Gwynna bounced up on the tips of her toes at Papa’s hidden smile. He didn’t want her working at the mine, that much was clear. But Papa had never been able to hide his pride in his daughter’s strength, even if it went against his wishes.
Finally, Mr. Harvey leaned toward his book again. “Very well. Mary Hocking has left us, so we are in need of a replacement in spalling.”
Gwynna bit the inside of her cheek. She knew full well her friend Mary had recently married and quit the mine to live in St. Ives with her new husband—leaving a vacancy at Wheal Favour perfect for Gwynna. But Papa didn’t need to know that.
She avoided his suspicious gaze and focused hard on the words Mr. Harvey scrawled in his book. She could only slightly recognize a few of the letters.
G, w, y…
He continued to write as he spoke. “I suspect you won’t have a problem working hard, being your father’s daughter. But if you struggle or can’t keep up with the ore given you, know that we will have to move you to bucking.”
If that wasn’t motivation to prove her work ethic, nothing was.
“Will you be ready to start next Tuesday?”
A vein of disappointment cut through her excitement, but she nodded anyway. She dared not test her father or push the mine captain further by telling them that date conflicted with plans she’d made weeks before. Mr. Harvey wouldn’t care, and Papa, well, this was another piece of information he didn’t need to know. Ever. She would simply adjust her plans and continue in silence.
After Mr. Harvey finished instructing her about the certain rules of the mine she’d been abiding by since she was a child, they bade farewell to the mine captain and made to quit the counthouse.
No sooner than they reached the door, however, did it swing wide open, causing them both to take a quick step back.
Two gentlemen entered the room. Gwynna recognized the first as Mr. Trevethan. She’d never spoken with him before but had often seen him from afar as she’d visited with Papa during his breaks.
“Merrick, my apologies,” Mr. Trevethan said after noting he’d nearly hit them with the door. “I didn’t know you’d be in here.”
“Not a problem, sir.”
The second gentleman, no doubt a new investor, moved out from behind Mr. Trevethan.
At first glance, Gwynna was rather struck. Not dumb, by any means. She was not the sort of woman to fall down at a man’s feet. But to say she didn’t admire a handsome face would be an obvious lie—and he certainly had a handsome face. Straight nose, firm jaw, distinguished cheekbones. Dark eyes below even darker brows.
No doubt the bal maidens outside stopped their chatting when he walked by.
“Did you have business with Mr. Harvey?” Mr. Trevethan asked, glancing between the mine captain and Papa.
“Yes, sir. We be askin’ for me daugh’er Gwynna to return as a maiden.”
Mr. Trevethan shifted his attention to Gwynna. “Excellent news. We’ll be happy to have another Merrick with us.”
Mr. Rosewall—the previous owner—very rarely came to the mine, and he never spoke with the miners, let alone the bal maidens. Now Gwynna knew why Papa spoke so highly of Mr. Trevethan.
“I thank ye, sir,” she responded.
Her attention wavered for the smallest moment toward the younger gentleman again—she pegged him to be in his mid-twenties—and found his eyes on her.
One side of his mouth turned down but not in a frown. It appeared more as if he were attempting to hide a smile. What did he find so humorous, the raggedy fabric in her hair? Had she dirt on her face? She’d almost prefer him to blatantly ignore her, as Mr. Pinnick had done.
Papa inched toward the door. “Excuse us, sir. Break’s nearly over.” He’d never been comfortable around members of the upper class. Whether he thought he wasn’t deserving of their company or vice versa, Gwynna wasn’t entirely certain.
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Trevethan said. “Only, allow me first to introduce to you my son.”
Son? Gwynna glanced between the two gentlemen. There was hardly any resemblance, unless she counted the darkness of their eyes.
“He’s finally come home after all these years in Bath,” Mr. Trevethan continued. “Jack, Merrick is one of the finest workers we have here at Favour.” He clapped his hand on his son’s shoulder. “And I’m sure his daughter will be now, too.”
Jack Trevethan shifted away from his father, causing Mr. Trevethan’s arm to fall to his side. Gwynna caught a quick, uncertain glance pass between them before she dipped her head.
“Good to meet ye, sir,” Papa said, his hand on the latch of the door.
The younger Mr. Trevethan didn’t respond. His brown eyes traced the scant walls, the grim stretch of his lips replacing the shadow of a smile he’d nearly revealed before.
He was clearly finding fault in the room she had just admired for its cleanliness. By the sight of his silk green waistcoat and spotless cravat, he was no doubt used to extravagant ballrooms and lavish furnishings—something Gwynna had only admired from afar.
That, of course, would change for an evening not too far from now.
The click of the door Papa had finally opened drew her attention away from the gentlemen once and for all. Papa excused himself swiftly then slipped through the doorway with a nod of his head.
Gwynna promptly followed without a glance back. She didn’t have time to dwell on the mine owner’s son, nor his disapproval of anything less than lofty in nature. She had far more important things on which to focus—providing for her family, doing well with her upcoming work at the mine.
And soon, attending a private ball, somehow, without her true identity being discovered.
Heaven help her.
* * *
The door closed behind the miner and his daughter, but Jack Trevethan was still too preoccupied with the state of the room to really notice. Father had said they’d made vast improvements to the counthouse. If that was the case, how must it have appeared before? The walls hardly kept out the wind, and the roof no doubt leaked fiercely during storms.
“Come, son. Meet our mine captain, Mr. Harvey.”
Jack followed Father across the creaking floor as the mine captain stood and allowed Father to take his place behind the desk. Could they only afford one for the both of them? Perhaps they should’ve made that improvement, instead of the minute bedroom Father had boasted of as they’d approached the counthouse earlier.
“I trust you are enjoying your time in Cornwall, sir,” Mr. Harvey said after they’d been introduced.
“I am, thank you.” Was Jack’s indifference apparent? He’d always preferred Cornwall and its views to Bath and its crowds, but the bustling city had two clear advantages—it was far away from Father, and the women there were plenty.
Although, some of these bal maidens weren’t half so bad to look at. He blinked away a pair of amber eyes and placed a polite smile on his lips. “It is good to be back for a time.”
Father straightened in his chair. He obviously hadn’t seen through Jack’s lies, still buzzing after their walk around Wheal Favour. Jack shouldn’t be surprised at Father’s joy in the mine. He hadn’t stopped going on about it since Jack had arrived in Cornwall the day before. Father clearly had a great deal of pride in his new endeavor. He spoke of his love for it as if it were a second child.
Or his only child.
Jack, however, most certainly was not enjoying himself. He never would have agreed to quit Bath for Cornwall and this forsaken mine had not his conscience spoken to him—his conscience that sounded suspiciously like Mama.
Go to him, son. He wishes to see you.
Jack had started ignoring this voice more than twelve years ago—the last time he’d heard it aloud, the last time he’d seen his mother alive. But three years had gone by now without any interaction with his father. It was probably time to see to his duty for a week or two.
“This here is the logbook,” Father said. “It’s where we make record of al
l the happenings at the mine.”
Jack stared mutely at the pages of the book through which Father flipped. He’d decided to remain apathetic to the mine so Father wouldn’t attempt to bore him with even more details. Thus far, it hadn’t worked. Why he thought Jack would be interested in a logbook was beyond him. But then, Father didn’t really know Jack at all.
Sending a son away at the age of twelve to live with distant cousins and only visiting him once a year tended to have that effect.
“The new hires are recorded, as well as those who have left us,” Father continued. “I think it extremely beneficial to have thorough records. Not only for us, but for those who come after. I hope when you take over Favour, you will do the very same.”
He watched Jack expectantly, but Jack hesitated. He didn’t want the mine, nor the responsibilities that came with it. Father was the one to make the foolhardy decision to add this to his other ventures—purchasing a second estate in Suffolk and investing in one scheme after another, anything to keep his mind busy. Why should Jack have to take all of this over because it was Father’s dream?
Heavens, you could curdle milk with that scowl, Jacky.
Mama’s voice echoed in the recesses of his mind once again. He was scowling. Mother had always said he had too fierce a frown. When he was angry, she would stroke a gentle thumb into the crease between his eyebrows until it faded away.
He was old enough to be rid of his scowls himself now. “Just so, Father.”
Apparently pleased with Jack’s change in demeanor, Father returned his attention to his book.
It was just as well. There wasn’t any need at the moment for Jack to admit he had no desire to accept anything but monetary gains from his father. When Jack was given control of all financial matters, he’d simply sell Father’s shares and businesses. His family estate, though, he’d keep. Mother loved Coffrow Place too much for Jack to ever consider selling it. He’d simply lease the house and use the money to fund the life of leisure he’d planned for his future—a life away from Cornwall, single and free to do whatever he pleased.
“Mr. Pinnick was here earlier, sir,” Mr. Harvey said as Jack took to staring out the narrow window. “He once again complained about holding our meetings here.”
Father sighed, rubbing his fingers against his eyes. “I wish I had never accepted his investment. He’s done nothing but complain from the beginning.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Have the Yeomans agreed to the use of their horse for the whim?” Father asked.
How long would they continue in this regard? Perhaps Jack should excuse himself and return to Coffrow Place alone. That would be more entertaining than listening to matters of business.
“Yes, and Mrs. Yeoman has agreed to allow her daughter to take the job.”
“Excellent. And Merrick’s girl. Gwynna was it?”
Jack’s attention slipped back to Father. The bal maiden? She had to be more entertaining than a logbook.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you hire her for bucking?”
“No, sir. She…” Mr. Harvey paused, sliding his fingers along his jaw with an amused expression. “She was determined to do spalling instead.”
Father leaned back in his chair, amused. “Indeed?”
Despite his attempt to remain indifferent, Jack’s intrigue grew. Why was the girl’s choice so comical?
“She was very insistent,” Mr. Harvey continued, “and Merrick defended her capabilities. She worked in that position for a few years before she left, so I have hope she will do a fine job. Either way, if she does not succeed, we can move her elsewhere.”
Silence followed, Father deep in thought as he tapped his finger on his lips.
Jack had seen bal maidens from afar on walks with his mother around the Cornish countryside when her health had permitted it, but he admittedly knew very little about them or mining in general.
“Why is it strange she would do…sprawling, was it?” he asked.
Father’s eyes lit with excitement, but he spoke slowly, as if to prove he wasn’t overtly thrilled with Jack’s interest in his work. “Spalling, actually,” he corrected. “It’s certainly not the most difficult job a maiden does, though they’re all quite laborious. But it’s essential to the economy of the mine. It requires the girls to wield a long-handled hammer to break down the ore.”
“Hence why we typically reserve the spalling to the larger of the maidens. Stout, if you will,” Mr. Harvey added.
“And it takes a great deal of skill to hit the ore in its proper shattering sphere.”
“I see,” Jack said.
He tried to imagine the slight bal maiden, Gwynna, brandishing such a tool. She was tall, as tall as the regal women he’d known in Bath, and even thinner than they were. It would be a marvel if she didn’t fall over.
A smile played on his lips. No wonder Father and Mr. Harvey had been amused. Such a thing would be humorous to see. Perhaps Jack would return to the mine after all, if only to see if the maiden could, in actuality, do such a task.
He had very little faith that she could.
Chapter Two
Gwynna flung her cloak around her shoulders as she made for the door, the depleting heels of her boots thumping across the scratched, wooden floor of her home.
“Where ye be off to then?” Mama’s voice came from behind.
Gwynna adjusted the threadbare cloak until the worn fabric fell more comfortably around her. Dinner had been eaten and cleared from the small table in the corner of the room, and her parents had just sat down across from each other before the fire, Mama with a needle, thread, and a worn pair of stockings, and Papa with his pipe.
“Fynwary Hall,” Gwynna replied with a skirted gaze. “I promised Sophia I’d visit.”
Her parents swapped glances. “Ye have work at the mine tomorrow,” Mama reminded.
As if Gwynna could have forgotten. Wheal Favour had been at the forefront of her mind nearly as often as the ball she would attend that evening.
She hoped her carefree nod was convincing enough. She disliked lying to her parents, but they simply wouldn’t understand her desire to attend a high-society gathering. It was better to keep that a secret from everyone. Everyone but her upper-class friend, Mrs. Sophia Hawkins, who’d helped Gwynna’s idea come to fruition.
Mama drew the frayed sides of her grey stockings together with her needle and a small piece of string. “I suppose t’wouldn’t hurt if ye go. So long as ye come back ‘fore dark.”
Gwynna focused on the lint clinging to her faded cloak. “Oh, I-I mightn’t be back ‘til later. After dark, likely.”
Long past dark, if she had her way.
Mama’s eyebrows curved. “Why so late?”
“Ye know how Sophia and I can get to speakin’. This might be our last night to do so.”
“And how do ye expect to work with so little sleep?” Mama asked next.
Gwynna dropped her eyes. For once, she didn’t have to lie. “I hardly sleep now as it is.”
Her parents shared another look. “Are the nightmares still occurin’?” Mama asked.
“Not as bad as they were,” Gwynna lied again.
The nightmares were worse, more than they’d ever been before. Now, instead of simply hearing or seeing visions of Jago’s death that she did not in actuality witness, she was experiencing in her dreams the same horrifying demise for herself.
She shook the frightful images from her mind. “So ye be all right then, with me not returnin’ ‘til later? Past midnight, per’aps?”
Past midnight would allot her an hour or two at the ball. Plenty of time to enjoy herself, though not anywhere long enough to be recognized or remembered.
“I suppose ye be old enough to make the decision for yourself. If Papa agrees, ‘course.”
Papa remained silent. Mama had always been more lenient than him.
“Father?” Gwynna pressed.
He blew out a breath from his pipe, white smoke curling i
n the air. “Why are ye goin’?”
Gwynna swallowed. She’d rehearsed this conversation countless times in her head. She knew the answers like she knew the frayed holes in her hem, but would her parents believe her lies? And would they ever forgive her for speaking such falsehoods?
“I be friends with Sophia. Ye know that.”
Papa’s expression didn’t change. “Are ye certain ye still are?”
“Yes, Father,” Gwynna answered carefully.
Papa had always been wary of Gwynna’s friendship with Sophia. After all, it was unusual for a lady to befriend a miner’s daughter. But Sophia wasn’t like most members of the upper class. Not after she’d lost her fortune and most contact with her family. She’d married the Merricks’ landlord and had converted to a kind, thoughtful individual, but Father still found her difficult to accept.
“I thought she’d leave ye alone,” Papa continued in a steely tone, “now that she be married and wealthy again, in her fitty house with clothes and servants.”
“Travers,” Mama warned under her breath. Her fingers continued to stitch, though her eyes were on Papa’s. “Ye know Mrs. Hawkins be a better person than her father. Ye said so yourself.”
Gwynna remained silent. She knew better than to speak when Sophia’s father, Mr. Rosewall, was mentioned. Mr. Rosewall had once owned Wheal Favour and was responsible for the early hardships of the mine, including Jago’s death and many others. Sophia wasn’t responsible for her father’s reckless decisions, and Gwynna wouldn’t hold that against her. But Papa did.
He pulled his pipe from his mouth, the wood clicking against his teeth. “I know she ain’t be terrible, only…”
He lifted his gaze, the same fear reflected in his eyes that Gwynna had witnessed days ago at Wheal Favour.
“I don’t want ye hurt, Gwynna. Many folk o’ the upper class think they be better than we. I don’t want ye unhappy with what ye ‘ave here.” He turned away, facing the fire. “Or what ye don’t ‘ave.”
Guilt swarmed her insides like a flock of seagulls to a dead pilchard washed up on shore. Father had worked all his life for his family and had prevented them from starvation countless times. How ungrateful would Gwynna appear to him, should he learn of her attending the ball. This would be an experience she’d dreamt of her whole life, but he would only see it as what he couldn’t give her.
Near the Ruins of Penharrow (A Cornish Romance Book 3) Page 2