“I’m sorry to hear that.” Branek realized this was the young man who had teased his horse on a previous visit to the mine. He clenched the reins but softened his voice. “Mr. Polwin, isn’t it? What can I do to help?”
“’Tis too late for help, sir. She’s gone.” The bitterness in Polwin’s voice grated along Branek’s nerves. “If I hadn’t had my wages cut, I mighta found someone to save her.” The miner jerked up his fists.
“Polwin, please calm down.” Branek thrust up his hand. “Violence won’t alter your situation. I’m deeply sorry I had to cut the wages, but I had no choice. The profits were falling.”
“Profits! You quality want to live in your fancy manors, while the rest of us is starving.” The young man swayed, his voice thick with misery.
Remorse riddled through Branek. “I know it might seem that way—”
“I have more than my bare hands!” Polwin fumbled then wrenched a pistol from his belt. “An’ you know by now I’m not afraid to use it.”
* * *
Jenna trudged up the slope out of Poldice Valley, her skirt brushing past the gorse and nettles. Josse had thrown a shoe, so she’d left him and her cart at the circle of stones, Dansen Maen, and hoped the fairies didn’t steal him. “That’s what happens when you anger the gods,” she’d told her old gelding. “You’ll be frozen in your dancing. So stand as still as you can.”
Several mules trailed along a path to her far left, their panniers probably full of copper or tin from the other mines. A group of miners tramped down the slope in front of her, laughing and joking. Coated with dirt, the men’s muddy boots skittered pebbles around their feet.
“What happened at Wheal Marya? Is everyone all right?” she asked in a rush.
“Ess, Mrs. Rosedew. The saints were with us today.” A man she recognized tipped his hat. “No one badly injured or lost.”
“I’m much relieved to hear that.” She swallowed slowly. “Was Mr. Pentreath there?”
“He was, an’ helped us just like a lackey,” another man said.
Jenna sensed a trace of admiration in his tone. “Where did he go? I need to talk to him.”
“He was walkin’ to the east, with his horse.” A young man pointed.
“I’ll try to catch him. Good news about you men.” She waved and passed them, hurrying her uphill stride. Her thigh muscles ached by the time she reached the crest.
She took the path that led away from Wheal Marya, over a winding stream discolored orange by ore. Tall, jagged rocks jutted up here and there like teeth trying to chew out. Others were shaped like mushroom caps, or bulging layers of cake.
A man with a white horse moved in the distance. The wind swirled her hair and she took a nervous breath. She still wasn’t certain what to say to him, or how he’d react. He might have forgotten her by now. The idea weighed her down, but she would speak her piece.
When she drew closer, another man stepped out from one of the larger tors and approached Mr. Pentreath.
Their voices rose and fell along the breeze. The stranger’s was angry. She hastened her step. The man swung his fists in the air. Then he jerked out a gun and pointed it at the squire. She gasped; her heart crawled up her throat.
Mr. Pentreath flung out his arm as if to lunge for the pistol.
“Good evening, Mr. Pentreath!” she called loudly, hoping to distract the other man. She couldn’t allow the person she loved to be shot—not again.
The skinny stranger turned, his face puckered in anger, and glared at her.
“Mrs. Rosedew?” Mr. Pentreath saw her and pulled back his hand.
“Fie, Lew Polwin, is that you?” She hurried up to them, straining to calm her voice. “What are you doing with a gun, threatening Mr. Pentreath?”
“Stay back, Mrs. Rosedew,” Mr. Pentreath ordered, his expression creased with concern. His horse strained against the reins, nostrils flaring. “Please go back down and away from here at once.”
Polwin backed up to better watch them both. “Naw, you stay, Mrs. Rosedew.” He swung the barrel at her then back to the squire. “Stand over there, with him.”
She rushed to Mr. Pentreath’s side. His intense gaze raked over her in question, then toward Polwin.
“Put down the gun, young man. We can talk this over in a civilized manner.”
“Civilized? I lost my babe, an’ you want to talk. No more talkin’.” Polwin waved the gun back and forth, clearly in his cups.
“Lew, please do as he says.” She tried to sound sensible over her pounding heart. She barely knew the miner, so had little leverage with him. “You’ll regret it if you hurt anyone.”
“I already tried, but didn’t do the job right.” Polwin took a shuddering breath. “This time I won’t miss. We don’t need no more leeches like him.”
“Let her go. You can deal with me alone.” Mr. Pentreath dragged her behind him, his grip possessive, his voice anxious. “There’s no sense in harming an innocent woman.”
“I can’t. She’ll tell everyone.” Polwin shook his head then darted a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt her. But what are you even doin’ up here, Mistress?”
“I have important business with Mr. Pentreath.” She gripped the back of Mr. Pentreath’s coat as if she could protect him. Her mouth dry, she jerked out to face the miner. “Lew, you’re upset, a little drunk maybe. Please don’t do anything rash. Your daughter died, you said? I’m so sorry. Tell me what happened.”
“Don’t try to talk me out o’ this!” The miner’s arm shook, the gun wobbled.
She cringed, her breath about to choke her. “Please, Lew. Don’t.”
“Think about the repercussions. You’ll hang, then what will become of your wife?” Mr. Pentreath grasped her again and dragged her back behind him. She felt the tenseness of his muscles as he squeezed her against him. “If you’d come to me, I—”
“Naw! Enough lies!” The young man moaned and shivered. He glared over their shoulders once more. “The engine house, that’s where you’ll go.” He waved the pistol in that direction. “Move!”
“You can still let Mrs. Rosedew go. What are you planning?” Mr. Pentreath stared toward the house then back at the miner.
“Never you mind. I said move.” Polwin took a wobbly step forward.
Mr. Pentreath turned and put her in front of him to shield her. “We must let him calm down,” he whispered. “If he shoots me, prepare to run.”
Jenna stiffened in horror at that idea as they walked slowly to the weathered door of Wheal Blanche’s engine house. Pentreath’s fingers remained firm on her shoulders.
“Open the door an’ go in. Now.” Still pointing the gun at them, the young man sidestepped and snatched up a loose timber near the abandoned mine’s entrance.
Mr. Pentreath pulled open the door, which rattled and creaked. Jenna stepped into the dark house that smelled damp and musty from disuse. Mr. Pentreath stayed close behind her, his hand gripping her elbow.
Polwin slammed the door shut. “You’ll starve in there, you will. No one will know where you are.” A hammering sound wiggled the door. “Feel what it’s like to suffer as the poor do.”
Jenna stood, almost numb with shock, against the wall of the dim chamber, the stone crumbly behind her. Only a murky shaft of light slanted in from the arched windows high above them. She fought a shiver.
“We’ll wait for him to leave, then pry open the door,” Mr. Pentreath whispered. “He’s obviously very distraught and drunk.”
They waited, the fear goose bumping her skin. The door thudded, as if the miner kicked at the timber. Soon his footsteps tramped off.
Silence draped around them, the darkness thickening.
“At least—at least he didn’t shoot you,” she whispered, thanking God she may have had a part in preventing that.
“Well, we’ll wait a little longer to make certain he’s gone.” Mr. Pentreath leaned against the wall beside her, his manner aloof. “I’m sorry you were dragged into this.”
“I’m all right. To think, Mr. Polwin has brought us together again,” she said with irony and to diffuse her anxiety. “I suppose he’s the one who shot you that night?”
“Ah, you’re right, he was.” He sounded more distant, measuring his words. “But don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here.”
“I’m not worried, yet.” She was, but his nearness stirred another sort of problem.
“You are calm in a crisis. Very commendable.” He stepped to the door, his tone cool, his face in shadow. After more minutes passed, he put his shoulder to the wood and shoved. The door creaked. He shoved again. The portal groaned, yet barely moved. “He’s barricaded us in better than I’d have thought.”
She stepped beside him and put her shoulder to the door as well. They both pushed, the wood biting into her flesh. The door gave a little more, but not much.
After three more tries, she straightened and massaged her shoulder.
He continued to push, then pounded a fist on the unrelenting barrier. “Damn! Excuse me. It appears that we may be here for a while.”
“Will anyone come looking for you?” The cold inside the building crept into her, along with an icy alarm. But his presence made it less daunting.
“I don’t know.” He turned and put his back to the door. They were both nothing but shadows now in the encroaching evening. “If the lad lets my horse go, and hopefully doesn’t harm him, Zeus should head back to Polefant Place. That will alert my groom at least.”
“That could be a few hours.” She hugged her arms around her torso. The closeness of the narrow chamber felt drafty and stifling at the same time. “I suppose we can’t reach the windows.”
He stared up. “Not unless we can build a ladder.” He moved about the confined area, picking up discarded pieces of wood. “They’re all too small.”
“An’ we have no nails.” She glanced up again. “Even if I stood on your shoulders, I couldn’t reach the ledge.”
“That would be too dangerous.” He nudged his boot at a broken, splintered timber. Their careful breathing punctured the stillness that followed.
“Why did that young man shoot you that night?” She remembered that evening, how much he’d needed her then. Her stomach sank. This change of circumstances fouled her intentions.
“I’d cut the miners’ wages. I didn’t want to, but it was the only thing I could do to keep the mine open.” He thudded his palm against the stone wall, turning away from her. “He was angry since he had a sick child.”
Silence stretched for a few minutes. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but fisted her hand instead. “A deep shame, an’ we all do have our burdens.”
“Indeed. I visited Deacon Tregere today with Magistrate Odgers. The deacon admits to embezzling church money to buy art.” Pentreath seemed to want to push her farther away with his officious words. “Sophie threatened him, but he swears he didn’t kill her. He doesn’t seem the type.”
She nibbled her lip. Another hope probably crumbled to dust. “Do you think Mr. Polwin had anything to do with your wife’s death?”
“He had no access inside my house. I don’t see how he could have.” Pentreath’s words remained even, almost curt.
“An’ he’d have no money to bribe a servant,” she reasoned.
Jenna bristled with frustration, and forced her mind to further inquiry. “What about the maid, Grace? My apprentice says you went to Bodmin.”
“As a matter of fact, Grace just returned to my home, asking to be rehired. She stole to get the fare. She’ll be sent to the Lent Assize for theft at least.” Now he sounded weary. “She refuses to admit to harming my wife.”
“Yet she might have. But why?” Jenna recalled his discomfort when he spoke of the maid. “Were you…a little friendly with the girl, sir?”
“No, never.” His reply was sharp, bordering on angry. “If she is guilty, hopefully being arraigned for stealing will wring the truth from her.”
“God forgive me, but I pray she is the one, an’ we’ll be well out of it.” Jenna crossed her arms and hated feeling helpless in the murder, and in what she needed to say to him. Her emotions churned inside her like a river about to break through a dam. “I wanted—”
“You should never have come up here. Why did you, may I ask? What business did you have with me?” His tone grew more irritated.
She shifted on the wall, gathering her words like scattered pebbles. She wished she could see his expression. “I wanted to tell you that you might have misunderstood what you overheard in my shop with Mr. Kellow.” She breathed slowly, her body taught and thrumming. “That’s why I sent you the note. I should have sent it sooner.”
“Are congratulations in order?” He said it stiffly, but she heard an underlying hurt. “I hope you will both be happy.”
“I had no intention of marrying Mr. Kellow. He’s only a friend. Not even that, now.” She pulled her cloak close about her to contain her trembling. “I turned him down an’ sent him away.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have. He might be just the man you need.” Mr. Pentreath’s silhouette thrust back his shoulders, then his chin dipped.
“I don’t love him.” Jenna’s pulse jumped and she laid a finger on her breastbone. Pentreath’s sardonic tone rankled, but she’d be honest. “I love you.”
He blew out his breath. “How many men have you told that?”
“Two!” Her throat constricted. She regretted her loss of temper, but the comment, though coated with unhappiness, stung. “I’ve only been with two men in my life. My husband an’ you.”
An oppressive quiet hung over them again. Then the wind swept through the windows long devoid of glass—a slight whistle through the arches.
She bunched her cloak in her fingers so she wouldn’t snatch his arm. “I know I’m beneath you, but ’tis the truth.”
“Then why didn’t you come to me right away, to explain?” His tone was softening.
“The constable. That jackanapes Chenery. He threatened me. Said he knew we’d killed your wife an’ your visits to my shop proved it.” She grimaced when she had to fight tears. “I wanted to protect you by staying away.”
“Chenery.” He practically spit out the name. “I’m certain that man is out to implicate me for the murder. I must get to the bottom of his scheming. I believe he’s working for someone with bad intentions.” Mr. Pentreath paced a few feet away from her. He sighed. “Why did you change your mind about talking with me?”
“Because…I refuse to be a coward. I do love you, an’ wanted you to know. If it matters to you or no, it matters much to me.” Her voice cracked. She palmed at her damp eyes. “But I hear you are visiting Miss Hester Odgers. She is better for you than I’d be.”
He stalked back and clutched her shoulders. She started with a cry of surprise.
“Is she? I’m not so certain.” His fingers dug into her, the hurt emotion rising in his voice. “The problem is, you’re the one I want to be with. But I won’t be made a fool of.”
The darkness was complete. Jenna felt his breath on her face and melted at his confession. He smelled of damp and dirt, but she didn’t care.
“I’d never play you for a fool.” She grasped his coat lapels, stood on tiptoe and kissed him. He hesitated, then kissed back. His arms slid around her, pressing her to his warm chest. Her heart quivered, which sent a pulsation throughout her body.
He pulled back. “I told you before I’m not one for pretty words. Lately my words have been nothing but angry, and I apologize. But…I love you too, Jenna. And I’ve never said that to anyone.”
She beamed at his admission, the sincerity in his words. It was more than she could have hoped for. Her knees almost buckled. “I’m more than happy to be the first.”
“It won’t be easy for us, though I’m sure you know that.” His lips captured hers again, the kiss sensuous. His moan came from deep inside his chest, hers following.
“But then,” she said between kisses, “we may be trapped
in here forever.”
“Not a terrible sentence, together.” He kissed along the line of her jaw and down her throat. “You don’t realize how much I need you.” His impassioned voice reverberated through her.
“I need you just as much, never doubt it.” She caressed her hands through his thick hair, loosening it from its queue.
“I don’t know what I can promise you that’s decent.” He brushed his fingers over her breasts, his thumb rubbing one nipple until she thought she’d collapse. He kissed her cleavage.
“We won’t think of that now.” At this moment, her body quaked with titillation under his moist lips.
He straightened again. “Should I…wait for a more appropriate time?” His intense stare belied his words.
“No, why wait? I’m certain we have plenty of time.” She pulled his face back to hers, her fingers in his hair. Why waste the moment? Starving and shame would come later, with the clearness of daylight.
He returned her kiss with fervor, moaning with pleasure as he tossed off her hat and freed her hair. His fingers trailed over her shoulders, down her back and buttocks.
She squeezed herself against him, wanting to possess him for this instant.
The heat from his body infused her as his kisses sent twinges of fire low in her abdomen.
She tasted his lips; their heated kissing continued. Jenna rubbed her fingers over the front of his breeches. She would behave like a wanton to show this man what her love could bring him, even though marriage was unlikely.
She unbuttoned his breeches and drew out his penis, hard yet silky in her hand. Branek groaned, his fingers tightening on her upper arms. He pushed up her skirt, then gently lifted her leg, her thigh pressed against her belly. She guided him in, slowly at first, his hardness filling her.
She gasped as he moved inside her. They kissed again, their breaths panting. The slow rhythm made her quiver around him. His actions grew faster, as if he might nail her into the wall. Her back slapped against the rough stone at each thrust.
Her body contracted, a piercing delight in her core that radiated outward. She shuddered, cried out and clutched him. He groaned with gratification, his thrusts quickening. Then his hips jerked against hers and he slowed.
The Apothecary's Widow Page 25