“I couldn’t agree more.” Julia forced lightness to her voice to combat the conversation’s heavy turn. “So, are you coming or going?”
He gave a little chuckle and adjusted the tall hat atop his head. “I am on my way to Wheal Tamsen now, and I’m coming from my home, Anvon Cottage, which is down that lane.”
She followed his pointed finger to where the public road split to the north and a small path disappeared into a copse of trees. “I see.”
His horse tossed his mane, and Isaac reached forward to pat the animal’s neck. “We did not have the opportunity to finish our conversation the night of the dinner. How are you settling into life at Lanwyn Manor?”
“Very nicely.”
“It’s an impressive home, is it not?” He lifted his gaze past her to the tower portion of the home, reaching four stories into the heavens.
“It is indeed, although I confess, it’s not at all what I expected.”
“And what were you expecting?”
She sighed, considering her answer. “My aunt has very particular tastes—ones more suited to the drawing rooms of London. In fact, I was surprised to hear they’d left London at all.”
“How long do you intend to stay in Goldweth?”
“I came to Lanwyn Manor to be a companion for my cousin who’s confined to bed. So I will stay for as long as I can be a comfort to her. I should think until after the baby arrives.”
The wind swept down from the woods, giving a sharp whistle through the bare branches and carrying with it the first bits of moisture.
“I think the rain you referred to earlier is about to arrive.” He gathered his reins again. “I’d best be on my way.”
“Will I see you at church tomorrow?” she asked, wishing he did not need to hurry off and that the rain would stay at bay.
“I do hope so.” He tipped his hat. “Good day, Miss Twethewey.”
She dipped her head in parting and watched for several seconds as he continued down the road. Then, with a click of her tongue, she patted Snow’s neck with her gloved hand and urged her into a trot. Unable to resist one final glance, she looked over her shoulder.
Mr. Isaac Blake.
A very interesting man indeed.
* * *
Julia adjusted her position on the hard pew and fixed her gaze on the intricately carved pulpit at the front, resisting the urge to look around the vestibule. Parishioners clad in drab cloaks of brown, gray, and black bustled in and out of the morning wind. They chattered amongst themselves, their whispered words echoing from the great wooden beams above them and the stone walls.
And Julia could not have been more curious.
The Lambournes, however, did not join in the pre-sermon conversations. They sat stiffly in their family pew. Eyes forward. Silent. They’d arrived early—a tactic Julia soon realized her aunt employed to avoid speaking with anyone. Earlier that morning, Julia had thought they might neglect services—again. Aunt Beatrice complained of a headache, and it was only at the last moment that she declared it her duty to set an example for the community by attending.
Grateful for any opportunity to learn more about her surroundings, Julia smoothed the lavender wool of her new pelisse, then touched the satin ribbon cascading from her new bonnet. Since her cloak had been stolen at the inn, Aunt had given her this one. Julia shouldn’t have been surprised, not really. Especially after her aunt had purchased a new gown for a simple dinner.
As she demurely glanced around the dimly lit space, she recognized a handful of attendees from the dinner, but most were strangers. This was a modest yet ancient church, airy and cold, constructed of the same slate stone found in Lanwyn Manor. All around her parishioners filed into the oak pews with high sides and backs. Judging by their simple clothing, most of them were the miners the staff had talked about.
But really she was looking for him.
She’d been surprised to see him out the previous morning, but what surprised her most was how often he occupied her thoughts.
It was normal, she supposed, to romanticize someone who had helped her so selflessly. But day by day as thoughts of him increased, thoughts of Percy decreased.
Maybe there was something to Jane’s words of anticipation after all.
“There,” Caroline whispered, leaning near. “That’s the widow you asked about, entering now. In the black pelisse.”
Julia slid her gaze to the woman as best she could without drawing attention.
So that was Margaret Benson.
Empathy seized Julia’s heart as the woman looked around, as if searching for someone.
She was a slender woman, with auburn hair that was shockingly bright against her pallid complexion. She clutched a small boy’s hand in hers, and a hooded black cape draped her from head to toe.
She and Caroline were not the only ones to notice her entrance, for hushed voices sounded from the pew behind them.
“I have it on very good authority that Charlie asked Mr. Blake to take care of her—asked him as he lay on the ground dying, God rest his soul.”
At the mention of the names, Julia stiffened and held her breath to hear the whispers.
“They’ll be married within the year,” muttered a deeper voice. “Mark my words.”
Commotion sounded, and at this Julia could not remain still. She pivoted as the Blake brothers paused in the doorway.
It amazed her how two men could appear so similar, but even with their striking resemblance, they each possessed qualities that made them unique. Isaac was the taller of the two. Both had hazel eyes, both had blond hair, but Isaac’s jaw was squarer, and Matthew’s left cheek dimpled when he smiled.
Matthew entered with a hearty laugh as he greeted a group of men.
Isaac, however, entered more subtly, reverently, and after a few quick greetings, he stepped to the pew where the widow was sitting. He smiled down at them and ruffled the boy’s hair. Then his expression sobered.
Julia shifted her attention forward but cut her eyes to watch him. She could not hear what they were saying, but the sympathetic draw of Isaac’s brows was telling, intimate in its focus.
Mr. Blake left Mrs. Benson, and as he straightened he looked in Julia’s direction.
Heat flushed her. She’d been caught watching him.
The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. He nodded in her direction, then moved to a pew near the front.
After the service, the Lambournes greeted the vicar before they moved out to the churchyard. Julia spied Miss Trebell and Miss Prynne, and she excused herself from the family to go speak with them.
“My dear Miss Twethewey!” Miss Trebell’s blue eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed pink in the cool air. “I am so delighted you were able to come to our humble service this morning. We hope this is the first of many you will attend.”
“I intend to be here every Sunday I am able.” Julia allowed the woman to take her gloved hands in her own.
“Oh, how lovely. And will you join us for the Ladies League this week? ’Tis a shame we could not meet this week, but with the accident, I fear no one was quite in the right frame of mind.”
Eager to make plans to see the ladies again, she nodded. “Yes, I will be there.”
After a brief conversation, Julia caught sight of Miss Davies near the stone fence, watching as her mother stood across the yard in conversation with a lady Julia did not know.
Here was an opportunity. The woman was alone. She stepped toward her. “Miss Davies?”
Miss Davies pivoted, but as her gaze fell on Julia, her eyes narrowed and she offered a stiff curtsey.
Her own hurt at being betrayed fueling her courage, Julia forced a smile. “Miss Davies. I was sorry that we did not have much of an opportunity to speak the other night.”
A flush crept over Miss Davies’s smooth cheeks, and her lips twitched. “I fear your attentions were much occupied.”
Julia resisted the urge to wince at the sharpness of her words. If this woman was indeed in love
with Matthew Blake, it was no wonder her manner was so cool. Even so, Julia would try to mend a bridge before it became irreparable.
“I do wonder if you would care to join me for tea one afternoon this week. Perhaps Wednesday? I know my aunt and cousin would enjoy it very much.”
Miss Davies inhaled sharply and cut a glance toward Aunt Beatrice. Julia followed her gaze and was distressed to see her aunt speaking to Mr. Matthew Blake.
“I thank you for your kind offer, Miss Twethewey, but I fear I will be unable to join you this week. Perhaps another time. If you’ll excuse me.” The tall woman turned and walked away, leaving Julia alone in the courtyard.
If there had been any question about Miss Davies’s feelings, this awkward conversation confirmed it.
Julia glanced toward Matthew.
Oh yes, he was handsome. Animated. Full of life and charm. She watched him for several seconds and was about to join her family when the sound of her name from a nearby conversation snagged her attention.
“Julia Twethewey’s from Braewyn. She is Mrs. Lambourne’s sister’s child. Came to be a companion for one of the Lambournes’ daughters.”
Julia’s heart raced. Someone was talking about her.
She gathered her courage to look in the direction of the voice but only saw the tops of two bonnets over the hedge.
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” the other voice hissed in a whisper. “They say her husband’s serving in the army.”
“Likely story. Perhaps Lambourne moved his family here to avoid scandal and has no intention of mining. Why else does she never show her face?”
“Apparently she’s ill and is confined to her bed.”
“Be it scandal or curse, that house isn’t doing them any favors. No child born under that roof has survived.”
Alarm trickled through her. Had she heard that correctly? No children survived?
The voice huffed. “’Tis naught but lore.”
“Is it? There’s a curse on that home. Can you recall hearing of a child born there living to adulthood? I cannot.”
Nausea swirled within her. Curses weren’t real. Were they?
Surely not. But talk of ghosts and mysteries would wreak havoc with her sensibilities. Her enthusiasm for learning all she could about her new surroundings was vanishing as completely as the sun behind the persistent clouds, and Julia wanted nothing more than to be tucked inside her tower chamber.
But clearly there was one more encounter she needed to endure. Ahead of her, just outside of the Lambourne carriage, Mr. Matthew Blake spoke with her aunt and uncle. She gathered her skirts and hurried toward them.
“Julia, there you are! Where did you get to?”
“I was speaking with Miss Prynne and Miss Trebell.”
“Well, never mind. Mr. Blake is here, and I daresay he would much rather speak with you than with me, my dear.”
Matthew bowed. “Miss Twethewey. I was just telling Mr. Lambourne that we must get him out to Wheal Tamsen, and he has agreed to come tomorrow. Will you join him? I should so like to show you a bit more of Goldweth.”
She caught the enthusiasm on her aunt’s face. Regardless of Miss Davies’s coolness, regardless of the unsettling words she’d heard, there was no reason she should not accept Mr. Blake’s eager invitation.
She glanced over as Isaac opened the church gate, allowed Mrs. Benson to pass before him, and then swept the Benson boy up to sit on his shoulders.
No, there was no reason she should not accept Mr. Matthew’s invitation. She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Mr. Blake. I should like that very much.”
Chapter 19
Matthew was making good on his plans to endear himself to the Lambournes.
Even now he stood by the Lambournes’ carriage, his head thrown back in laughter.
Isaac’s gaze fell to Miss Twethewey. She stood next to Matthew, clad in lavender—a refreshing feminine color in the midst of the bleak grays and browns surrounding her. The top of her beribboned bonnet came only to Matthew’s shoulder. Dark tendrils escaped from beneath her bonnet and danced in the wind. Even from this distance, her cheeks glowed pink and her vibrant blue eyes struck him.
There was no denying her loveliness. But did any of that matter? Matthew had clearly set his claim on the beauty. She’d prefer him. There was nothing left to do or to say.
Besides, Isaac had more important things on which to focus. Like keeping his promise to Charlie.
Jory squealed in delight on his shoulders and clutched Isaac’s hat. Margaret fell into step beside him, and together they left the churchyard.
“I’m glad that’s over.” Margaret wrapped her arms around her waist as she walked, paying little attention to the mud splattering her hem. “I cannot abide the looks of pity.”
“I’d say it is concern rather than pity. Everyone loved Charlie.”
After turning onto High Street, the crowd thinned and they shared the street only with those headed to Miner’s Row. They walked in silence for several moments before he asked, “How are you, really?”
Margaret squinted into the breeze and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I should be stoic and tell you Jory and I are well, but the truth is, we’re livin’ in a nightmare.”
Isaac adjusted Jory on his shoulders. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Actually, yes.” She slowed her steps. “Our cottage. I don’t want to be there anymore. If you want to help Jory and me, you can help me find another place for us.”
A little stunned at her request, he said, “But it’s your home. And the only home Jory’s known.”
“It’s a miner’s cottage.” Forcefulness flared in her tone. “We’re no longer a miner family. Not anymore.”
The thought of the Bensons leaving Miner’s Row did not bode well with Isaac. “As your friend, I’d advise you not to make any rash decisions, Margaret. Not yet. Give yourself time. Everyone here cares for you and Jory, and it’s been but a week.”
“I don’t want time, Isaac,” she snipped, impatiently swiping a tear away. “What I want is to be away from here—away from where I see his ghost around every corner.”
Drawing a deep breath, Isaac looked to the modest row of cottages.
Yes, Charlie’s ghost was around every corner.
He had lived on this row since he was a child, first with his father and now his family. There certainly were plenty of vacant homes in other parts of the village, especially since so many families had to leave to find work elsewhere. Charlie’s raspy request rang in Isaac’s ears, clanging loudly and demanding attention, like a mine’s bell orchestrating the day.
If this was what she wanted, who was he to deny her? “If you’re certain, then I can make arrangements.”
“Thank you.”
They continued on in silence until they reached the cottage door. Isaac lifted Jory from his shoulders and set him on the ground. Isaac propped his hands on his hips as he watched Charlie’s dog trot from around the cottage and greet the boy.
She stepped to his side. “There’s one more thing. Wheal Gwenna—”
Isaac stiffened. “That can wait until later.”
“Can it?” Margaret sniffed. “’Tis all I can think about.”
“Fulfilling Charlie’s plans will not bring him back, Margaret. You must look to Jory and your needs now.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Are you sayin’ you’ll not open it?”
“Not necessarily, but in good conscience I cannot see you invest your money in something that might fail.”
“It was the one thing he wanted. Ever since he got that inheritance, albeit modest, from his uncle, he was determined that you two have enough to make a go of it. He spoke of it daily.”
“But you will need that money for the future. For Jory. I—”
“You forget I’m a midwife. I can support myself. I need not be reliant on anyone. I want to proceed, Isaac. You’ll not change my mind. If that is what he wanted, then that is what we
’ll do.”
Isaac nodded. “If that is what you wish, but the details will have to wait for another day and will come in good time. Just don’t forget that a mine—any mine—is a gamble, pure and simple. I’m not sure I am comfortable risking your security on something that is uncertain.”
“That is for me to decide, I suppose.” She offered a shaky smile. “I never did like to be told what to do.”
* * *
The next afternoon, sunlight filtered in through Lanwyn Manor’s great hall’s stained-glass windows, painting colorful patches on the flagstone floor and reflecting from the silver urn on the side table. The rain and drizzle of the past few days had subsided, and now the sun, with its vibrant white light and its appearance of warmth, beckoned Julia to join it.
At Penwythe she was rarely indoors. She’d pass her hours riding, visiting the village, walking on the moors or along the seashore, regardless of the weather or clime. But here, her aunt and Caroline were content to sit in the drawing room, and poor Jane was confined to a single chamber. Initially Julia felt duty bound to stay in their company, but now sheer boredom convinced her to venture off on her own.
The time had almost arrived for her visit to Wheal Tamsen. Julia stiffened as Aunt Beatrice fiddled with the collar of her emerald-green riding habit, and she winced as the older woman tugged a lock of hair back into place.
“Oh, Mother, let her be,” Caroline entreated as she swept into the hall, clad in a gown of yellow muslin with vivid white Vandyke points along the hem, her thin eyebrow raised in amusement. “She’s lovely as she is.”
“It doesn’t matter if I’m lovely or not.” Julia flinched as her aunt pinched her cheeks to add color. “I’m going to see the mine, nothing more.”
“Nothing more? La, Julia Twethewey.” Aunt Beatrice pinned her with a warning glare. “He’d be an advantageous match, and don’t forget it for a second. One never knows how many opportunities may come one’s way.”
A breeze swept through the open door to the main foyer, and Uncle William stepped in. The wind had disrupted his thinning shock of gray hair, and the ruddiness of his cheeks suggested it was colder outside than it appeared. “Are you ready, Niece? Blake should be arriving soon.”
The Thief of Lanwyn Manor Page 11