Pennyroyal

by Stella Whitelaw

  “I’ll do exactly as you say,” said Cassy. “I’ll be as good as gold. The perfect apprentice.”

  “You, the perfect apprentice?” He looked at her with a short laugh. “You’re a high flyer and make no mistake.”

  She smiled at the phrase. “Let’s go then. One of these keys must open the door to the steps.”

  Jake drew back the heavy, rusted bolts. Cassy felt a thrill of excitement as she followed him along a gloomy passage and then turned a corner into sudden darkness. Cold air from the mine met them like a warning to turn back before it was too late. The wavering beam from Jake’s battery lamp threw into relief the fine dry-stone arching that looked as solid as the Tower of London.

  The icy wall of air frosted Cassy’s lightly clad spine. The drop in temperature in just a few feet was startling. Jake took off his padded waistcoat, slung it over her shoulders with a gesture of impatience and began to button up the front.

  “No…please,” she began to protest.

  “Don’t argue. It’s going to be cold.”

  He was throwing the beam around the walls, searching for something. Cassy did not move. She could not see where to put her feet. The blackness was terrifying but she stood her ground, not willing to admit fear.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The main switch. There must be one. Let’s hope the electrics still work. If not, then you’ll have to go back.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re not going down the steps unless there’s electricity. You’d break an ankle or worse. It would be more sensible if you took some of the documents back to the inn.”

  Cassy was tempted to go along with his suggestion. The dark and cold accentuated her feeling of unease. She had never tested the extent of her courage. Her childhood had been protected by one set of caring people after another although she remembered little of the early years with her parents in New Guinea. She had returned to England to board at a convent boarding school, spending most of the school holidays with her grandfather and Mrs. Hadlow. Both of her parents had died, within days of each other, from malaria. They were almost like strangers, dearly loved but having no impact on her daily routine. After the double funeral Cassy returned to school, never going back to Derbyshire.

  Jake brushed past her and the contact was almost unbearable. She stumbled and quickly he drew her into the safe curve of his side.

  “Steady now.”

  “Don’t worry, I shan’t move until I can see exactly where I’m going.”

  “Stick to that, Miss Ridgeway, and we’ll be underground in no time.”

  There was a sharp edge of anticipation in his voice; Cassy supposed that every new mine, large or small, was a challenge. It enabled her to control her yearning for his closeness to continue.

  He moved away, stooping under the low arched roof, his powerful shape caught in the crossed beams of light.

  “Dammit. Must be somewhere,” she heard him muttering.

  Cassy held the lamp steady with both hands, trying to be helpful by anticipating where he needed the light thrown. The stone walls glistened. Her eyes were getting used to the gloom and she saw to her left the flight of stone steps, descending and disappearing, plunging into utter blackness.

  “Here it is. Let’s hope it works.”

  There was a clang as Jake pulled a lever and a series of light, like little islands, came on down the walls of the stone arching. At the same instant, several of the bulbs blew, leaving ragged areas of light and gloom. An iron handrail was fixed down both walls. Jake tested it with his weight.

  “Pretty sound. No movement at all.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  “I think you’d better wait here. The steps may not be safe. I’ll go down first.”

  “Don’t start changing your mind. Pennyroyal is mine and I want to see it. I can walk down a flight of steps.”

  He turned, suddenly tense, and quite unnecessarily tugged at the padded waistcoat round her, then tested the holder and switched on her lamp. He reached out and crunched her hair into a handful, tucking it back into her collar, the wisps framing her face like silver cobwebs, emphasising the delicacy of her high cheekbones.

  His face was gaunt, almost haggard in the uncompromising light. Something had disturbed Jake Everand and even now he was fighting to master his feelings.

  “I’ll go first,” he said. “Put your hand on my shoulder and keep hold of the rail with the other. Only take a step if you are sure there’s something firm under your feet. These steps look uneven, different widths and heights. If you fall, you’ll take me with you and that would upset my plan to be back at the Castle Inn in a couple of hours’ time.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Cassy vehemently, “I’m going to be there too. I can’t wait for that coffee.”

  She did not add that she might need more than one hot coffee to get her circulation going again. The chill was seeping through her thin clothes with icy fingers despite the padded waistcoat around her shoulders. Her toes were numb; so were her fingers gripping the cold metal of the rail. But having made all this fuss, she could hardly back out because she was cold.

  He moved ahead, going down a few steps until they were level. She could see dark hair curling on the back of his neck and a wave of tenderness joined the swampland of her curious feelings. She wanted to touch that soft hair, to feel the skin, to curve her hands over those powerful shoulders sloping under his shirt. Her spirit sang freely because in those moments she did not have to hide the expression on her face. She could drench herself in the look of him.

  “Ready?”

  They began the descent one step at a time. It was a weird feeling, carefully treading each step lower into the mine, the patches of darkness eerie and disconcerting. Cassy slid her hand along the rail, never letting go, her other hand firmly on Jake’s shoulder. He kept talking as if aware of her apprehension.

  “The air’s fresh,” he said. “No bad gas. It must be well ventilated. How are you doing?”

  “All right,” Cassy croaked.

  “Only another few hundred steps,” he said encouragingly. “Mind the next one…it’s a bit steep.”

  “Several hundred? That last one gave me vertigo.”

  “Don’t be afraid. Pennyroyal is six hundred feet below the surface at its deepest. It looks well built and in good condition, as I expected. Those Victorian miners knew how to build. We’re burrowing under the hill now, under High Rake.”

  Cassy shook but it was not with fear. A growing excitement made her nerves tingle. This was an experience that surpassed anything in her life. All her success as a model, seeing her own face and figure in glossy magazines, having money to spend on what she wanted seemed insignificant compared to these awesome depths. She understood now the fascination of pot-holing, rock-climbing, being close to strata of millennia, to actually touch geological wonders.

  “Do you want to stop and rest?” He turned to look back at her. The earlier rigidity had gone; he was totally contained, all the old mastery in command. She shrugged, her hand firmly clutching his shoulder.

  “Just keep going,” she said.

  “Women and children used to work down in these mines. Kids were paid sixpence a week to work the bellows. The women cleared the rock rubble from the tunnel and the workings.”

  “It must have been dreadful,” said Cassy. She paused. “What’s that noise?”

  She heard his sharply drawn breath. “You know nothing about Pennyroyal, do you?”

  “Not a lot,” she admitted.

  “You’re in for a surprise.”

  They continued downwards, a slight sound breaking the silence. Cassy tried to identify the odd, almost imperceptible slapping. She had lost count of the steps though she had meant to keep a tally. Her eyes were fixed on the back of Jake’s head; she dare not look back. Knowing that she had to return the same way might ruin her determination to get to the bottom.

  “We’re nearly there!”

  “Whatever is that pecul
iar noise?” The alien sound was louder now. “Is something down there?”

  “Haven’t you worked it out, yet? It’s a natural phenomenon. How do you think they transported the lead, Miss Ridgeway? It’s heavy stuff.”

  Cassy’s brain felt like cotton wool. It was no time to be taking an intelligence test…mules, donkeys, carts. She racked her memory for anything she had ever read about mines.

  “Some kind of pulley system?” She hated the thought of women and children in the narrow tunnels, dragging baskets of rubble through the dirt and mud, long skirts wet and torn, the children’s feet bruised and bleeding. What long dark, dangerous work…the unspeakable tiredness…the longing to see daylight. Yet they had been thankful to have some kind of a job.

  “This isn’t a draper’s shop.”

  “I’m not really in the mood for guessing games. Are you sure you know where we’re going?”

  “Of course. The steps are in good shape for their age. I can see the end now. You can congratulate yourself, Miss Ridgeway, you’ve made it. Here’s the beginning of the main canal.”

  Jake Everand stood on the bottom step which had widened onto a stone platform. He held out a hand but she ignored it. She caught her lower lip with her teeth to stem her shattering disappointment.

  The arched hewn rock that was the ceiling of the tunnel was clearly visible, but below and beyond that was a shimmering black mirror. The beam from Jake’s lamp broke on it, fragmenting the blackness into silvery luminosity.

  “It’s water,” she said, devastated. “The mine’s flooded.”

  “How very observant,” he said with a trace of scorn. “Water it is and flooded for a good reason. The old men used shallow boats to carry the lead ore along the main canal from the workings. The water isn’t deep, only two or three feet. But don’t fall in; it’s icy cold. According to the plans there’s a waterfall supplying spring water into the far canal and a dam that keeps the water level. The Romans first used flooded mines. It’s nothing new.”

  “Oh, I see. I thought it was a disaster.”

  “It provided cheap and safe transport, though the lead still had to be brought to the surface.”

  “Is that a wrecked boat?” Cassy caught sight of wooden ribs and planking jutting out of the still water like a broken signpost. She felt happier knowing that flooding was not the disaster which closed the mine.

  She felt no fear. The hundreds of feet of rock hanging above her head had no real meaning. She already felt part of Pennyroyal as if she had been there when it had been first hewn out of the rock. Back in London, it had meant nothing to her, merely a name and a means of gaining capital. She had thought of reworking the mine or selling it. But already the second option was fading from her mind. It seemed a living entity, part of her grandfather, part of those men, women and children who had laboured below the earth, digging and blasting out rock. She had a responsibility towards all those lean, pale-faced miners of long ago; she did not want to forget their struggles.

  There was no way of pretending that their herculean efforts were like a piece of real estate easily sold. Pennyroyal had a grandeur that was not possible to evaluate.

  ’Did you know that I own a flight of several hundred steps under High Rake in Derbyshire,’ she imagined herself saying proudly to various wide-eyed and bewildered friends. ’These steps going underground are a fine example of dry stone arching. You ought to come and see them. I’ll take you down. Nothing to be scared of, just don’t wear white jeans.’

  She imagined a party in the mine, and a ripple of laughter broke from her. Jake looked at her questioningly.

  “I was just wondering what my London friends would make of all this,” she tried to explain, with a wave of her hand.

  “They would not be impressed, eh?”

  “Not a lot, I’m afraid…unless I managed to convince them just how wonderful it really is.”

  “Is that what you think?” The question was carefully guarded, his face without expression.

  Cassy nodded enthusiastically. “I do. I think the mine is wonderful. I’m absolutely thrilled. I may be frozen, but I’m feeling so proud to be the owner of Pennyroyal.”

  He seemed nonplussed, not sure what to make of her reply. “Well, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll get the dinghy down here and go for a boat ride along the main canal to the halfway vein, perhaps on to Dove Hole Cavern. There I can promise you a sight rarely seen.”

  “Why tomorrow, not today?”

  “Hold on, there’s a lot to do before we venture any farther. And you’ve been down here long enough. Do you think you could climb back on your own? I want to make a thorough inspection of the platform and archways. I need to note which steps are in urgent need of repair.”

  “All right.” Cassy felt a pang of nerves. She peered up the poorly lit flight of steps disappearing into inky blackness. It did not look inviting. If she had come down them, surely she could go back? But it would be a different journey without Jake’s reassuring presence.

  “You can do it. Keep a firm hold of the rail; direct the lamp on each step before you put your weight on it, Miss Ridgeway.”

  “Are you always so formal with a woman you have just kissed?” she asked with some spirit. “I do have another name. You could use it.”

  The big man went still. The darkness seemed to close in on them and Cassy suddenly realised that she was six hundred feet below the earth with a man she hardly knew. She felt a split second of dread. Fear accentuated the situation. She had trusted Jake Everand without hesitation because of the sensual desire in her veins. It was a desire exquisitely sharp, an alien starving for this man that had driven her to make a witless remark.

  “What? Oh, that kiss,” he said dismissively. “You can deduct it from my bill. Charge it up as time wasted.”

  Cassy gasped. It was the prod she needed. No longer reluctant, she turned and began the steep climb, fueled by anger and indignation.

  “You can order your own coffee, Mr. Jake Everand,” she shouted back between breaths, swinging the lamp wildly. “Don’t expect me to do it for you.”

  “Thanks, you’re a real pal.” She heard him chuckle. There was a silence. “See you at the inn, Cassy,” he added.

  For a moment she bristled, then her anger melted. It was a soaring spiral of joy that took her, fleet-footed, to the very top of the steps and out into the open.

  Chapter Three

  Jake did not turn up. Cassy waited more than two hours, pacing the lounge like a tawny tigress, rushing to the window every time she heard anything that sounded like a Land Rover.

  Is this what it’s like, she thought, falling hard for someone? This weakness and stupidity, this anguish? If so, she did not want any part of it.

  She went upstairs to her bedroom and over to the mirror and tidied her face, staring at the long-fringed, green eyes that could not conceal their hurt. This was all a nonsense and the sooner she became Cassandra Ridgeway again, the better. She fought off an unnecessary trembling that sent her hunting through her wardrobe for something warmer to wear. She found a natural spun shawl and huddled into it like the peasant woman it had originally been made for.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said aloud. “Do something. Go out and buy some new clothes. You were frozen down the mine.”

  The mine! Jake must still be down the mine. Perhaps the lights had failed, perhaps he had slipped on a broken step. Perhaps even now he was lying injured unable to call for help, while she had been thinking about buying some new clothes like the frivolous creature he imagined she was.

  “Is there a taxi in Netherdale?” she asked Bert Armstrong in Reception. “I need to get to Pennyroyal quickly.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Ridgeway, but the taxi has just taken some hospital visitors into Chesterfield. It won’t be back for at least an hour.”

  “How about some other transport I could hire?”

  “You could try Trout’s Garage. End of the street and turn right. I reckon they’
d find you a car.”

  “Thank you.”

  Trout’s Garage offered a unique selection: a production line, two-door family saloon that had seen better days, or a bicycle.

  “Is this all you’ve got?” said Cassy, getting out her driving licence and cheque book.

  The garage attendant scratched his head. “Well, there’s the Daimler, but I don’t suppose you could handle it.”

  “I can handle anything,” said Cassy.

  Minutes later, after the fastest transaction the attendant had ever encountered, Cassy was driving an aristocrat of the road, a sixteen-year-old dark blue Daimler, polished to perfection, the classiest wedding car in the county. It was costing her a fortune in rental and deposit, but at this moment it was worth every penny.

  She covered the two miles to Pennyroyal in record time despite the unfamiliar car. As she drove into the yard, her imagination was racing, seeing every kind of emergency ahead. Then she saw with a shock that the derelict, wind-swept yard was empty. There was no sign of the Land Rover. The door to the office was closed and there was no evidence that Jake’s departure had been anything but normal and orderly.

  She pulled on the brake and sat back for a few minutes, hands gripping the leather-bound steering wheel, to regain her composure.

  Of course Jake Everand was all right. Why had she ever thought that he might not be? He was probably even now somewhere warm and comfortable knocking back a few beers with his pals, having totally forgotten her.

  Fool, she told herself, and reversed the big car out of the yard. She should have gone shopping as she first intended. Netherdale was not exactly a fashion resort. After she had parked the Daimler below the ruined castle, she wandered along the main street finding only one clothing store which stocked everything from rompers to bed socks. There was nothing on the women’s shelves that was remotely possible for Cassy to wear.

  “Is this all you’ve got?” she asked.

  “We don’t get much call for fashionable clothes,” said the girl in charge of the store. “People go to Buxton or Derby for anything special or to Marks and Spencer in Sheffield.”