, holding it there.
Then Hillsythe nodded and turned to speak with Fanshawe, and Caleb lifted her hand, rose, swung around, and stepped over the log on which he’d been sitting.
She met his gaze. “From all of us, thank you.”
His self-deprecating grin flashed. “No need. It’s my role—it’s what I do.”
“No. It’s what you are—who you are.” And without him, they—Dubois’s captives—would have fallen apart. If he hadn’t come, if he hadn’t been captured, where would they have been?
About him, men were getting to their feet and heading into the mine for the evening shift. He glanced at them, then looked back at her. “I have to go.”
“I know.” She held his gaze. “Come to me later. I’ll wait up.”
His trademark charming smile curved his lips. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “All right. I will.”
She tipped her head to the mine. “Go.”
He released her and did.
Kate turned away. She didn’t look back but walked slowly across the darkened compound toward the women’s hut.
* * *
At midnight, Caleb left the mine with the other men who had worked the last shift—one group mining the diamond-bearing ore in a short section of the second tunnel as slowly as they could, while another gang had broken useless rock at the far end of the first tunnel.
He didn’t head to the men’s hut with the others but strode across the compound, his gaze on the slender figure seated on the porch of the women and children’s hut.
She rose as he neared and, as she had the night befo
re, met him at the base of the steps.
Tonight, however, she walked openly into his arms, and they shared a much more tender kiss.
Then she drew back, wound her arm in his, and, without a word, started them strolling counterclockwise around the compound, just as they so often had.
Bemused, he shook his head. How had she known that this was exactly what he needed? This simple reminder that she was there, waiting to embark on a future with him. The promise of gentleness in his life, of hope and succor—the sort of succor a man like him needed.
Tonight...the situation was so fraught, the tension so high, he couldn’t focus on anything else and wouldn’t trust himself to properly handle any other intense interaction.
But he’d needed this.
Her silent company, her unstated support, and the quiet, soothing cloak of her love.
Did she love him?
He rather thought she did. He certainly hoped she did, for he most definitely loved her.
But all that was for later, as they’d agreed. Now...
He sighed. Then softly said, “I have to go back.”
She didn’t look up at him but continued facing forward as they strolled. “Into the mine?”
“Yes. We need to plan.”
They’d circled the barracks and drew level with the mine entrance. She glanced that way, saw no light shining, and frowned.
“We’ve doused all the lanterns. The others will be waiting not far inside.”
She went to draw her arm from his, but he tightened his hold and kept her with him. “I’ll walk you back to your hut.”
He heard the wry amusement in her voice as she asked, “Is that you being gallant or not wanting the guards to notice you leaving me walking alone?”
He pondered for a moment, then asked, “Can’t it be both?”
At that, she laughed.
The sound remained with him, echoing in his heart as, after seeing her into the women’s hut, he walked back to the men’s hut, then slipped into the shadows and followed them into the mine.
He came upon Jed Mathers and one of the other men just inside the mine entrance.
“We’re keeping watch,” Jed murmured. “Just in case any of the guards happen to wander in.”
Caleb nodded. He clapped Jed on the shoulder and continued on, stepping carefully in the gloom.
He was used to the weight of command, but he’d never taken on such a heavy burden before. Shouldering responsibility for men was something he was accustomed to, but having women and children involved added several more layers, and weightier layers at that, to the load.
Hillsythe had insisted that he—Caleb—be the one to speak to the captives as a whole, and Dixon and the others as well as Phillipe, who knew him and his abilities better than most, had agreed.
But he knew that the trick to keeping spirits high, to carrying people with him, rested on ensuring that better times came. People could bear a great deal of hardship and adversity as long as they could see at least a glimmer of sunshine on the road ahead. Now it was up to him to find that road and lead them toward their metaphorical sunshine.
He made his way to where the others were waiting, a few yards inside the second tunnel. They weren’t in complete darkness, but the lantern they’d set on the rocky floor was turned down to a bare gleam; as they stood in a loose group around it, leaning in various poses against the tunnel’s rough walls, the pale glow lit their faces from below, transforming their features into haggard masks and distorting expressions.
Hillsythe shifted, making way for Caleb to prop his shoulder against the wall beside him. As he did, Hillsythe murmured, “We took another quick look into the lower level before we turned the lantern down.”
Dixon, beyond Hillsythe, raked a hand through his hair. “Given the way the stones are all but falling out of the wall along here”—he waved at the rock face on the opposite side of the tunnel—“then my best guess is that we’ve got a week. Maybe ten days, depending on how well we stretch things out.”
“That takes us to mid-August at best.” Hillsythe’s tone was noncommittal; he was merely stating a fact.
Caleb glanced across the tunnel at Phillipe, who was leaning against the rock face directly opposite Caleb. Phillipe’s expression gave nothing away, but when his gaze met Caleb’s, Caleb could sense the tension underlying his friend’s outer calmness. He and Phillipe had faced difficult—indeed, deadly—situations before. In the present case, Phillipe recognized the danger, but he knew they weren’t at their last gasps yet.
Next to Phillipe, Fanshawe looked close to defeat, but not yet quite there—as if he was looking defeat in the eye and seeing no way around it. Beyond him, Hopkins appeared rather more resilient. Hopkins was younger and less willing to give up hope. More, beneath his easygoing demeanor lay strength and determination—the sort that never yielded.
Caleb shifted his gaze to Dixon. He rapidly took stock of the engineer’s drawn face and decided that Dixon was holding up better than he’d expected. Which was fortunate, as Dixon and his expertise had a critical role to play in Caleb’s plan.
As for Hillsythe...he was Wolverstone’s man, which told Caleb all he needed to know. He could rely on Hillsythe to do whatever needed to be done, effectively and efficiently.
“We need,” Caleb stated, “to approach this step by step.” Within this group, however it had happened, there was no longer any pretense that he wasn’t the one in charge—that he wasn’t the ultimate captain of their troops. “As I said earlier, at this moment, the preeminent danger for us lies in Dubois inspecting the lower level, or in any way learning of the dearth of diamonds there. He’s seen this”—he waved at the rock face opposite—“and because of that, we’ve had to increase the output of stones enough to account for it. If he sees the lower level, he’ll throw all the men into mining this stretch. Once he does that, nothing we do will be able to slow production enough—not without Dubois realizing, and we all know we can’t afford to find out what twisted punishments he’ll devise.
“However, if we block off the lower level before Dubois or any of his henchmen see it, then you, Dixon, can feed him the line that the rock face down there is every bit as good as it is up here.” Caleb caught Dixon’s gaze. “You thought it would be. All the unconscious signals Dubois would have picked up from you would have him expecting that. If the lower level of the tunnel collapses, but you tell him the deposit down there was just the same—or possibly even better—than the deposit up here, what’s he going to believe?”
“More importantly,” Hillsythe said, “what’s he going to do?”
“He’s going to have us mining this level as we have been—assuming the collapse doesn’t cave this in as well.” Dixon’s face suggested he was already calculating the possibilities.
“But,” Hopkins said, “if he believes there are more diamonds in the lower level, he’ll have a decent-sized gang working on opening that up again.”
“And,” Caleb put in, “given the tunnel there will have caved in once, we’ll have reason to go extra carefully, which means extra slowly.”
“Well,” Dixon said, “obviously we won’t ever go so far as to actually reopen the lower level, but yes—after a cave-in, it’s easy to excuse moving very cautiously.”
Phillipe stirred. “There’s another consideration. Mercenaries tend to be superstitious. If there’s a cave-in, you won’t get many of them venturing into the mine, certainly not far, no matter what orders Dubois or his lieutenants give.”
“And Dubois’s own aversion to being in the mine will only increase,” Hopkins pointed out, “so he, and Arsene and Cripps, too, will be even less likely to wander in, routine inspections be damned.”
“Which will give us a free hand in managing what’s done in the tunnels.” Hillsythe nodded. “That’s a valuable benefit in its own right.�
�
Caleb stared into the gloom farther down the second tunnel, then he looked at Dixon. “So...how do we go about blocking off the lower level?”
Dixon heaved a heavy sigh, then he looked at Hillsythe, then at Caleb, then at the other three. “It can be done, but it’s dangerous. I don’t mean dangerous in the usual sense but hellishly dangerous and on multiple levels.”
“Explain.” Caleb hunkered down, resting his back against the tunnel wall.
The others did the same.
After several moments of cogitation, Dixon said, “We’ll need to weaken the framing at the entrance to the lower level. The way we’ve constructed the bracing in the lower level, it’s all...anchored, for want of a better term, by the framing around the opening, where we’ve stepped the level down.” He paused, transparently mentally reviewing the structure he’d engineered, then he nodded to himself and refocused on Caleb. “If we take down the framing at the entrance, the rest will almost certainly collapse, too. That will necessitate a complete re-excavation of the lower level, and given it’ll be after a collapse, it’ll be touchy and tricky and very, very slow. If we bring it down in the next few days, we definitely won’t have the lower level reopened this side of mid-September.”
Caleb grinned. “That’s what we need.”
“Ah,” Dixon said, “but that’s the good news. The bad news is that, even though the lower level is an extension of the upper level—extending farther along under the hillside—the two tunnels abut. If we collapse the lower level by taking out the framework where the two levels meet, then we will inevitably take out some of the upper level as well.” Dixon held Caleb’s gaze. “The bad news is that I can’t be sure how much of the upper level will go, too. A yard? Three? Or the whole damn lot?”
Hillsythe sucked in a breath through his teeth, then he looked at Caleb. “We can’t risk losing the entire upper level. If we do, we risk the backers, if not Dubois himself, cutting their losses and calling an immediate end.”
Caleb grimaced. For a long moment, he stared at the lantern. Then he raised his gaze to Dixon’s face. “The only assessment we have to go on is yours.” He paused, then asked, “Realistically, can we collapse the lower level enough to shut it off from view, preferably to collapse it entirely, without taking down more than, say, a third of the upper level?”
The Daredevil Snared (The Adventurers Quartet Book 3) Page 29