The Thief of Lanwyn Manor

by Sarah E. Ladd

  “Yes, I’m ready.” Julia was grateful for the interruption as she pulled away from her aunt’s fussing fingers and moved toward him. “And I must thank you for agreeing to ride instead of taking the carriage. I feel as if I’ve not seen the sun in days, and I’m desperate for open air.”

  Her expression rich with disapproval, Aunt Beatrice tsked before Uncle William could respond. “Let’s hope Mr. Blake doesn’t think you indelicate. Riding horseback when one could be taking the carriage—I’ve never heard the like. I’ve often questioned your aunt Delia’s decision to allow you to be such an outdoorswoman and roam about the countryside as you do, but I suppose there is naught to be done about that now.”

  Caroline and Julia exchanged amused glances, and Julia stepped to the window and looked to the bright, sun-drenched lawn. She was eager to see the mine, and in truth, she was eager to see Matthew again. At dinner he’d proven himself an amusing, attentive companion. After contemplating all that she discovered while at church the previous day, Julia decided that her initial interest in Isaac was in response to the incident at the inn, and now it was clear his intentions were elsewhere. She had no real proof that Matthew had treated Miss Davies unfairly. So why should she not enjoy his company? What harm could an afternoon’s ride possibly do?

  She turned to her cousin. “Caroline, will you not change your mind and come?”

  Caroline smirked. “I’ve no interest at all in looking at a dirty mine. Besides, Father is a suitable chaperone. You don’t need me getting in the way.”

  Uncle Lambourne retrieved his leather riding gloves and lifted his left hand, preparing to don them. “I’ve been very impressed with the Blakes of late. I find Matthew to be a first-rate man, and his brother did us a great service the night of your arrival. He might be a good business partner, but I want to see him in his element before I follow that thought too far.”

  By the time Matthew arrived, Julia was almost bursting at the seams for someone new to talk to. She withdrew from the window, lest he think she was waiting for him.

  He swept into the foyer, a contagious laugh preceding him. As he rounded the corner, the sight of his easy smile and bright eyes reminded her of how pleasant his company could be.

  “Are you certain you will not join us, Mrs. Lambourne?” Matthew teased Aunt Beatrice, taking her hand in his and bowing over it. “The day is fine, and I should so enjoy your company.”

  Aunt Beatrice tittered, basking in the attention, and waved a dismissive hand in front of her. “Horseback? Me? Heavens, no. I haven’t ridden in I can’t recall how long. My nerves do not stand for it anymore, but you all go.” Her gaze flicked from her husband back to Mr. Blake. “I know my niece is in good hands.”

  Once outside, the invigorating breeze grazed Julia’s flushed face as she stepped from the arched entrance to the courtyard where the horses were waiting. The blue sky beckoned, and the birds swooping overhead implored her to remain out of doors. She accepted the groom’s assistance to mount Snow, and within moments she was settled and arranged her skirts modestly over her legs.

  “A horsewoman, eh?” Matthew smiled as he circled his own bay horse, his admiration evident. “An equestrian and a talented musician? It seems your niece is quite accomplished, Mr. Lambourne.”

  Julia beamed under the praise. “I’m not sure I would say that, but I do enjoy riding.”

  “Have you been to the village yet, Miss Twethewey?” Mr. Blake inquired as they cleared the gatehouse arch and crossed the carriage turn to the main drive.

  “Not really.” She swept a tendril from her face. “Of course, I saw the church yesterday and the inn the first night I was here, but I haven’t seen much beyond that.”

  “Well, we must remedy that, and perhaps show you another side of Goldweth. What say you, Mr. Lambourne?” Matthew looked over his shoulder toward the older man riding behind them. “With your permission we can cut through the forest there and go to the mine via High Street.”

  With her uncle’s consent they veered the horses from the main drive toward the trees separating the property’s edge from the village. Julia had been told that the fastest way to Wheal Tamsen was to cut through Lanwyn’s east meadow and pass Tregarthan Hall.

  Once they were in the forest, the path narrowed. Matthew and Julia rode next to each other, and Uncle William followed. Julia cast a glance at the man riding next to her. The sunlight filtered through the barren branches, dappling his broad shoulders and catching on a piece of golden hair that happened to escape his hat.

  It could be worse than to be courted by such a man.

  “I do wonder that my wife or Caroline did not take you to the village in my absence, even if for nothing more than to make you acquainted with your surroundings,” her uncle mused as they traveled the worn, uneven path. “They do their best to avoid it, I suppose. It pales pitifully in comparison to the elegance of London.”

  “I’ve not spent a great deal of time in London, so I can’t compare it,” she said.

  “You strike me as a lady who is happiest in nature and the country.”

  She turned to Matthew, almost suspecting his comment was made in jest, but his content, happy expression suggested it was meant as a compliment.

  Martins and swallows rustled and called to each other from the boughs overhead. Julia lifted her face to the sunlight. When the wind calmed, it almost felt warm, and she smiled under the sensation of it.

  Despite the tranquility around her, she jumped when a twig nearby snapped. She jerked her reins sharply, causing Snow to toss her head and whinny. “What was that?”

  “Only a rabbit or some such creature.” Matthew leaned over to grab her reins and help settle Snow. “Did it startle you?”

  Feeling foolish, she forced a smile and regripped her reins. “No, I suppose I am a bit jumpy, ’tis all.”

  “Well, you are completely safe with us, Miss Twethewey.” Matthew lowered his voice, his hazel gaze fixed on her. “I’ll not let anything happen to you.”

  At length, they emerged from the forest and made their way over the bridge. “This is High Street,” Matthew said. “It isn’t much, I fear, but ’tis home to us.”

  “It’s much larger than the village outside of Penwythe Hall.” She took in the tidy stone shops and cottages and a broad, cobbled street, surprised to see so many people bustling about.

  “There’s the shop where the ladies buy ribbons and such things, and the butcher, the apothecary, and the baker are over there.”

  She slowed her horse and assessed the bustling town.

  “The church is there, which you of course know, and just beyond it is where Miss Prynne lives. I believe you’ve met her.”

  “Indeed. Miss Prynne has invited me to her house later this week for a sewing circle.”

  “So Miss Prynne wrangled you into helping her?” He laughed, a twinkle glimmering in his eyes. “She’s very good at that. But in all seriousness, Miss Prynne prides herself on seeing that the poor are well provided for, especially in cold weather, and she will recruit any person willing to help her cause.” His smile faded. He cast a glance back at her uncle and then lowered his voice. “You’ll not think that I interfere if I offer advice?”

  “Depends on the advice,” she teased.

  “This will sound odd. Everyone loves Miss Prynne and Miss Trebell, but I still would like to caution you.” He tilted his head toward her. “They are well intentioned enough, but they have the tendency to provide a great deal of town gossip. Even the best intentions sometimes take a wrong turn, so be careful how much you reveal about your life, lest you find it the focus of every conversation in town the next day.”

  Julia raised her brow. “Spoken from experience?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I never remember a time when Miss Prynne and Miss Trebell were not present. I’ve lived here long enough to see more than one cruel round of gossip, and in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I hold you in esteem, Miss Twethewey, and I would hate to
see you fall prey. Friendly advice, after all.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks, no doubt adding to the pink already there from the cold air. “I consider myself warned, although I doubt anything I would have to say would be the cause of gossip. I admit I lead a rather uneventful life.”

  “Well, that remains to be seen, does it not?”

  They continued down High Street, and Mr. Blake slowed his horse and nodded toward a cobbled street with modest cottages of stone and thatch lining either side. “That’s Miner’s Row. Many of the miners who work regularly at Wheal Tamsen live here.”

  He did not slow his horse as they crossed the lane and kept his eyes forward as they rode down the road. Curious, Julia shifted her gaze. People along the road were staring in her direction. She was not sure if they were looking at her uncle or Mr. Blake. Perhaps they were looking at her.

  “Ah, we’re here.”

  Julia was not sure what she’d expected. A large stone building with a chimney stood at the edge of the property, and another house stood close to it. Smaller buildings stood scattered around, but all in all, it was not as grand as she’d anticipated.

  “What do you think, Miss Twethewey?”

  She blinked, assessing the area. “I hardly know. I’ve never been to a mine.”

  “It’s far from impressive from this vantage point. The bulk of the work happens underground. Certainly not as idyllic as orchards and farmland, but we find beauty in it.”

  People nodded and bowed toward Blake, but he did not seem to notice. Instead he offered to help her from her horse. “Let’s go inside the counting house. It is not as elegant as you are used to, but it will give us a chance to warm up. I’m eager to show you my world.”

  Chapter 20

  Isaac stomped the mud and debris from his riding boots before he opened the door to the counting house.

  The morning had been a long one, and now, with the day nearing a close, he was eager to finish his tasks and return home. He’d just completed his assessment of the northern shaft, and he had dirt on his coat to prove it. Setting day—the day on which men bid for work—was coming, and he’d been underground to determine exactly what work was required.

  He ducked under the counting house’s low, rustic doorframe, and his eyes adjusted quickly to the dimly lit foyer. Directly before him a narrow staircase led the way to three upstairs bedchambers, used in case of an injury or if he or Matthew decided to stay on the grounds. To his left a door led to an office, and to his right another door led to a sitting room.

  He was about to turn into the cluttered mining office when rustling from the sitting room drew his attention. From the low doorway firelight gleamed, brightening the fading day. No doubt it was Matthew settling the day’s count in the books. Good.

  Despite the fact that Matthew had attended church the previous day, he and his brother had spoken only briefly following Charlie’s death. The morning after the accident, Matthew had departed for Falmouth. He’d not even been present at the burial. Even so, Isaac was not surprised that Matthew was avoiding him. It was times like this when his brother disappeared—times when tragedy struck and answers were needed.

  Isaac pressed his lips together, preparing what he would say to his brother. A conversation like the one that was required was never easy.

  He stepped over the planked floor and ducked through the threshold. “Matthew, I need—”

  But who he saw made him stop short.

  Miss Twethewey, clad in a riding gown of dark green and a black hat with a matching ribbon, stood at the fire. Dark tendrils framed her cheeks, and dark lashes accented brilliantly blue eyes.

  “Miss Twethewey.” Isaac straightened, surprise nearly robbing him of speech. Almost as an afterthought he remembered to bow. “I was not aware you were here.”

  “Mr. Blake.” She returned the greeting with a curtsey, a sweet smile on her full lips. She tilted her head to the side and clasped her gloved hands before her. “I wondered if I would see you.”

  He deposited the rolled maps he was carrying on the table. He removed his hat, placed it next to the maps, and raked his fingers through his hair, conscious of how he must appear. Even so, he smiled. “I’m always here.”

  It was rare to have a lady in the counting house, and now that he was in the sitting room, her scent of lavender—alluring, intoxicating, and thoroughly feminine—surrounded him. Her dainty appearance seemed wildly out of place.

  “I apologize for my appearance.” He attempted to brush the stone dust from his coat. “I’ve been underground. It’s not the tidiest of places.”

  “Do not apologize, sir. This is a mine, after all.”

  “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  “Your brother invited my uncle and me to visit. He wanted to show Uncle William the operation, and I’ve never been to a mine before.”

  Isaac’s spine stiffened.

  Of course. Matthew.

  “They’re at the pump house now, or at least I believe that is the correct term,” she continued. “My uncle and your brother think me too delicate to accompany them. So I’ll have to observe it from the window.”

  “Quite right. It’s very noisy. And dirty.”

  She smirked. “And I’m far too fragile for anything dirty and noisy.”

  Isaac chuckled at her unmasked sarcasm. “I doubt that.”

  He moved a lantern from the hook to the desk and tugged on the hem of his striped waistcoat to straighten it. “Please.” He extended his arm to the settee by the fire, and once she was seated, he sat on the settee opposite her. Unsure how best to welcome their visitor, he stammered, “Have you been offered tea?”

  “I believe your maid has gone to make some.” She leaned forward as if taking him into confidence. “I must say I believe I caught her unawares. I don’t think she was expecting guests.”

  Relaxing in her company, Isaac shrugged. “Eliza does not often have the opportunity to make tea for ladies. Miss Prynne and Miss Trebell call quite often, but other than that, few ladies come to the counting house.”

  As if on cue Eliza entered the sitting room from the kitchen entrance, awkwardly balancing a tray, panic twisting her young face. Steam curled from the piping-hot liquid, and she placed the tray on a table at the end of the settee, poured the tea with a shaky hand, and extended the teacup to Miss Twethewey.

  Miss Twethewey thanked the maid, took a sip, and returned the cup to the tray.

  He had to admire Miss Twethewey’s tact. With Eliza making the tea, there was no telling how it actually tasted.

  “Tell me, Miss Twethewey,” he said, attempting to divert her attention from the undoubtedly bitter brew, “now that you are here, what do you think of Wheal Tamsen?”

  “I hardly know what to think.” She laughed. “I’ve not seen much of it.”

  “I’m afraid there really isn’t much to see. Engine house for the pump, counting house, not all have a stable, but we have one here. Some of the other buildings are for surface work, but most of the work takes place beneath the surface. Under our very feet, even.”

  “I’ve seen the engine houses and their chimneys on the moors, but I never knew much about them.”

  “Are there not mines close to where you are from? You’re from Cornwall, are you not?”

  She nodded. “Yes. My paternal uncle, Jac Twethewey, owns a small estate west of here. Penwythe Hall in Braewyn. But his business is orchards and agriculture.”

  “Braewyn? Oh yes, you have mines around you, both copper and tin. Wheal Tilly and Wheal Thomas are both on the coast not far from there.”

  “Have you always been around mines, then, Mr. Blake?”

  “All my life. My father owned a handful of mines to the east, and some of my earliest memories were there. Tregarthan Hall, our family home, is a short ride from here to the north.”

  “We can see Tregarthan Hall from Lanwyn, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “I believe so.”

  “Uncle Jac was of the firm belief that a woman
should, in the very least, be well acquainted with the methods that support one’s family. I fear I know more about apples and orchards than I care to admit.”

  He smiled. “But then, apples are cultivated in the sunshine, not buried fathoms below the earth’s surface. I doubt your uncle would feel the same about mining and you going underground. Truth be told, I am surprised Lambourne consented to allow you to visit our humble mine.”

  “If that is the case, then I’m sure the only reason my uncle desires my company is to vex my aunt.” A twinkle sparkled in her eye. “She wants to know nothing of his ventures.”

  “Ventures?” He didn’t like the suggestion in her expression.

  “Yes. Mining. In a general sense, of course. Over the years Uncle William has had several different financial pursuits, and Aunt Beatrice believes his interest in the mine will soon pass.” She angled her head to look out the window on the far side of the mantelpiece, as if looking for him. “But perhaps he has more interest than I give him credit for.”

  The knot in Isaac’s stomach tightened. He’d hoped—they’d all hoped—that William Lambourne would be a positive force in this area and help bolster mining endeavors, especially with so many needing work. Her words confirmed the fear that perhaps he was not serious about the business.

  Unaware of her comment’s impact, Miss Twethewey stood and moved to the window. “How many employees do you have?”

  He joined her and gazed down onto the courtyard. It was busy this time of day, with the shift about to change. The men would be coming to the surface soon. “Well, they aren’t employees. Not exactly. We do have a few employees—the underground and surface captains, the smith, engine-men, binders, carpenters, and even a mine barber, but the majority of the workers are here by contract. Every two months we have a setting, which is, in essence, an auction for the upcoming work. There are two types of workers below the ground. The tut workers dig the shafts and the tunnels, and the outworkers extract the ore.”