by Zoë Archer
Her mouth tightened, but she gave a little nod of understanding. A tough-willed woman like her wouldn’t take easily to being told what to do. In this case, though, she seemed to understand that his experience was their key to toppling the managers and owners.
But stealing the butter had served its purpose: getting decent food into the mouths of the workers, and gaining Alyce’s trust. A success on both fronts.
All the miners and workers continued on their long walk to the mine, talking of nothing except the butter and Harley’s scheming. Simon kept silent, and, thankfully, so did Alyce. She’d shown herself to be trustworthy, yet she was still green.
Finally, everyone reached the mining compound and its industrial sprawl—machinery and buildings spreading like thick scabs over wounds in the earth. The smell of damp minerals hung in the air. As the men and women broke apart into groups—the bal-maidens picking up their hammers and tying on their heavy aprons, and the miners off to the change house before heading down into the pit—Alyce drew close to Simon.
He ignored the quickening of his heartbeat as she neared him. He couldn’t ignore the shadowed circles beneath her eyes, though, or the squeeze of concern in his chest that she’d be working all day without any sleep.
“Don’t push yourself too hard today,” he said, low and gruff. “Swinging that bucking iron—you could hurt yourself.”
She gave him an indulgent smile. “Today’s not the first day I’ve worked on the dressing floor wanting sleep. I know how to keep from smashing my foot.”
His nod was terse. Alyce was a grown woman, capable of taking care of herself. He’d worked with colleagues—even female operatives like Eva and Harriet—in dangerous situations, always trusting them to see to their own safety. He didn’t abandon them when they were in need, but Nemesis functioned because of that mutual sense of skill and capability. Yet a strange feeling had been uncurling within him over the course of the night and morning: protectiveness.
It didn’t serve Alyce and it didn’t serve him or the mission to shadow her, second-guess her.
“A mine can’t be won through butter,” she pointed out. “There’s got to be more that we can do.”
“Already considered,” he answered.
She raised a brow. “Are we going to play I’m Thinking of Something, or will you tell me straight-out?”
“This isn’t a parlor game. Everything I do has its reasons. That goes for not revealing my plans, as well.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “Convenient for you, leaving us poor peasants to just do as you command without question.”
“Easy,” he said in a low voice. He didn’t look around, but he could feel the curious looks he and Alyce were attracting. He hoped the people nearby thought he and Alyce were only having a sweethearts’ tiff. “Not now. Not here.”
“When, then?”
“When I think it’s safe,” he answered. “I’ve done this more than you. You have to trust me when it comes to doling out information.”
Her frustration was a palpable thing, but she finally nodded. “Be careful,” she muttered.
A quick, painful contraction gripped his heart. “You, too.”
Without another word, she turned and headed toward the dressing floor, joining her fellow bal-maidens.
He wanted to chase after her to say his silence really was for her protection. But he had to get to the engine house. The workday had begun.
That night, he had even more work to do. There’d be no rest for him. Not for a long while. And Alyce herself both energized him and left him with a foggy head.
In London, he belonged to a gentlemen’s club and visited there often to hear the latest news and scandal. Several times, he’d found missions just by catching snatches of whispered conversations—brothels that catered to men who had a taste for children, political machinations that devastated whole communities. The club itself was over a century old, with dark wood paneling, deep leather chairs, the air scented with expensive tobacco and brandy. All conversation was kept to a polite, discreet murmur, and the servants moved as silently as liveried ghosts.
As he entered the engine house, with its clanging machines and smell of grease, he longed for a cup of his club’s strong coffee. It was going to be a long, long day and another long night.
* * *
There were few horses in Trewyn. Too expensive, and nowhere to keep the animals. Most of the horses were kept by the constabulary, making the beasts even more risky to steal. It was ten miles to St. Ursula, the nearest town with a telegraph office, and Simon had to trek each one on foot.
He’d managed to catch a few hours of sleep before slipping out of the bachelor lodgings unobserved. Nothing to complain about. He’d gone three days marching through the Transvaal with only a few scraps of sleep stitched together here and there, with the fear of attacking Zulus always gnawing at the back of his mind. Soldiers had been known to snap like twigs under the terror and deprivation. Not him. He’d pushed himself until they’d reached the safety of the outpost. And then he’d slept for seven hours, and reported for sunrise muster.
The Cornish countryside in the depths of night offered fewer risks—he didn’t worry that a rustling bush held warriors lying in wait. The only animals he encountered were sheep and goats, not black mambas, crocodiles, or huge, vicious hippos.
He kept his pace brisk as he passed darkened villages, other mines, farmhouses. Away from London, the sky dazzled with its lavish display of stars. Everything around him was still, shuttered. The decent people of central Cornwall were all abed.
Including Alyce. They hadn’t spoken much since that morning. That had been his doing. He didn’t need her for this next step. Better, in truth, that this journey was made on his own.
But, hell, he found that he missed her.
It didn’t make any sense—he’d traveled farther on his own without problem. His mind always buzzed with ideas, from recent Nemesis objectives to pretty widows he’d met at dinner parties to the latest news from the far-flung reaches of the British Empire. A long walk in the night wasn’t dull, either. He knew all the constellations, and could amuse himself for hours reciting or making up their legends. He was a man fully comfortable with being alone.
Not tonight.
Absently, he dug the heel of his palm into the center of his chest, as if soothing an ache.
He kept clear of open roads on the off chance he might meet some other late-night traveler, so he crossed open fields and dug his way through hedgerows. Lightly, he leaped over low stone walls, and climbed stiles. Finally, he saw the dark outline of St. Ursula ahead. No lights shone in any windows—but that wasn’t a surprise. Even though this town was bigger than Trewyn, boasting not only a telegraph office but an actual minuscule train station, it was still a modest little Cornish settlement. No one would be awake at two in the morning.
Still, he kept to the shadows along the high street. St. Ursula wasn’t a mining town, and it wore its prosperity in the form of well-paved avenues, a few shops with large, merchandise-stocked windows, three different pubs, and an inn. Nothing luxurious. Only serviceable. If he hadn’t just come from Trewyn, he might’ve thought St. Ursula to be a slightly shabby place—but he knew better.
He finally reached his destination, and quickly picked the lock to get inside. There was a counter, and behind the counter, a large piece of equipment sat upon a table. He headed straight for it and fired the device to life. The telegraph machine looked about ten years old, far from the recent advancements made by Edison, but it would suit his purposes.
Working by the watery moonlight coming through the window, he tapped out a message. Coded, of course. But the recipients would know exactly how to read it. Just as in three days he’d receive an encoded response at the St. Ursula telegraph office.
Once he completed his task, he set everything in the telegraph office back to rights. No sense in arousing suspicion in another town.
The whole business had taken less than
half an hour, but he had hours ahead of him to return to Trewyn. Hopefully, he’d be back with enough time to catch a little more sleep before the workday began. But without Alyce’s presence beside him, the journey was cold, dull, and lonesome.
* * *
A knock sounded on the door just after Alyce had finished clearing the supper dishes. A quick, single rap upon the wood. She exchanged curious glances with Henry and Sarah. None of their neighbors called at this hour, and on the rare times that they did, their knocks didn’t sound so … cautious.
She opened the door. Simon stood on the threshold, his expression serious. Her stomach knotted.
For the past three days, they’d been circling each other warily, their conversations brief but fraught with things unsaid. He kept his plans to himself. For good reason—or so he’d have her believe. Still, it gnawed at her that she couldn’t be told what, exactly, he planned.
She couldn’t forget their kiss, either. She’d toss and turn in bed, body and mind restless. Had the heat and desire between them been a result of the excitement of that night? Did it mean more? At least twice she had had to stop herself from marching up to the bachelor lodgings in just her nightgown and shawl, and pound on the door, demanding answers. Any answers.
These thoughts flew through her head, and she realized she’d been staring at Simon wordlessly for a good second or two. She probably looked daft.
Stepping back from the door, she tipped her head, signaling him to come inside. He did, ducking as he entered to keep from hitting the low jamb. The cold night clung to his clothing. He smelled of cool wool and man. She caught herself inhaling deeply.
She shut the door behind him. For good measure, she locked it. Only the managers and the store locked their doors. It seemed ridiculous for any of the workers to lock their doors—no one had anything worth stealing—but some enterprising builder generations ago had fitted locks into all the houses, and tonight was the first time she could remember making use of it. But the look on Simon’s sternly handsome face was enough to tell her the precaution was needed.
He stood in the middle of the small room, not anxious, exactly, but filled with a restless energy that seemed to press against the walls and fill the little kitchen with his presence.
“Tea?” a nervous Sarah asked.
“That’s kind of you, Mrs. Carr, but I have to decline. Business brings me here, not social calls.”
“What kind of business?” Henry demanded, rising from his chair with his pipe in hand.
As Alyce leaned against the front door, Simon glanced back at her. Their gazes caught and held for a moment, before he looked away.
“This business.” He produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket, then held it out to Alyce.
She took the paper, her fingers briefly brushing against his. Unfolding it, she saw it was a telegram. She herself had never received one, but Will Penrose had gotten a telegram a few years ago when his cousin had been killed in a boiler explosion working on a naval steamship. The news had been sad, but most in the village had been amazed that the accident had occurred on a Wednesday, and it had taken only a day for news to reach Will. No waiting for the post.
Not that Alyce got letters, either. Everyone she knew lived within shouting distance.
But now she focused on the telegram she held.
She rubbed her eyes and frowned down at the paper. She stared and stared, minutes going by. “The dame school we went to wasn’t as fine as Harrow, but I can read, and I can’t make a crumb of sense of this. All I can see is that it came from London.” She held the telegram out to him.
He took it and slipped it back into his pocket. “It’s encrypted. Marco came up with the code. Nemesis uses it for all our communications.”
Who Marco was, she had no idea, and she didn’t especially care at the moment. “Then why show it to me?”
“Because you need to know the plan’s in motion.”
“Ah, so now I’m allowed in on the scheme.” It was difficult to keep the tartness from her voice, but, damn it, she didn’t like being on the outside of things, especially if they concerned the mine or the running of the village.
He gave her a dry look that said he wouldn’t rise to the bait, and a brief wave of annoyance washed over her. He was the professional here, not her. When it came to matters of justice, he was the expert—galling as it was to admit, even to herself.
“And because I’m going to need you for the next step,” he added.
“I’m in,” she said at once.
Everyone in the room looked at her, but only Simon’s glance lingered. Then he retreated behind cool expertise. “You’ll be taking a risk. A big one.”
“I’m still in.”
“Alyce—” Henry said warningly.
“You want your child born into poverty and corruption?” she replied.
Henry looked startled. Both he and Sarah placed their hands protectively on her swollen belly.
Doubt always clung to him, with a wife and coming baby to protect. He’d avoid risk—but Alyce had a freedom, and burden, Henry didn’t. She had no husband, no children. But the village and workers … they were her responsibility. She couldn’t back down.
“What do you need from me?” she asked Simon.
He tore his glance away from the picture Henry and Sarah presented. “The names of the most trustworthy miners. And a place where we can all meet without worrying about Tippet or any of the company’s cronies finding us.”
She didn’t know what he planned, but the fact that he entrusted her with what had to be a crucial part of his mission filled her with satisfaction. And pleasure. All the workers at the mine knew how hard she labored for them, but only Simon treated her as if she were as capable as any man. He had faith in her.
“I can do that,” she said.
* * *
Lanterns threw swinging patches of light upon the cavern walls, revealing in wild arcs stone walls streaked with red. The cave echoed with the sounds of two dozen men in heavy boots. Their voices didn’t carry as far. Most of the men kept their talk to a minimum, walking in tense silence, wending deeper into the cave. Though Alyce knew these men almost as well as her own family—including Henry, who made up part of the crowd—they kept throwing her wary glances. Maybe the looks were for Simon, striding beside her. Either way, no one was at ease.
“This place is safe?” Simon whispered.
“Most everybody in the village knows about Carndale Cavern,” she whispered back. “Used to be a slate quarry, but it shut down over twenty years ago. Now it’s a place for being alone when you’re walking out with someone. Once you get married, though, you stop coming to Carndale.”
A corner of his mouth inched up. “Might get embarrassing if we run into some buck and his sweetheart getting familiar with each other.”
“Even lusty lads and lasses are snug and asleep in their own beds at this hour.”
“What about you?”
She lifted one brow. “I’m not in bed.” She glanced down at her feet, then back up, her eyes wide. “Maybe I’m sleepwalking.”
“I mean, did you ever come here?”
Now it was her turn to smile. There was a slight gruffness in his voice, belying the casual way he tried to ask his question.
“A time or two,” she answered and, despite the tenseness of the situation, she almost laughed at the brief look of ill temper that crossed his face. The lantern light made him look angular, severe. “But it was always too cold down here,” she added. And, in truth, it was. A damp chill clung to the stone walls like an unpleasant memory.
“You needed to find the right lad to warm you.”
Oh, he was a cheeky one—that, she knew for certain.
“In any event,” she pressed on, “the cavern’s completely hidden from the village. No one knows we’re here.”
The stone floor sloped abruptly, but she knew to expect it, and nimbly climbed down despite Simon’s offer of help. He, too, jumped down to the next flat expanse
, agile as a fox. The men continued to walk ahead, casting long shadows, the gleam of their lanterns curving up the cavern walls. Everything beyond the lanterns was covered in darkness. The miners paid it little attention—all of them used to being belowground, in the dark.
Women and children weren’t allowed into the mine or below the surface. Alyce resisted the impulse to wrap her arms around herself, despite the eeriness of the place. The few times she’d been here, she’d been too young and foolish to give the cave much thought, but now old legends of dark fairy kingdoms beneath the hills came flooding back to her.
She glanced at Simon through her lashes. Though he was blond, not dark, she could easily see him sitting atop a fairy kingdom throne, with that charmer’s smile, those sharp cheekbones and vivid eyes. The kind of creature who beguiled mortal girls, luring them away from the hearth fires of home, never to be heard from again.
Of all the times to spin silly fantasies. She kept walking.
His hand on her elbow stopped her. “These men,” he said quietly, flicking a gaze toward the men marching ahead. “They’re to be trusted? None of them will run to the managers?”
“You asked me to pick the most trustworthy of the miners,” she answered, “and I did. None of them are loyal to the owners or managers. They want what we want. But that doesn’t mean getting them on our side is going to be a May Day fair.”
“Never expected it to be. But,” he added with a gleaming smile, “I can be persuasive.”
She sniffed. “Don’t overestimate your charm.”
“I got you to say ‘we’ and ‘us,’ instead of ‘you’ and ‘I.’ That’s worth something.”
She hadn’t even realized that she’d been doing that, damn him. But somewhere over these past weeks, especially after they’d made the theft and switch of the butter, she had started thinking of their cause as a united one. That they worked together as a unit rather than two individuals who happened to be walking down the same road.