His chest expanded with a big breath of hope, and he felt another spike of super alertness. His spirits lifted in response. Then the rocks farther up the tunnel rattled and a bullet thudded into something behind him. A tunnel support. And where there was a support, there might be somewhere to shelter.
Seb fired off an answering round, and Nathan kept dragging him, backing into what he was praying would be a safe haven.
He tripped over a sharp metal object and sprawled backwards, cushioning Seb’s fall with his body. Both men lay stunned for a couple of seconds and then Seb began chuckling again. “Looks like you’ve struck the equivalent of gold down here, old boy. I do believe that’s an old wagon we can get behind.”
Nathan wriggled free and crouched over Seb’s shoulders. His brother was right. Lying close at hand on his left was an old iron wagon, a perfect bulwark against further bullets. He’d stowed Seb in a safe corner before the next bullet hammered harmlessly into the upright above their heads.
“What next?” Nathan breathed into Seb’s ear.
“I didn’t train as an engineer for nothing.” Seb grinned. “See those rolls?”
Lying on the ground amongst the discarded rubble of rusty tools and unwanted metal lunch boxes were some rolls of old fuse cable. He stared at Seb, reading his mind as he gaped. Of course!
If they were rogue mining here there were likely to be fresh explosives close at hand. What if they could set a charge to bring down this tunnel entryway? As he surveyed the surroundings, he spotted a natural rock ledge on their side of the tunnel entrance which would provide an ideal resting place for a packet of explosive if they could lay their hands on one.
They could block their attacker’s advance and then follow the fresh air flow to an exit. And hope that exit was big enough to allow two adult men to pass through. He gestured to Seb and quietly mouthed, “I’ll search out some black powder. You stay here.”
“Black powder’s probably over there.” Seb pointed down the new tunnel and added, “Where they’ve done the new work.”
“Cover me,” Nathan mouthed, gesturing towards the new opening.
Seb nodded.
“One two three!”
Nathan raced for the newest tunnel, flattening himself against the wall as Seb fired two more quick shots in their attacker’s direction.
Around the corner from the tunnel opening, a low shelf had been cut in the rock face. On it sat something resembling coils of new fuse lines and boxes of explosives, seemingly parked there in readiness for the next session. Grabbing an empty canvas bag, Nathan packed the dynamite and coils and waved a warning to Seb.
In response, Seb calmly fired his last round, and he saw a shadowy figure make a wild dive for cover behind the tunnel supports.
Back in position, Nathan opened the canvas bag and showed Seb what he’d found.
“Perfect,” the big man purred, for a moment all happy lion. Then he got to work with the fuse while Nathan stood guard, pulling out his gun and levelling more shots to deter their assailant from coming any closer.
When he was ready, Seb nodded and made a gesture like a baseball pitcher lobbing to the catcher for a runout.
He half rose on one leg and Nathan felt a nervous jolt. Did he have enough strength to get the explosive where they needed it? He saw Seb flinch as he stood, but with the natural advantage of his height, he was still capable of flinging a load with deadly accuracy.
With calculated intensity, he flung the armed bag in a curving arc, the fuse trailing behind it through the drawstring opening. It lodged with a gratifying thump on the ledge above the tunnel, far enough back that they could be assured, when lit, it would bring down the whole opening. Seb still held the other end of the fuse safely in his left hand. He gave Nathan another leonine grin of satisfaction and drew matches out of his pocket to light it.
Nathan grabbed his hand to restrain him and gestured to his knee. He mouthed, “Can you move?”
Seb nodded. “Slowly.”
“We’ll both wait.” Seb started to shake his head in urgent disagreement, gesturing to Nathan to run as soon as he lit the fuse, but Nathan grabbed his arm again.
Shaking his head, he mouthed, “No. We stick together.”
They were dangerously close to the opening. Not as close as their attacker, who was right next to it, but close enough to have heavy debris land on them. He indicated to Seb that they should try and take cover as best they could once the fuse was lit, and he nodded. Seconds later they watched as the worm of fire crept across the rock floor, lighting it up like a firework in the darkness, following the fuse line to the explosives on the overhead ledge.
Heads down, arms covering themselves, huddled under the shelter of the old wagon as much as they could, they waited for the bang. When it came, Nathan felt his breath flow out of his body in a great wave of relief. The tunnel shook with the impact, and great chunks of rock filled the space which seconds before had been an open gateway.
But apart from a harmless shower of pebbles and temporary deafness from the roar, he and Seb were unhurt. Whatever state their attacker was in, he wouldn’t be able to follow them through the solid wall of rock that now separated the two chambers. All they needed to do now was get out.
Forty
“I thought you told me you had the girl under control? How hard is it to dispatch one young singer for Beelzebub’s sake? I doubt if she’s had her twenty-first birthday.”
De Vile’s usual suave composure had vanished, replaced by a fury as hot as Mexican chilies. He was pacing the fine carpet in his spacious Nevada City sitting room, punching the air at intervals to emphasize a point.
Martens knew he needed to bring the bad news himself, rather than wait for de Vile to hear it second-hand. He’d been expecting something to happen at the mines since he’d found out the Castellanos woman had Vance’s report, but he hadn’t dared tell de Vile. He couldn’t stand the man’s smug conceit at being right again, so he’d pulled back on the night mining and kept watch. Sure enough, they’d found out that deputy Seb Russell had men keeping a sharp eye on the place.
Martens had been sinking a quiet whiskey and playing with the idea of challenging de Vile to a game of poker when their guard had turned up, red-faced and indignant.
“Cut open the padlock and chain and damn near brought the whole caboodle down,” he complained. “Killed my dog.”
Martens didn’t care about the man or the dog, but he knew he had to square things off with de Vile—but did that mean he’d have to come clean about his suspicions that Graysie Castellanos had Vance’s report?
No, he decided. It didn’t. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He was fed up with always dancing to de Vile’s tune. It was time he exercised some initiative.
De Vile was shouting, spittle spraying from swollen purple lips. “I don’t think you grasp how important this is to the de Vile legacy, Martens. I will not countenance any scandal right now when I’m about to go off to Washington.”
He stopped abruptly and pivoted to charge back down the room. He glared at Martens as he paused. “I’m playing a very long-term game here, Martens, and I’m not having some chit come out of nowhere and blow the whole thing out of the water.”
He strode back down the room, the corner of his jacket brushing a porcelain urn on a side table as he passed. The blue and white globe rocked perilously on its base, but de Vile didn’t appear to notice.
“The de Vile empire is going to outlast me—it’s going to be a force in its own right that my son, in his turn, will take over.”
Martens could sense his patron was winding up, but de Vile continued pacing, his face a mask of fierce concentration, as if by willpower alone he could make his dreams come true.
“I am bargaining here for much more than cash flow from a gold mine—nice as that is to have. I’m talking about the power we will wield over future generations, to go along with the money. I haven’t orchestrated myself into public office just to see it all leak away in a
scandal.”
He raised his gaze to Martens and, for a moment, he was in another place—one where he ruled the world. He blinked rapidly, as if bringing himself back from wherever his imagination had taken him, back to this room, this conversation.
“Nothing is worth risking that.” He drew himself to a halt, as if the anger that had propelled his pacing had deflated, and turned once again to Martens. In a more measured tone he continued, “I’m withdrawing from this venture, Martens. I want nothing more to do with it. It’s become more trouble to me than it’s worth. I can do without the money. It’s long stopped being an amusing sideline. It’s time for a strategic retreat.”
Willoughby Martens felt his mouth drop open in ill-concealed horror. He snapped his crocodile jaws shut. Hector de Vile was backing down. Calling it quits. And all before he—Martens—had completed his business.
He shrugged his shoulders to loosen the tension and smiled. “Always the tactician, Mr. de Vile. I guess that’s why you always come out on top.” He surveyed the room for a tray and decanter. “Another whiskey?”
He concentrated very hard on keeping his hand steady as he poured de Vile his drink, while his insides trembled with rage.
How dare he just decide he isn’t playing anymore? It was all very well for de Vile to say he could do without the money, but what about him? And what about the sneaking Nathan Russell?
He vowed to himself there and then as he sipped his drink and nodded and smiled, ever the accommodating lackey. He didn’t care what de Vile thought any longer. He wasn’t going to pack up his tent and steal away into the night. That wasn’t his style.
He still had a few lives left, and he was going to make sure this time he didn’t waste them.
Forty One
Wednesday, July 15
“Promise me you won’t sell your Ruby shares. Promise!”
Graysie placed her damp hands lightly on Lisette Guilliame’s shoulders and gave her dark curls a teasing tweak. Lisette grinned. While the girls played in the sitting room next door, their mothers stood at the kitchen bench together, elbow deep in apples, peeling knives in their juice-stained hands.
On the stove beside them, a big pot of apple pulp bubbled, scenting the house with a delightful light cinnamon fruitiness. Pania watched from the kitchen table, joining in their chatter, but leaving the cooking to them.
They’d spent the last couple of hours stewing apple pulp for the winter. One pot was close to ready, a second was about to go on the stove. And Graysie had to admit, spending an afternoon doing ‘women’s business’ with her friends was the best antidote she knew for the bleak heaviness she’d woken to that morning.
Nathan had called late yesterday afternoon and explained he was really speaking on behalf of Seb, who needed to rest a wrenched knee. He briefly outlined what had happened at the mine and confirmed to her that the property was indeed being rogue mined. She and Lisette would have the difficult task of deciding what to do about it.
But it wasn’t that news that had flattened her. It was the thought that once again good men like Seb and Nathan might have been seriously injured or killed acting on her behalf. She begged him to step away. Yes, it might be galling to leave Vance and Willie’s deaths unresolved, but she couldn’t bear to think that anyone else would be killed.
The idea of re-opening the mine had always been a long shot, and things had just gotten too dangerous, she’d told him. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t still hold out for a better price on her shares.
She’d struck out to visit Lisette as early as was decent, keen to go over it all again with the woman who was fast becoming an ally as well as a friend.
“Someone is robbing both of us blind,” she told Lisette. “Problem is we can’t prove who, even if we’ve got a good idea. Nor do I have much idea how to stop it.”
She told Lisette of the sinister warning Martens had delivered about the falling value of their shares. “It was straight-out bullying,” she said indignantly. “Nothing less than talking down stock in the hope of scaring us into selling cheap. We must hold out, Lisette. We’d be falling right into their hands if we sell now.”
She sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her nose.
“Let’s make a pact. A pledge of solidarity. We either both sell or neither sell. We stand firm together.”
Pania, a cup of half-drunk tea in front of her, clapped her hands. “Great idea, Graysie. Safety in numbers. And, in the meantime, we do our concerts in Sacramento for Harry, and Lisette can come along as nanny. How’s that for a cozy arrangement?”
The cooks stopped peeling and gazed at her, then at each other, in astonishment.
“What a great suggestion, Pania.” Graysie did a little on-the-spot jig. “I need someone to be with Minette while we’re on stage.” She gazed at Lisette. “I can’t bear to try and find another nanny after the trouble I’ve had keeping them. Will you do it, Lisette? You know Minette, and Minette would love to have Seraphine with her. It might help fill the gap Francine has left. And it’s really not any more testing to have two children on tour than one—possibly easier because they amuse each other.”
Lisette gazed at her, eyes wide open and disbelieving.
Graysie felt her heart tighten with the familiar pang of loss. “I know it’s been really hard without Andre these past months. But don’t you think it’s time for you to come out of mourning and start afresh? If you are worried about the house, I am sure Irish Pete would be happy to keep an eye on it for you.”
Lisette nodded dumbly. “I… I guess,” she mumbled, stroking her hands down her apron. “All this new information—it’s been such a shock to find out what’s been going on.”
Pania gave her an understanding nod. “It’s natural that it would be, Lisette. Anyone would feel the same.” Pania’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “You mentioned not knowing what to do about the rogue drilling. I’m just wondering if you could ask John’s advice? He’d probably have some sound suggestions. Or even possibly his brother?”
The question hung in the air for a few moments, and then Graysie screwed up her mouth and winced. “Sir John? I just don’t feel it’s the right thing. I’m sure he would have good ideas, but I’ve made a total fool of myself with the way I broke the news I was leaving.” She frowned and bit her lip.
“He’s furious with me. I guess with all the stress I wasn’t thinking straight. I’ve managed to offend him when it was the last thing I wanted. And as for Nathan? I think it’s for the best if we keep our distance. I don’t want Minette getting too attached and then feeling let down when he moves on…” Her sentence trailed off, laced with uncertainty. She gave Pania a tight smile. “Well, he will, won’t he?”
“Is that what you want?” Pania patted the chair beside her. “Come and sit down for a moment. You’ve been standing at that bench for hours. You too, Lisette. Let me make us all a fresh pot of tea.”
Pania put the kettle on the hob as they settled around the table, then came back to join them. “So I ask again, Graysie. Is that what you want? For Nathan Russell to move on?”
Graysie considered the question. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about reality, Pania.” She was embarrassed to hear a shrill edge to her voice, but she ploughed on. “He’s a grieving widower. And he couldn’t even bring himself to tell me he’d been married. I had to hear about it from that horrible Willoughby Martens, his brother-in-law, for goodness sake. It was humiliating.”
Lisette nodded sympathetically. “Such a shame.”
Pania shook her head. “So it’s his fault that his wife died? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, but… Well, if he had any interest in me, surely he would have mentioned it? I can only conclude he didn’t have any particular interest—beyond being gentlemanly, which he always is.”
She looked to Lisette for moral support. “And as I say, I don’t want Minette getting attached to him and then being let down. She’s already had enough setbacks in her little life. She
doesn’t need any more.”
“Is it really Minette’s obvious liking for him that worries you, Graysie? Aren’t you conveniently letting yourself off the hook?”
Graysie stared at the older woman, aware of the heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks. “What do you mean? I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at…”
Pania laughed affectionately. “For a very smart young woman, you can be dense, Graysie Castellanos. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that Nathan Russell is captivated. You’d have to be deliberately obtuse not to see it.”
Graysie was holding her breath, not daring to release it. What was Pania saying? That her fleeting glimpses of a rare fusion of closeness and heat, those flashes when she’d felt as if she and Nathan had seen into one another’s depths, weren’t a stupid woman’s wishful thinking after all?
She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure… not sure what you mean,” she said gazing back at Pania. She felt like she was on the brink of discovering she’d been granted some amazing good fortune.
This must be what it feels like for a blind woman to see again, she thought crazily. Or to discover you’ve won the jackpot when you didn’t know how you were going to feed your children their next meal.
As Pania continued to look at her with a quizzical smile on her lips, she repeated, “What are you saying?”
“I am saying, Graysie Castellanos, that anyone with half a brain can see there is a special chemistry between you and the younger Mr. Russell. Something that—if I say it myself—there definitely is not between you and old Sir John.” She raised one eyebrow in theatric irony.
“I know life’s taught you to be very independent. It’s taught me many of the same lessons, so I understand how hard it is to let go and trust someone with something as precious as your whole future—particularly now that you have responsibility for Minette as well. But I would be delinquent as a friend if I let you run away from this possibility without at least pointing out what seems evident to me.
Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4 Page 22