Thunder and Roses: Book 1 in The Fallen Angel Series

by Mary Jo Putney

  * * *

  The Duke of Candover returned home to find his house-guest on the verge of leaving. Concealing his uneasiness, Rafe said, "Have I neglected you too much, Michael?"

  Face expressionless, his friend said, "Not at all. However, I can't afford to waste any more time lying around like an invalid—I've too much to do. There's nothing wrong with me—I've had worse knocks on the head by walking into doors." Remembering his manners, he added, "Thank you for putting me up."

  "Why not give up your rooms and stay here?" Rafe suggested. "It's such a bloody great barn that I'd enjoy the company."

  "I'll be leaving London. I've neglected my business interests for too long—it's time I visited them in person."

  Rafe felt the back of his neck prickle. "Does that include your mine in Penreith?"

  Michael accepted his hat from the butler and put it on, the brim casting a shadow over his eyes. "As a matter of fact, it does."

  The duke felt like swearing. "One war has just ended. I hope you're not going to start another one."

  "No one loves peace more than a retired soldier," Michael said, his expression cool and unreadable. "I'll let you know when I return to London."

  He turned and walked out the front door without looking back.

  Chapter 22

  For the Morrises, Sunday was a day for the family as well as the Lord. Usually that included a walk after the midday meal. Sometimes Marged came, but more often she stayed home, saying frankly that she liked a bit of quiet now and then. For his part, Owen enjoyed the time alone with his children. If a man didn't make the effort, it would be easy to miss the growing years.

  It was a very Welsh sort of day, with showers and sunshine taking turns. At the urging of Owen's older son, Trevor, they took a different track into the hills. Few people came this way, for it ran by Lord Michael Kenyon's estate, Bryn Manor, where visitors were not welcome. Surrounded by a stone wall, the estate was very different from Aberdare, which was criss-crossed by public pathways. However, Owen knew that as long as they stayed off Kenyon property there would be no problem, and the track was a lovely one on a spring day.

  Megan, very much the little lady, walked with her father while the boys raced back and forth like a pack of puppies. It did Owen's heart good to see little Huw larking about with his own boys. Since leaving the mine, the child seemed to have grown three inches, as well as putting on weight and achieving healthy color. According to Marged, he was an apt pupil, approaching every new lesson with the same hunger that he showed at the kitchen table.

  As the trail wound upward, Owen asked Megan, "Your birthday will be here soon. Is there something special you would like?"

  She glanced at him askance. "A kitten."

  He raised his brows. "We already have a cat."

  "But I want a kitten," she explained. "Of my own."

  He hid a smile. "Kittens turn into cats," he warned her, "and if you get one, you'd have to take care of it yourself. Still, you'll be ten—almost grown up. If you're sure that's what you want, I'll talk to your mother. If she objects—"

  Megan cut him off with an unladylike crow of pleasure. "Mama said to talk to you, and if you didn't object, it would be all right. Ethelwyn's cat just had kittens. In a fortnight, they'll be ready to leave their mother."

  Owen grinned. He'd never had a chance. Not that he could deny Megan anything, since she looked so much like her mother.

  Contentment was shattered when Trevor bolted out of the woods. "Dada, come quickly, it's Huw," he panted. "He wandered off to pick daffodils for Mama, then came racing back like the devil was after him. I asked him what was wrong, but he just cries and won't answer."

  Owen increased the length of his strides. A few minutes of walking through the trees brought them to the other two children. Huw was sobbing frantically, daffodils clutched incongruously to his chest. Patting him ineffectually on the shoulder was Owen's younger son David, who greeted his father with relief.

  Owen scooped Huw up in his arms and made soothing noises. For all his new growth, he was still only a tiny lad. When the child's tears had abated, he asked, "What's wrong, boyo?"

  Huw rubbed a grubby fist into his eyes. "I... I saw the gates of hell, Uncle Owen."

  In spite of patient questioning, Owen was unable to get a more coherent explanation. At length he said, "Trevor, take David and Megan home now. Huw can show me what he saw."

  Trevor obediently led his younger siblings back to the trail. Huw looked unhappy, but when Owen took his hand he set off willingly enough. They went deeper into the woods until they reached a crumbling stone wall. Huw let go of Owen's hand and scrambled through a gap in the stonework.

  Owen frowned. "This is private land, the Kenyon estate. You shouldn't have gone in here."

  "I saw daffodils and wanted to pick some to take back to Aunt Marged," Huw said guiltily. "It's not far."

  Knowing it would be better for Huw to face his fear rather than have nightmares, Owen squeezed his way through the narrow gap in the wall. On the other side was a ridge, with a drift of brilliant daffodils blooming near the top. Though the hillside was heavily wooded, the branches were still bare so it was possible to see smoke rising from the other side of the ridge.

  Expression anxious, Huw looked over his shoulder and touched a finger to his lips. Then he crouched over and made his way stealthily to the crest of the ridge, which overlooked a small hollow. As they settled behind a sheltering shrub, Owen put his arm around Huw and looked down to see what had frightened the boy.

  "The gates of hell" proved to be a shabby hut built into the hillside. A trick of the sunlight made the drifting smoke glow infernally, which explained why Huw had misinterpreted the sight. "See, lad, how the sun shines through the smoke from behind?" Owen said. "It's only a woodsman's hut."

  Though Huw didn't reply, he relaxed a little. Yet instead of leaving, Owen regarded the hut curiously. Odd to have so large a fire on a warm spring day.

  As they watched, the smoke trickled to a halt, and a few minutes later the door swung open. As two dark-clothed men came out, Huw hid his face against Owen. "Demons," he whispered.

  The men were George Madoc and Huw's father, Nye Wilkins. Owen's gaze sharpened. If Huw had gotten an unexpected glimpse of his terrifying parent, it might have contributed to the boy's belief that he had seen the nether regions.

  Madoc closed and locked the door and the two men began walking away, in the opposite direction from their hidden watchers. While he waited for them to disappear from view, Owen considered what he had seen. As Lord Michael Kenyon's manager, Madoc had a perfect right to be here; Madoc's own house was on Kenyon property, nearer the village. But his presence at a crude, hidden hut was strange. And why was Nye Wilkins here? At the mine he was something of Madoc's pet, but this was Sunday. It seemed unlikely that the men would see each other socially; Madoc was too conscious of his superior status.

  When the men were safely out of sight, Owen told Huw, "Wait here. I want to take a closer look."

  After making his way quietly down to the hut, Owen peered into one of the small windows. The interior was dominated by a large oven that reminded him of a pottery kiln he'd seen near Swansea. But he couldn't imagine George Madoc being interested in pottery. He studied the tools and implements set on a crude table. Some he recognized, some he didn't.

  He was thoughtful as he and Huw walked back to the village. Perhaps his imagination was running away with him and nothing of significance was taking place. Nonetheless, when Nicholas Davies returned from London, Owen would tell him about the mysterious hut.

  * * *

  Clare learned that living without kisses was much simpler and more comfortable than living on the edge of danger. It was also, alas, much less enjoyable. She missed not only the physical contact itself, but the easy familiarity that had gone with it. Now Nicholas never touched her except in formal ways, such as helping her in and out of a carriage. Though they still conversed easily, part of him had withdrawn. On the return
to Aberdare, he rode his horse rather than sitting in the coach with Clare and Polly. That reduced the stress of proximity, but made the journey seem much longer than the trip to London.

  Clare felt a strange mix of emotions as she returned to the valley. It was home, the most familiar place in the world. Yet she felt that she was a different woman from the one who had left. She had changed, and home would never be quite the same.

  The first thing she did after arriving at Aberdare was to meet with Rhys Williams. After describing what she had ordered for the house and when her purchases could be expected to arrive, she asked bluntly, "Have any of the servants left because they won't stay in the house with a depraved, immoral female?"

  After a moment's hesitation, the butler answered with equal bluntness. "Two—Tegwen Elias and Bronwyn Jones. Bronwyn didn't want to go, but her mother insisted."

  It could have been worse; morality was a serious business in the valley. Clare said, "Will there be more problems?"

  "I don't think so. I could easily have hired two more maids, but thought you'd rather do it yourself when you returned." He gave a satiric smile. "Jobs are hard to come by. There aren't many people who will walk away from a good one because of a bit of gossip. I wouldn't myself."

  So pragmatism was on her side. She thought about asking him if he had a personal opinion about her morals, or lack thereof, but decided that she would rather not know.

  The day after returning home she was busy evaluating what had been done in her absence. Rhys Williams and the servants had done a splendid job on the public rooms, which were now clean, bright, and no longer cluttered by too much ugly furniture. With the addition of the paper, paints, and fabrics she had ordered in London, the house would soon be as lovely as it deserved to be.

  Yet even though her household tasks were going well, her anxiety rose as the day progressed. Her class meeting was that evening, and she was not sure what kind of reception she would receive. At dinner Nicholas noticed her mood and asked if something was wrong. When she explained, he remarked, "I'd volunteer to go with you, but I'm sure that would add to your problems. I don't suppose you'd consider not going."

  She shook her head. "That would be cowardly. Worse, it might appear that I think I'm too good for my old friends now that I'm hobnobbing with the nobility." Her face tightened. "If they ask me to leave, at least I'll know where I stand."

  After dinner, Clare went upstairs and donned one of her own, pre-London dresses, which she could put on without help. The class members were her closest friends and the people most likely to believe in her. Yet in her heart, she felt that she deserved to be expelled from the meeting.

  Though she might, technically, still be a virgin, there was no question that she had been guilty of immoral misconduct. And worst of all, she wasn't sorry. Confused and unhappy, but not truly sorry.

  She drove her cart to the Morrises's cottage, arriving just before the meeting was due to start. When she walked in, the room fell silent and eleven pairs of eyes stared at her. Marged broke the silence by coming over and giving her a hug. "Clare, it's glad I am to see you. Can you come by the school soon? The children miss you." She smiled. "They're also desperately anxious to visit Lord Aberdare's penguins."

  Clare was glad for her friend's support, but that did not automatically mean the rest of the class would regard her with favor. She glanced around the room, offering a tentative smile. Several of the other members smiled back and young Hugh Lloyd winked. Her gaze went last to Edith Wickes, who was most likely to condemn her. Clare asked, "Am I still welcome here?"

  Edith clucked her tongue. "You've shown very poor judgment, child. Half the valley is convinced that you're a trollop."

  "I am not Lord Aberdare's mistress," Clare said, profoundly grateful that she could say that with truth.

  "Well, I should hope not," Edith said briskly. "But there are those who would rather think ill, such as Mrs. Elias." She sniffed. "When the Lord comes to separate the sheep from the goats on Judgment Day, he won't find much good wool on her. She said you wouldn't deign to come to class now that you're working at the big house, but I knew better."

  Wanting to sing with relief, Clare leaned over and embraced Edith. "Bless you for having faith in me. I can't say that my conduct has been above reproach, but I haven't done anything dreadful, either. How has the Sunday school teaching gone?"

  In his capacity of class leader, Owen said with gentle reproof, "Save the talk for later, ladies—it's time we began the meeting. Let us sing a song unto the Lord."

  Gratefully Clare relaxed into the familiar ritual of hymns, prayers, and discussion. When her turn came to talk, she said briefly that London was full of both excitement and temptations, and it was good to be home.

  When the meeting was over, everyone stayed on for tea, cakes, and the chance to hear Clare talk of her trip. After she had regaled them with tales of the Tower, mechanical monsters, and her visit to the Foundry, which had been John Wesley's home chapel, she rose regretfully. "Time I was leaving."

  As the group broke up, Owen said, "I'll escort you back to Aberdare, Clare. I don't want you going so far alone."

  She gave him a curious glance, for the valley had always been very safe, but agreed readily. As they rode back to Aberdare in her cart, he explained that his primary aim was to talk to Nicholas. Nothing important, mind, but perhaps his lordship would be interested.

  Hearing the front door open, Nicholas came to the hall from the library, as if he'd been awaiting Clare's return. Seeing Owen, he offered a wide smile and a hearty handshake. "This is a coincidence, for I have some questions I hope you can answer."

  "I have a few questions of my own," Owen replied.

  "Should I be present or absent?" Clare inquired.

  "Present," Nicholas answered as he ushered the others into the library. "Owen, you first."

  As Owen settled into one of the deep, leather-upholstered chairs, he said, "This may mean nothing, but a few days ago I saw something a bit odd." He went on to describe the hut he and Huw had found on the Kenyon estate.

  When he had finished, Nicholas said, "Interesting. Do you have any opinions about what, if anything, it might mean?"

  "If I had to guess, I'd say the hut was being used to process high-grade metal ore," Owen said slowly. "Possibly gold, but more likely silver."

  "Is that possible?" Nicholas said with surprise. "I know that occasionally gold and silver have been found in Wales, but never very much, and never in this area."

  "Sometimes very pure silver is found in clumps called wire silver," Owen explained. "Once I saw a specimen that had been found near Ebbw Vale. Amazing stuff—so pure that it could be melted down and cast into ingots with no more than a very hot oven, like the one in the hut. I don't think wire silver would be found in a coal bed, but remember that closed shaft where I said the coal seam ran out when the rock changed? It's possible that the different rock might have silver in it."

  Nicholas's brows knit together as he thought. "So perhaps Wilkins discovered silver and went privately to Madoc. If the metal is in small deposits and very pure, it could be brought out of the mine without the other men noticing. The Kenyon estate is a perfect spot to melt it down secretly, since Lord Michael isn't in residence and Madoc is overseeing the property."

  "Why would Wilkins have gone to Madoc rather than keep a valuable find for himself?" Clare asked.

  "Nye Wilkins isn't clever enough to process or sell the silver without an experienced partner like Madoc," Owen replied. "If our guesses are right, they could be making a nice bit of extra money between them."

  "This is exactly what we've been looking for!" Clare almost bounced from her chair in excitement. "Lord Michael's lease covers coal only, not all mineral rights. If Madoc and Wilkins are taking silver or any other valuable ore from the mine, you have grounds to break the lease. Even if Lord Michael is ignorant of what his employees are doing, surely his company would be legally liable for taking anything that belongs to you."

&n
bsp; There was a suspended moment. Then Nicholas gave a whoop, leaped from his chair, and swept Clare up for a kiss. Barely in time, he remembered to keep it quick and light.

  Turning to Owen, he said, "I saw Lord Michael Kenyon in London. He's been with the army in the Peninsula, which is why he's neglected his business. Since he flatly refused to make any changes, we've been trying to think of a way to break the lease. And now, by God, we've got it, thanks to you and Huw."

  Owen smiled. "You were right the first time—it's by God. It would be hard to believe that it was an accident that Huw found his way to the hut, then took me there."

  Declining to digress into theology, Nicholas said, "So far this is all speculation—what we need is first-hand evidence. Could you take me into the pit again? If the two of us can testify that we've seen illegal mining, I can go to court and close down the existing operation, then start my own."

  Owen frowned. "Going down pit won't be easy. After Madoc forbade you the premises, he gave orders to notify him instantly if you come onto the property. The banksman who manages the main shaft is a decent fellow, but he'd never go against Madoc."

  "What about going down at night? Once we're underground, it won't matter what time of day it is."

  "After your first visit, Madoc had a fence built around the minehead, and at night there's a watchdog and a guard. We might be able to get past them, but it would be impossible to operate the whim gin without being noticed. We all think Madoc's a bit mad to go to such efforts to keep you away." Owen shrugged. "Of course, we've always thought him a bit mad."

  Clare said, "What you've described eliminates the main entrance, but what about the old Bychan shaft? The one that's used mostly for ventilation now."

  Owen's eyes widened. "What a memory you have, lass. I'd almost forgotten the Bychan myself."

  "Would it be usable?" Nicholas asked.

  "It should be," Owen said thoughtfully. "It's very narrow, but there's a bucket that can raise or lower one man at a time. The bucket is operated by a man and a pony, so we'll only need one other man to help. Not only that, the shaft goes down near the closed tunnel so you won't have to travel far underground and risk being seen. It could be done."