The Thief of Lanwyn Manor

by Sarah E. Ladd

  Suddenly she whirled around, interest arching her brows. “Are those the bal maidens?”

  He looked down at the row of women standing at a long table. “Yes.”

  “Miss Prynne told me about them. Do they always work outside like this? Even in this weather?”

  “Yes. They’re breaking down the ore to separate the good from the bad.”

  He couldn’t help but notice how her soft, elegant fingers showed no sign of hard work.

  She pivoted, noticed the items on the mantel, and picked up a piece of ore. “Is this what it looks like?”

  “Yes.” He took it from her, careful not to touch her hand with his dirty one. “This is a piece my brother and I extracted with my father when we were boys.”

  “How interesting.” Her attention turned to the portrait above the mantel. “What an exquisite painting.”

  He stepped up next to her and beheld the image, even though he did not need a painting to recall the merry blue eyes and ruddy cheeks that always seemed to be windblown. “That’s my father. He died nearly four years ago now.”

  “Your father?” She appeared to examine the image more closely. “Is it a good likeness?”

  “A very good likeness. Matthew painted it.”

  “That’s remarkable,” she muttered.

  “Yes, Matthew’s the artist in the family. He traveled abroad for two years before he came home to run this mine when Father fell ill.”

  “Do you paint as well?” She faced him.

  She was quite close now, and they stood shoulder to shoulder.

  He paused before he responded, a bit taken aback by her steady stream of questions. He’d have thought she’d have no interest in the workings of a mine, but from what he observed, quite the opposite seemed true.

  And now, she seemed interested in his family.

  In him.

  She looked toward him, eyebrows raised. “Mr. Blake? Do you paint?”

  Oh yes. She’d asked him a question. “Uh, no. No, I don’t.”

  He cleared his throat and returned his attention to the painting. He needed to look away from the soft ringlets framing her face, the gentle slope of her slender nose, and the subtle cleft in her chin.

  Matthew had said he intended to court her. No doubt that was what he was doing now. She was here to visit Matthew. Not him.

  Footsteps and laughter sounded outside the door. Isaac turned, disappointment dripping through him. His time alone with Miss Twethewey was coming to an end.

  Matthew and Lambourne strode in.

  “Ah, Isaac, you’re here. Good.” Matthew motioned toward Isaac, his broad smile and boisterous voice reaching to every corner of the low-ceilinged sitting room. “I’ve just been showing Mr. Lambourne the engine house and pump.” He turned his attention to Miss Twethewey. “I hope you were not too lonely while we were away?”

  “Of course not. Eliza has brought me tea, and Mr. Blake has been excellent company.”

  Isaac stepped back, allowing Matthew to move next to Miss Twethewey.

  “Impressive.” Lambourne clicked his tongue, ignoring his niece’s statement. “You gentlemen have quite an operation.”

  “Your Bal Tressa used to be very like it, you know, if not larger,” Matthew said. “And she could be again.”

  As if finally taking notice of Miss Twethewey, Lambourne extended his arm toward his niece, which she accepted forthwith. “I’m sad to see our visit come to an end, but I must get Julia home. Her aunt will be wondering where she is.”

  “I’ll accompany you.” Matthew reached once again for the hat he’d discarded. “We should continue our discussion about improvements for Bal Tressa another time. What say you to dinner at Tregarthan Hall in the coming days? Your entire family, of course, is welcome. Isaac will be there as well, won’t you, Isaac? No one in the whole of Cornwall knows as much about mining as my brother.”

  Isaac lifted his head at the mention of his name and nodded. He had no idea what the men had talked about when at the pump house, but if a meeting at Tregarthan Hall would allow him to be in Miss Twethewey’s presence, he’d be there.

  Lambourne dipped his head in agreement. “We shall look forward to it.”

  Chapter 21

  Julia walked into Lanwyn Manor, rubbing her gloved hands together, grateful for the warmth. The sun had begun its descent on their ride home, and with it went all semblance of heat.

  Once inside the great hall, she hurried to the low window and looked out at her uncle and Matthew Blake. A smile toyed with her lips. Every expectation for the day had been met—and some had even been exceeded.

  Leaving Penwythe Hall for a fresh residence was the best cure for a broken heart. She was certain of it now. Percy had not crossed her mind all afternoon, and now as she thought of his name, no sting of pain emerged.

  She whirled from the window, appreciating that for the first time in a very long while the weight of pain and regret seemed to lift from her shoulders.

  Perhaps Jane was right—anticipation was the key. Glorious anticipation.

  Julia tucked her riding crop under her arm and pulled her glove from her left hand, a little astonished Aunt Beatrice was not waiting in the hall to hear every little detail of the day. Caroline, too, for that matter.

  She’d tell them of their ride into the village. Of Mr. Blake’s attentions. She would omit the part of him leaving her in the counting house, however. She’d thought that a bit odd, especially since he’d invited her to see the mine.

  Although, the slight had afforded her the opportunity to visit with Isaac.

  Her conversation with him had been pleasant. His gentleness, his humility, appealed to her. Then again, perhaps she was drawn to him simply because he had rescued her. What girl would not want to be rescued by such a handsome man?

  But Isaac was tied to Margaret Benson. Yesterday she had seen it with her own eyes in the churchyard. She was determined to follow Aunt’s guidance in this matter.

  Yes, Matthew Blake was the man for her.

  Deciding to go tell Jane about her day, Julia stepped toward the main staircase when a sharp voice caught her attention.

  Aunt Beatrice.

  Concerned at the alarm she heard in the tone, Julia dropped her riding crop and gloves to the side table and followed the sound of her aunt’s voice to the drawing room, where her aunt spoke with Mrs. Sedrick.

  “We’ve looked everywhere, in every nook, every cranny.” Mrs. Sedrick’s raspy voice rang harsh in the silence. “’Tis as if it simply vanished.”

  “This is getting quite out of hand.” Aunt’s voice was high as she paced over the rug, wringing her hands more tightly with each step. “And you have questioned the servants? All of them?”

  “I have worked with this staff for years, Mrs. Lambourne. It was not one of them. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

  “But circumstances have changed here, have they not? Can you be certain they’re as loyal as they once were?”

  Determined to help calm her aunt, Julia stepped into the drawing room to make her presence known. “Good afternoon, Aunt.”

  “Ah, Julia, my dear.” Aunt Beatrice rubbed her forehead. “It seems more silver is missing. Again.”

  Julia moved closer. “Perhaps it has just been misplaced.”

  “Perhaps.” Her aunt looked back to Mrs. Sedrick as she returned to her seat on the sofa. “Keep me abreast of any developments you uncover. That will be all.”

  Julia took a quick step back to avoid being trampled by Mrs. Sedrick as she exited the room, then hurried to the brocade-covered settee, picked up Oscar from where he’d been sleeping, and sat next to her aunt. “Don’t worry, Aunt. I’m certain it will be discovered. Things go missing all the time.”

  “Oh, it isn’t merely the silver, dear.” Aunt Beatrice’s face reddened, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s this horrid place. These people. This dreadful house!” She swiped her nose with a lacy handkerchief. “When we first arrived here, your uncle was emphatic that we kee
p the staff in place. We did not even bring our own housekeeper. Can you imagine? Fortunately, Mrs. Sedrick has proven valuable, but the rest of them are against us, I know it.”

  Aunt continued, her face flushing deeper with each syllable. “You know that my heart is in London, but your uncle is determined to be here, and a woman’s place is with her husband, but he follows every whim, caring not what is best for his wife and daughters. I call it selfish.”

  Julia, unsure how to respond, adjusted the dog on her lap and tried to make her voice soothing. “It pains me to see you so upset, Aunt. It’s a beautiful house, really. Such charm. I’ve never seen a house its equal.”

  “And now to think there is a thief among us? It is not to be borne!” Aunt Beatrice burst out, ignoring Julia’s attempt at comfort. She jumped to her feet and resumed pacing. “How glad I will be when this whim of his passes. He’ll tire of this mining pastime, as he does with every scheme he chases down, and then where will we be?”

  Initially Julia had thought it a whim as well, but the interest she’d seen in her uncle’s face when he spoke with Matthew had been unmistakable.

  “Speaking of your uncle, where is he? Did he not return with you?”

  “He did. When I saw him last, he and Mr. Blake were still speaking in the courtyard. Shall I fetch him?”

  “With Mr. Blake? Then no, no. Do not disrupt him.”

  Julia studied the blue ribbon tied about Oscar’s neck and straightened it. She wasn’t sure what to think. If her family was not happy here, surely the best solution would be to leave. But then Mr. Blake’s words about the village resonated. If Uncle left without opening the mine, how would that affect those who had relied on it for so long?

  With a sudden sniff Aunt Beatrice pivoted. “Well, we must find joy and happiness where we can, I suppose. Joy is in the people around us, is it not? I have two of my daughters with me, and you, of course. Oh, I don’t want you to think it all bad, for I want you to stay here with me—with us—as long as possible.”

  “I have no desire to depart Lanwyn Manor. I like it here, truthfully.” She reached to grab her aunt’s hand. “Plus, there is so much to anticipate. Caroline is to be married, and of course Jane’s baby.”

  “And Mr. Blake? With the ridiculous nonsense of the silver, I almost forgot about your outing. Tell me all about it. Omit nothing.”

  Julia allowed her thoughts to turn to the afternoon’s events. “It was interesting. And you will be happy, I think, to know that Mr. Blake invited us to dine at Tregarthan.”

  “A dinner invitation! Well.” All trace of misery vanished. She tapped her finger to her lips, and her eyebrows rose. “Oh, my dear. If our presence here means you have the chance to be courted by a man such as Matthew Blake, then it is not in vain.”

  Chapter 22

  A misty drizzle was falling as Isaac returned to his home from the mine. Gathering clouds had eclipsed twilight’s purple glow, and now a thin veil of rain added darkness to the landscape as a cold, hard wind snapped sharply through the otherwise quiet night. Winter would be fully upon them soon.

  Through the copse of bare trees, lights winked from the narrow leaded windows.

  Anvon Cottage.

  Home.

  Tipping his hat lower, he nudged his horse to a trot. A gray squirrel scampered through the undergrowth, and a gust of wind swirled dried leaves on the path before him. He inhaled the crisp, fragrant air, enjoying how the freshness filled his lungs and awakened his senses. For the moment all was peaceful, and after the difficult days since Charlie’s death, peace was all he desired.

  Through a clearing in the trees, the sharp outline of Wheal Gwenna’s tower jutted into the murky night sky. Nearly every day of his life he had passed that structure, and more days than he cared to admit it had been empty. But for some reason, tonight of all nights, it beckoned for him to slow his horse and study it further.

  The mine and the land on which his cottage sat were not part of the original Tregarthan estate. His grandfather purchased this portion separately, so when it came time for the bequest, his father split this piece of land from Matthew’s inheritance. It was not nearly as large or as fine as Tregarthan Hall, but it was his.

  As he approached the cottage’s courtyard, he saw Marco, Matthew’s bay horse, tethered to the hitching post near the door. Matthew was nowhere to be seen.

  Curious as to what would bring his brother out to the cottage, Isaac slid from the saddle, secured his horse next to Marco, and stepped beneath the elms and oaks toward the door. He was glad his brother was here. They still needed to discuss the accident at the mine, and he’d not seen Matthew since he’d left the counting house to escort Mr. Lambourne and Miss Twethewey to Lanwyn Manor.

  With a turn of the iron handle, Isaac opened the timbered door, and his eyes quickly adjusted. There on the settee perpendicular to the simmering fire sat Matthew, the orange light glowing against the angles of his face.

  Matthew jumped to his feet at the door’s creaking like a spring, loaded and ready to uncoil. His normally calm countenance flared, and his eyes narrowed.

  Isaac pushed the door closed, taking a moment to loop his satchel over the hook next to the door to afford himself time to address his brother.

  Matthew, by most accounts, possessed a nonchalant if not aloof manner. Rarely vexed, he tended to find the humor in all. Such mannerisms endeared him to many, especially during times of uncertainty and strife, but there was another side of Matthew, one not often seen, where anger ruled every action and a temper flared beyond control. It was a family trait, one passed down from one man in the family to the next, and one which Isaac, unfortunately, shared.

  Judging by his brother’s pressed lips, this was one of those times when the tendency would blaze.

  “Good evening, Matthew.”

  Matthew stepped forward, his expression tight. “When were you going to tell me about your plans for Wheal Gwenna?”

  “What plans?”

  Matthew scoffed. “I spoke with Dunstan today. I know you’ve been considering opening it.”

  Isaac stifled an inward groan as he shrugged his coat from his shoulders. He wasn’t ready to talk to his brother about the possibility of opening Wheal Gwenna. Not yet.

  “He said you and Benson were seeking investors.”

  “Benson’s dead.” Isaac removed his hat and set it on the table. “And no, I’ve not taken on any investors.”

  Matthew speared him with a glare. “You’d do that to me?”

  “What exactly would I be doing to you?”

  “Leaving my mine without a captain. Becoming my competition when times are uncertain enough as it is.”

  Isaac raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve always planned to open Wheal Gwenna—ever since the day Father died. You know it to be true. I’ve never professed differently.”

  Matthew huffed again and shook his head, looking more like their father with each second that ticked by. “Why would you abandon a lucrative post for a mine that ran out long ago?”

  The brothers stared at one another, frustration hovering precariously between them.

  How could he make his brother understand? Matthew had been handed a successful mine. He’d never had to toil and slave to make it profitable. If their situations were reversed, Isaac doubted Matthew would feel the same.

  “You’re needed at Wheal Tamsen, Isaac. It takes both of us. You know that.”

  Both of us.

  It was well known that the mining knowledge and expertise their father possessed went to Isaac. Matthew had a way with people, but Isaac understood copper—where to look for it, how to organize and inspire the tributers to work and be prosperous, and how to keep spirits high when profits—and morales—were low.

  A coolness glinted in his brother’s eyes—a look Isaac knew well. “I needn’t remind you that the amount of money required for you to make her operational is astronomical.”

  Isaac determined to stay calm. “Be that as it may, ’tis still
my mine. The only thing that truly belongs to me.”

  “Everything you learned about mining you have learned from Wheal Tamsen,” Matthew hissed.

  “No, Brother. Everything I’ve learned I learned from Father. He left me Wheal Gwenna fully intending me to do right by it. No time will ever seem right, but consider. I’m not married, have no one dependent upon me.”

  “Wheal Gwenna was closed for a reason,” Matthew fired back. “Only a fool throws good money after bad. Would you abandon Wheal Tamsen, then? Everything our entire family has worked so diligently to build?”

  “I’ll not abandon Wheal Tamsen or the people there, but I will make my own path. Make no mistake. Perhaps if you spent more time at the mine tending to actual business, you would feel more comfortable when the day comes that you are left to tend it on your own.”

  Chapter 23

  Julia was late. She hated to be late. No doubt Miss Prynne expected her a half hour ago for the Ladies League meeting. Julia had no desire for her first impression to be that of a tardy guest, and yet it could not be helped.

  She smoothed her lavender pelisse and straightened her bonnet before she lifted her gloved hand to knock on the cottage door. She looked toward the narrow window flanking the door, searching for a sign of movement. After several moments, muffled footsteps echoed, and a young girl with black hair and dark eyes, who could be no older than thirteen, answered the door.

  “Miss Twethewey to see Miss Prynne, if you please.”

  The girl did not take her wide, curious eyes from Julia but stepped back to allow her to enter. Almost immediately, Miss Prynne, clad in a gray high-necked gown with a white cap over her fading auburn hair, appeared. “There you are, my dear! I was beginning to fear something may have happened to you.”

  “I’m terribly sorry to be so late.” Julia removed her gloves and pelisse and handed them to the servant girl. “My cousin has not been feeling well and I was hesitant to leave her.”

  “Don’t give it a thought.” Miss Prynne gave a dismissive wave, her expression kind. “The important thing is that you are here now, and I’m ever so glad for it. Come in and meet our neighbors and friends. We haven’t a large gathering today, but every little bit of progress is helpful, is it not?”