The Dark Earl

by Virginia Henley

  “A pit disaster means catastrophe for the families involved. If a miner is killed, his wife and children become destitute and are sent to the workhouse,” Barbara explained.

  “We are taking up a collection for Emaline to take to Murton.”

  Harry opened her reticule, and handed Emaline two guineas. “Take this. It’s not much, but I shall get more and return as quickly as I can.”

  Harriet hailed a hackney cab and told the driver to take her to Carlton House Terrace. When the carriage stopped, she jumped out and asked the driver to wait. She was about to knock on the front door when she remembered that D’Arcy had given her a key. She pulled the key from her reticule and let herself in.

  The Earl of Durham’s majordomo was taken aback when he saw Lady Harriet Hamilton dash through the entrance hall and begin to ascend the stairs.

  “It’s all right, Fenton. I have my own key. I do hope D’Arcy is at home.”

  “His lordship is in the library, my lady.” He did his best to hide his disapproval.

  She was quite breathless when she flung open the door and rushed inside the book-lined room.

  D’Arcy stood up from his desk and strode to meet her. “Harry, my love. You decided to come!” He picked her up and swung her around with glee.

  “Put me down! I’m not here for dalliance. I’m here on important business, D’Arcy!”

  “Darling Harry, nothing is more important than dalliance.”

  She grabbed a lock of golden hair and pulled it hard. “Put me down this instant.”

  When he saw the incensed look on her face, he set her feet to the carpet. “What the devil is wrong?”

  “D’Arcy, something dreadful has happened. There has been a mine explosion at Murton Colliery in Durham.”

  “It’s all right, Harry. The village of Murton is in East Durham, miles away from Lambton. There is no danger that the castle will have been damaged.”

  “I’m not concerned about your castle. I’m worried about the men trapped down the pit. It’s a terrible disaster. I hear that there are at least fourteen dead! D’Arcy, you must go to Durham immediately and do something.”

  “Where did you hear this news?”

  “I went to a women’s meeting in Langham Place. Emaline Davis’s brother-in-law is one of the miners missing in the explosion. She’s rushing up there to be with her sister this afternoon,” Harry gabbled breathlessly. “You must do something!”

  “Do what, my love? If the miners are dead, I cannot bring them back to life.”

  “No, no, of course not. But as the Earl of Durham, you must go and give the families moral support. They will need help . . . money . . . doctors . . . rescue workers. The women at Langham Place are taking up a collection to give to Emaline.”

  “Slow down, Harry. You are in a mad panic. You will make yourself ill.” He led her to a chair and gently pushed her into it. “It is pointless for me to go rushing up to Durham every time there is an accident in a mine. I employ overseers and land agents at great expense to investigate these disasters. I have full-time secretaries whose job it is to send me reports, so it won’t be long before I learn all the details.”

  “The conditions these coal miners work in are appallingly dangerous. Can you imagine working down a pit, hewing coal with a pickax all day, while floods and cave-ins and gas explosions threaten every minute you are underground?” She jumped up from the chair, unable to sit still. “The colliery owners are greedy swines who won’t pay for safety measures.”

  “Harry, the colliery owners are the ones who provide jobs and pay the coal miners’ wages.”

  “But when a miner is killed, his wife and children become destitute and they are sent to the workhouse. When a man loses his life down the pit, the owners should pay his widow compensation. As the Earl of Durham, you must go and speak to these owners and make them do the right and decent thing. It is your moral obligation, D’Arcy.”

  “Harry, I assure you I live up to my Durham obligations.”

  “But the destitute families need money,” she pleaded.

  He knew he must placate her. “When I get the reports, I’ll send money. It has to go through the proper channels, or there’s every probability it will fall into the wrong hands.”

  She placed her hands on his chest in supplication. “Promise me, D’Arcy! Promise you will send money the minute you get the reports?”

  “Of course I promise. I would do anything to make you happy, Harry.”

  My God, this isn’t about me. It’s about the poor wretches in Murton. “I have to go, D’Arcy. I gave my word that I would return to Langham Place.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t associate with these women.” He stopped, knowing he’d said the wrong thing to a woman as headstrong as Harry. “I don’t mean that. It’s just that I can’t bear to see you upset about perceived injustices. I wish you would leave it to us men to right the wrongs. These suffragists have no authority or power to change things.”

  Harry refused to allow her emotions to plummet into hopelessness. The suffragists will never accept defeat and neither will I. “I must go, D’Arcy.”

  She hurried outside and was relieved to find that the cabdriver had waited for her. “Please take me to the Parliament buildings in Whitehall. I’ll get your money from my father.”

  “Who’s yer father?” he asked out of curiosity.

  “James Hamilton, the Duke of Abercorn.”

  He touched his cap. “Hop in, luv. I’ll have ye there in a trice.”

  Harry rushed into her father’s office. “There’s been a mining disaster in Durham. My friends at Langham Place are taking up a collection. I need some money, Father.”

  Abercorn searched his daughter’s face and saw that she was in earnest. “And how is the money to get to Durham?”

  “Emaline Davis is traveling there this afternoon. Her sister’s husband is missing in an explosion at Murton Colliery. I promised them I’d return with money.”

  “I can write you a bank draft. . . . I don’t carry much cash.”

  “No, it has to be real money, Father. Give me whatever you’ve got.”

  Abercorn opened a flat leather case and counted out five tissue-thin Bank of England ten-pound notes. “Fifty pounds is a lot of money for a lady to carry around.”

  She snatched up the notes, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Father. You are a lifesaver!” She rushed to the door, then turned and came back. “Sorry, but I also need money for my cabdriver.”

  He reached into his pocket and gave her a couple of guineas. He knew it would be futile to reprimand her for traveling about London on her own. “Be careful, Harry.”

  This time she knew the hackney-cab driver would be waiting, because he had every expectation of being paid. She showed him the golden guineas. “These are yours if you will take me back to Langham Place and wait for me again.”

  He grinned from ear to ear. “Hop in, yer ladyship.” At a couple of pennies per mile, two guineas was more than a week’s wages.

  Barbara Smith opened the door. “Has Emaline left for Durham yet?” Harry asked. “I’ve got money for her!”

  “Come in, Harriet. She’s almost ready to depart. How much did you bring?”

  “Fifty pounds.”

  “Good heavens, that’s a fortune!” She ushered Harry into the sitting room.

  Harry took the five Bank of England ten-pound notes from her reticule.

  “We’ll have to sew this money inside your petticoat, Emaline. It’s the only way to keep you and the pound notes safe.”

  Barbara plied her needle and thread and sewed a cloth pocket inside Emaline’s underskirt. Then she kissed her friend. “Go with God, my dear.”

  “I have a hackney waiting. I’ll take Emaline to the coaching station.”

  “Bless you, Harriet Hamilton. What would we have done without you today?”

  In the dining room at Hampden House, Harry sat next to her father in silence. The mine disaster was unfit dinner conversa
tion, but she was extremely grateful that he was spending the night at home. She drew strength from his comforting presence. When the meal was over, Harry followed him to the library and shut the door.

  “You were so generous, Father. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for not questioning me.”

  “My dear, all I had to do was look at your face to see you were desperate.”

  “I should have come straight to you. Instead, I went to D’Arcy Lambton. As the Earl of Durham, I thought he would go rushing up there and make everything right.”

  “Harriet, you shouldn’t have done that. Unwittingly, you thrust D’Arcy into a thorny predicament—damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “First, let me explain a few things about the County of Durham. You are aware that it provides England with coal. There are scores of mines, and as a result, there is a great deal of subsidence. That is when the earth’s surface collapses downward from being undermined. Many of the mines were opened long ago when careful planning and preventative measures were unheard of. When D’Arcy’s father was created Earl of Durham, he inherited the land, and wherever large coalfields were discovered, he leased it to various colliery owners who put down shafts and opened up the mines.”

  Harry pictured miles of lovely green fields and rows of houses sinking and collapsing into deep, black holes.

  “D’Arcy inherited all this when he was a boy, but had no say in anything until he came of age a few years ago. He cannot afford to antagonize the colliery owners, whose mines provide Durham and England with so much wealth. When he proposes measures that will improve the miners’ working conditions, he must be diplomatic. He has to walk a fine line, and cannot be seen to take the side of the miners against the owners.”

  “I don’t really see why not,” Harry said stubbornly.

  “He cannot go barging in there and throw his weight around simply because he is the Earl of Durham. The colliery owners would complain to the Crown. Moreover, if he angered these owners, they could shut down the mines—hundreds of men would be thrown out of work and their families would starve. There would be riots, Harry. As Earl of Durham it is his responsibility to ensure that things run smoothly.”

  “I see. Perhaps that’s why D’Arcy wants to be appointed lord lieutenant, so he can have a greater influence on the coal industry.”

  “Being the queen’s representative would certainly add to his power.”

  “Thank you for explaining, Father. Things are always far more complicated than they seem.” Harry managed to smile. “D’Arcy promised me faithfully that he would send money to help with the disaster once he got the reports.”

  “You are tenderhearted, Harriet. Championing the downtrodden is a heavy burden for one so young. If you let it consume you, it will destroy your happiness.”

  When Harry left the library, she felt extremely restless. She wandered into the empty ballroom and stopped to gaze out a window. The gas lamps on the street below cast small circles of illumination, but their light did not reach across the road into Hyde Park, where the tall trees shrouded it in darkness.

  Her heart was heavy. She could not shake off the thought of all the children who would be crying themselves to sleep tonight. As she left the ballroom, her feet carried her in the direction of the nursery. The events of the day inexorably drew her to check on her little sister and brother.

  “They are asleep, Lady Harriet,” the children’s nursemaid informed her.

  “I’m glad they’re asleep, Mary. Thank you for watching over them so vigilantly. I won’t disturb them. I’ll just stand at the door and look at them for a few moments.”

  The nursery was shadowed, but she could see that the children were sleeping. Five-year-old Ronald was clutching a stuffed rabbit, and four-year-old Maud’s dark curls against the white pillowcase brought a lump to Harry’s throat. She remembered a prayer for hopeless causes that Mary, the Irish Catholic nursemaid, had taught her when she was a little girl, and she began to silently recite it:

  Oh Holy Saint Jude, Apostle and Martyr,

  Great in Virtue, and Rich in Miracles,

  Near kinsman of Jesus Christ,

  The faithful intercessor of all who invoke your special

  patronage in times of need,

  To you, I have recourse from the depths of my heart,

  And humbly beg you, to whom God has given such great

  power,

  To come to the aid of the people in Murton, Durham,

  And in return I promise to make your name known.

  As she gazed at the well-cared-for children who were surrounded by love, the lump in her throat eased, and the heaviness of her heart lifted. She knew she had so much to be thankful for, she should be rejoicing.

  Harry returned to the library to select a book. She needed something to distract her thoughts from again sinking into dark despair. She chose a book on architecture by Robert Adam and sat down in one of the brass-mounted library chairs. She began to read about Harewood House and studied a sketch of the gardens that had been designed by Lancelot “Capability” Brown. She could not help comparing the stately home to another that always lingered in her memory.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when someone walked past the library door. She raised her eyes from her book as her brother backtracked and came in to join her.

  “Harry, I heard something outrageous tonight that I think you should know.”

  “Hello, James. From whom did you hear this shocking news?”

  “From John Montagu. He told me that his brother Will and D’Arcy Lambton have a high-stakes wager about you.”

  She closed the heavy book with a thud. “About me?”

  He lowered his voice confidentially. “It seems that D’Arcy bet Will two hundred guineas that Lady Harriet Hamilton would accept his proposal of marriage. They registered the wager in White’s betting book.”

  Harry was stunned. “Insufferable swines!”

  “I knew you would be livid. Not about D’Arcy making you the Countess of Durham—we all expect that—but to put your name in the betting book is unconscionable.”

  She shook her head wearily. This was all she needed to hear to finish off a day that had drained her emotions to the last drop. “Thank you for telling me, James.”

  Harry sat alone in the library. The last thing she wanted to do was go up to the bedchamber she shared with Beatrix and Jane. Her brother’s words echoed in her head, intensifying her anger until she became incensed. Putting her name in White’s betting book was a trifling offense when measured against the greater sin that D’Arcy Lambton and Will Montagu had committed. She was devastated that young nobles could be so immature and irresponsible as to wager two hundred guineas to amuse themselves. She rocked back and forth in anguish. Only think what those poor wretches in Murton could do with that money.

  A thought of Thomas Anson came unbidden. He is right to condemn gambling. It is truly the scourge of the upper classes. How many fortunes have been lost because of gaming addictions? Anson knows firsthand what it is like to have his family’s happiness destroyed by it.

  It was long past midnight when she went upstairs, quietly undressed, and slipped into bed. She lay there hour after hour, tossing and turning as sleep eluded her. Just before dawn, she finally fell asleep and began to dream. She awoke with a start and tried to recall the details of the dream as it began to fade. All she remembered was D’Arcy’s laughing countenance and money chests filled with gold coins.

  The end of her Season was rapidly approaching and she wished she could hold back time. From what James had said, she wasn’t the only one who was expecting D’Arcy to propose and make her his countess. I thought I was ready to say yes, but after yesterday’s events, I need more time before I commit myself.

  Rose tapped on the bedchamber door before she entered. Then she came in, opened the drapes, and turned out the lamp.

  Beatrix and Jane awoke and sat up in bed.

  “
Good morning, ladies. Would you like breakfast trays, or will you eat downstairs?”

  “Nothing for me, thank you, Rose.” Harry threw back the covers.

  “We’ll have breakfast downstairs,” Trixy told Rose.

  “I’ve decided to go and visit Rachel for the weekend.”

  “Harry, you can’t! It’s Saturday. Have you forgotten that we are invited to a musical evening at the Edgcumbes’ tonight? It will likely be one of the last parties of the Season and everyone will be there.”

  “Yes, I had forgotten. But I want to see Rachel and I need to talk to Uncle Johnny about something important before Parliament recesses. Please offer my regrets to Lady Caroline.”

  “Harry, I wish you’d come. You can go and see Rachel tomorrow.”

  “No, my mind is made up. You will have Henry Edgcumbe all to yourself.”

  “But what about D’Arcy?”

  “He will simply have to manage without me for once,” Harry said firmly.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Thank you for letting me sit up on the box with you, Riley. The exhilarating ride was just what I needed this morning.” Harry climbed down, not caring that her windblown hair looked like a wild blackberry bush.

  “Harry, how lovely to see you.” Rachel picked up her niece’s luggage. “Riley, go to the kitchen and have some ale before you drive back to London.”

  “Thank ye very much, m’ lady. Shall I come back for ye on Monday, Lady Harry?”

  “Oh, no. Why don’t you stay until at least Tuesday?” Rachel suggested.

  “Yes, come back for me on Tuesday. Mother may need the coach in the morning, so come after lunch, Riley.”

  The trio went into Campden Hill and Riley made his way through to the kitchen.

  Rachel’s eyes were alight with curiosity. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, may I ask?”

  “My visit is more likely to depress you than give you pleasure, I’m sorry to say, but you are so easy to talk to.”