Thunder and Roses: Book 1 in The Fallen Angel Series

by Mary Jo Putney

  "I will be." He gulped down the scalding coffee, then covered a slab of bread with marmalade. "By this evening, success will be in our hands." Munching on the bread, he left the house and made his way to the stables.

  The swirling mists made the journey to Penreith hauntingly beautiful. Nicholas was almost humming with excitement as he picked his way down the familiar road. Odd to think how he had at first resisted Clare's efforts to draw him into the affairs of the village; he felt more alive than he had in years. Now, if only he could draw Clare into an affair, too....

  The thought deflated him a little. This damned brother and sister business was increasingly difficult to maintain. There was something irresistibly erotic about Clare's blend of primness and passion, and images of her haunted him day and night. He'd never be able to look at a billiard table calmly again.

  His levity faded quickly. The present situation was almost intolerable; the future was worse, for she had every intention of leaving when the three months were up. No doubt there was a solution to his dilemma, but damned if he knew what it was.

  It was a relief to arrive at their rendezvous, a clump of trees not far from the mine. Owen was already waiting, along with an older man with a wooden leg. After Nicholas dismounted, Owen performed the introductions. "This is Jamie Harkin. He'll operate the rope and bucket."

  Silently they set out for their destination, Nicholas leading his horse. The usual clamor of the nearby mine was distorted by the mist. They were in the bottom of the valley here and the fog lay thickly, forcing them to go slowly or risk losing their bearings. Nicholas didn't mind. The Bychan shaft was close enough to the main pit that someone might have noticed suspicious activity, but today the fog covered their activities.

  When they reached the shaft, Nicholas hitched his horse to the wheel that operated the bucket. He'd picked a strong, tranquil bay gelding for the occasion. Owen checked the pulley and rope, then nodded. "I'll go first. Jamie, we'll signal you by pulling this line, which rings a small bell."

  After demonstrating the signal, he lit a candle and stepped into the bucket. Harkin set the gelding into motion and Owen dropped out of sight down the narrow shaft, accompanied by the sound of the creaking wheel. When the bell rang, Jamie reversed the direction of the wheel, raising the bucket to the surface.

  Then it was Nicholas's turn. His candle was already lit, so he stepped in and nodded for Jamie to begin. As he descended, he decided that traveling in a bucket was somewhat better than perching on a loop of rope, as he had done on his first trip down pit. However, the Bychan shaft was so narrow that he felt he was falling down a rabbit hole. Air swooshed noisily past and the bucket swayed and banged against the sides of the shaft. Just before he reached bottom, his candle blew out. Luckily Owen was waiting with his own candle glowing.

  Nicholas climbed out of the bucket and relit his candle from the other man's. "Which way?"

  "Along here." Owen set off to the right. "It's not far, but I'm taking a roundabout route so we're less likely to be seen." It was one of the oldest sections of the mine, and support timbers were few and far between. As he followed the other man, Nicholas remembered his first trip down pit, and the delightful complications of being trapped in the flood with Clare. She had made major advances in kissing that day....

  Rigorously he controlled his thoughts. He had already learned that a mine was no place for wandering attention.

  They passed one of the adits that drained water from the mine, then concealed themselves in an abandoned passage while half a dozen boys pushed empty corves along the main tunnel. After the rattle of wheels had faded, they continued.

  When they passed a tunnel where the metallic banging of picks could be heard, Owen said with a frown, "That's where the lads were taking the corves. Some fellows have decided to work a new face along there. I don't like it—there's too much gas in this part of the mine, which is why it hasn't been worked in years. But there's a good vein down that tunnel, so there are some willing to take the risk. Particularly since Madoc lowered the payment rates recently, and a man has to cut more coal in order to make the same money as before."

  A few minutes later, they reached the passage that had the timber nailed across it. Owen dropped down and crawled under, Nicholas following. He observed with interest that the dust on the tunnel floor had been disturbed recently, and often.

  He kept one eye on the walls and saw the stone change color as they reached the end of the shaft. Owen began skimming the walls with his palms. "If we can find what I suspect is here..."

  Doing the same, Nicholas asked, "What are we looking for?"

  "Now and then we come across air pockets in the stone. They're called voogs, and can be any size from a walnut to a large room. It's the sort of place where wire silver might be found. Wilkins was one of the hewers when this vein was being worked. My guess is that he broke through into a sizable voog hole and kept his mouth shut when he realized what he had found. Since the vein had played out and work stopped, nobody noticed."

  Nicholas's patting hand abruptly disappeared into a gap around knee level. He knelt for a closer examination and found a shaft about two feet high. "This might be it."

  As Owen joined him, Nicholas dropped onto his belly and wriggled into the hole. "Let's see where this goes."

  The cavity curved to the left, then opened into a larger space. He raised the candle, then gasped in surprise as the light reflected from a thousand glittering surfaces. The voog was an irregular oblong chamber roughly eight feet square and six feet high. What made it extraordinary were the masses of sparkling crystals that jutted from the walls. Moving cautiously so as not to brain himself on a clump of quartz, he got to his feet and called, "Come on in. This place is incredible."

  A moment later Owen joined him. After getting to his feet, he studied his surroundings with awe. "A crystal cave. The ancient ones believed such places were magic, and maybe they were right. I've seen small crystal caves, but never one so large."

  Nicholas pointed to a cluster of smashed quartz. "Is this what we're looking for?"

  Owen brushed aside shards of broken crystal and brought his candle closer. As he did, light flashed from a brilliant silver splinter. He pointed to a tiny thread of metal at the heart of the shattered area. "This is it," he said triumphantly. "That's a thread that broke off when a clump of wire silver was chiseled out. Let's see how many other broken areas there are."

  They began a systematic survey and found almost forty places that had been chiseled. Several showed traces of wire silver that had been left behind. They also found another low passage. Owen said, "After Wilkins had taken all the silver here, he probably tapped around, hoping to find a voog next to this one."

  Owen led the way through the gap into a smaller voog that also contained quartz formations, though not as many. It must have been newly discovered, for there were few chiseled areas.

  As Nicholas raised his candle and studied the ceiling, a shimmer of light caught his eyes. He looked more closely and saw a knot of silver threads wrapped irregularly around a spur of quartz. "Eureka," he said softly. "An intact formation."

  Owen came and looked over his shoulder. "Almost too pretty to break, isn't it?"

  "Almost, but we should take it back as a sample. When we go to the law, this will help us make our case to a magistrate who has never seen any wire silver."

  Owen had brought several small tools, and he began chiseling at the quartz. "Takes time to cut them out," he said conversationally. "Plus most of the formations are probably buried among the crystals and not so easy to find as this one. My guess is that Wilkins has been working here for months, a few hours at a time so nobody would notice what he was up to."

  He freed the whole formation, quartz and all, then handed it to Nicholas. "This belongs to you."

  The sparkling specimen was about the size of an apple, only much heavier. To protect the delicate crystal and silver spikes, Nicholas wrapped a handkerchief around the sample, then dropped it into one of
the deep pockets of his jacket. "When we get out of here, I want to take you into Swansea so we can both swear affidavits before a magistrate. My solicitor is ready to ask for an injunction. By tomorrow, the mine should be closed."

  Owen's brow furrowed. "I didn't help you so miners would be put out to starve."

  "Of course not," Nicholas assured him. "I'll take all the men on at the same salaries. They can work at the slate quarry and start building the tramway. No one will lose by this."

  Owen gave a nod of approval, then dropped down and crawled from the voog. Nicholas followed automatically, his mind busy with plans. They made their way back to the main passage and began retracing their steps.

  As they passed the tunnel that led to the new face, they heard men moving toward them. Owen said, "I've always had a knack for detecting gas, and it's heavier now than it was earlier. If it were any worse, we'd have to put out our candles and find our way back in the dark. One of the lads must have noticed and persuaded the others to leave, thank heaven."

  "Either that, or one of the lads sent the others out so he could try the old technique of lying down, igniting the gas, and letting it race over him."

  "It's done sometimes, but I hope they won't try it here." In the flickering candlelight, Owen's expression was concerned. "Because of Madoc's skinflint ways, the shoring here is the worst in the pit—most of the timber has been removed and reused in newer tunnels. Wouldn't take much to cause a collapse. There's also a danger of triggering dust explosions." He grimaced. "Even dusty air can explode under the right—or wrong—conditions."

  Nicholas told himself that experienced miners would not do anything that was clearly dangerous, but he found himself walking faster. In his experience, every group had its share of fools. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when they reached the open area where the bucket waited.

  An explosion boomed from the passages behind them. As they both froze, a distant man screamed in agony and a hideous rumble thundered through the tunnels. Another explosion shook the earth, this one closer. Face ashen, Owen exclaimed, "God help us, the whole place is coming down!"

  Nicholas stared at the waiting bucket, his mind racing as he tried to imagine a way that it could lift both of them at once. It took only an instant to realize that was impossible. He grabbed Owen's arm and shoved him toward the bucket. "You first, you've got a family."

  Owen hesitated for an instant, then jerked away. "No!"

  Nicholas started to say that the explosion probably wouldn't reach this far, but he never had a chance. Rather than waste time talking, Owen drew back a work-hardened fist and smashed it into Nicholas's jaw.

  The unexpected blow caught him completely unprepared. Though Nicholas didn't quite lose consciousness, his vision faded and his knees began to buckle. He tried to protest as Owen shoved him into the bucket and wrapped his hands around one of the lift lines, but to no avail.

  When he was safely stowed, Owen yanked on the signal rope. The bell rang faintly above and Nicholas began rising toward the surface, swearing furiously at his helplessness. Below him the sounds of disaster were drawing nearer. Wind sucked through the shaft, making the bucket rock wildly against the walls.

  As soon as he reached the surface, Nicholas dived out, shouting, "Send this damned thing down again! There's been an explosion and we have to get Owen out!"

  Jamie Harkin obeyed instantly. Frantic to speed the process up, Nicholas went to the horse's head and used every bit of Romany magic he knew to persuade the beast to go faster.

  But it was already too late. Beneath them the earth roared and clouds of suffocating smoke spewed upward, black against the pale fog.

  The force of the blast blew the bucket up the shaft and into the air like a rocket. After ripping loose from its supporting ropes, the bucket crashed to the ground fifty feet away. As Nicholas watched in horror, the shaft collapsed inward, cutting off the billowing smoke.

  The catastrophe everyone had predicted had finally struck the Penreith mine.

  Chapter 25

  The explosion was heard throughout the valley, and able-bodied men for miles around converged on the mine to help with rescue operations. Since the Bychan shaft was irrevocably closed, Nicholas ran to the main premises and joined the first group of rescuers to go below ground. Though a couple of men recognized him with surprised glances, no one questioned his right to be there. In the pit, he was not an earl but another pair of needed hands.

  In a rage of energy, he shifted broken stones for hours, until his hands were raw and his muscles trembled with exhaustion. Once he crawled into a precariously balanced tumble of debris and managed to free a youth who was still alive. More often, the men uncovered were beyond help.

  After uncounted hours of labor, a new man coming on took his arm and led him back to the lift, saying that he needed rest or he'd be more harm than help. When Nicholas reached the surface, he found that the fog had burned off and the sun was setting, flooding the valley with a blaze of bloodred light. Somewhere nearby an authoritative voice was barking orders, but he was too tired to pay attention to the words.

  As he squinted against the glare, another good Samaritan pointed him toward a table where sandwiches and hot tea were being served. The thought of food turned his stomach, but he accepted a mug of steaming tea that someone pressed into his hand. It was heavily sugared, and the heat and sweetness cleared his head a little. Though he had numerous scrapes and bruises, he felt no pain. He felt nothing at all.

  The premises teemed with people. Though some moved purposefully, more were family members hoping for news of the missing miners. Some wept while others waited fatalistically. Nicholas would never forget their faces for as long as he lived.

  He was unsurprised to see Clare. An island of calm strength in the midst of chaos, she seemed to be in charge of providing food for the workers. Though she was fifty yards away, she must have sensed his glance, for she looked up. For a moment their gazes held as a complex current of grief and compassion flowed between them. Abruptly he turned away, knowing that in his present state she might slide through his barriers. If that happened, he would break down entirely.

  Reluctant but unable to stop himself, he walked over to the results of carnage—two rows of bodies that had been laid on the ground and covered with empty coal sacks. He counted twenty-eight. As he watched, another victim was laid to rest at the end of a row. The body was badly burned, but a frantic woman knelt and looked at a ring, then burst into wails of grief. As the body was covered, an older man led her away, tears streaming down his own face.

  Sickened, he turned away, and found himself face to face with Marged Morris. At sixteen she had been the prettiest girl in the valley, and she had grown up to be a lovely woman. Now her face was haggard and she looked twice her age. She whispered, "Owen is missing. Is... is there any chance for him?"

  Nicholas would rather have died in the mine than have to answer her question. Yet answer he must, for only he knew where Owen had been at the time of the explosion. "I don't think so, Marged," he said painfully. "The Bychan shaft is blocked and the tunnels beneath it must have collapsed at the same time." His throat closed. After swallowing hard, he finished, "The engineer doesn't expect any survivors from that part of the mine."

  For a moment she simply stared at him, and he wondered if she understood. Then he saw that she was shaking all over, as if she had a violent chill.

  Unable to bear the expression in her eyes, he drew her into his arms, as much to comfort himself as her. She clung to him like a drowning woman, sobs racking her slim body.

  Anguished tears in his eyes, he said hoarsely, "You and the children will never lack for anything, Marged. I swear it." Even as he spoke, he knew how paltry a substitute money would be for a missing husband and father.

  Face bleak, Clare was approaching. He sent her a glance of desperate appeal over Marged's head. Understanding, she went to her friend and said gently, "If there is good news, you'll be notified immediately. But now I'll take you home.
The children need you."

  Slowly Marged straightened and dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. "Of course, I must go to the children. And I must t-tell Owen's mother," she said dully. For a moment rage flashed across her face. "I'll never let my sons work here. Never!" With Clare holding her arm, she turned and walked away.

  Nicholas watched the two women until they disappeared into the milling crowd. It was almost dark and torches were being lit. The flickering light made the mine premises look like a lurid medieval painting of hell.

  Heart like lead, he crossed to the main shaft and joined a group of other men who were returning to the pit after a break. Covered with black coal dust, they were almost indistinguishable from each other. Nicholas knew he must look the same.

  As he waited to descend, a familiar voice snapped, "What the devil are you doing here, Aberdare? Get off my property!"

  Nicholas turned and saw Michael Kenyon bearing down on him. Vaguely he realized that it had been Michael's voice he had heard giving orders, organizing the rescue work with the efficiency and coolness he had learned under fire.

  "Save your tantrums until this is over," Nicholas said wearily. "Until then, you need all the help you can get."

  When the other man's mouth opened for a retort, Nicholas forestalled him with a raised hand. "Michael—shut the hell up."

  Spots of angry color showed on Michael's cheeks, but he argued no more. Lips compressed to a thin line, he pivoted and walked away.

  And Nicholas returned to the mine.

  * * *

  After taking Marged home, Clare didn't see Nicholas again until two days after the explosion. That was when Lewis the Cart, who did most of the delivery work around Penreith, delivered the unconscious earl. When Rhys Williams summoned Clare outside, she was shocked to see Nicholas's condition. Not only was he ragged and filthy, but streaks of blood marked his hands and clothing.

  Seeing her concern, Lewis said reassuringly, "He's not hurt, Miss Morgan, only fagged out." He gave an approving nod. "The earl may be a Gypsy, but he's a right 'un, he is. Not afraid to get his hands dirty. Didn't sleep for two days, they say, but mortal flesh has to rest eventually."