Through the Smoke (31 page)

She wasn’t in Creswell long, however, before word spread that she was back. She wasn’t sure how everyone figured it out. Maybe the servants at Blackmoor Hall had gossiped to certain vendors who returned to the village with the news, but several people came by, including one of the hewers she’d worked with—Mr. Greenley. Mrs. Tate turned him and all the others away. Rachel had no idea if Greenley had come to apologize or berate her but she didn’t want to find out.

By nightfall, even Mr. Linley came knocking. Rachel could hear him ask to speak with her, could hear him say the earl had sent him to ask her back, but she refused to come to the door. There was nothing he could do to convince her to return to Blackmoor Hall. She loved the earl too much to give the duke any reason to withdraw the offer that would protect him from prosecution.

“Ye won’t say a word to ’im?” Mrs. Tate asked, her voice low since there were only two rooms in her house, and the door and Mr. Linley wasn’t that far away.

Rachel shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“But ’e’s adamant that ’e speak with ye. ’E says ’e shouldn’t ’ave let ye go this mornin’.”

“I heard.” She couldn’t allow herself to be tempted. Now that it was growing dark, she missed the earl—missed Truman—more than ever.

Once Linley left, Rachel went to bed feeling cold and lonely and cast adrift on a mighty ocean of change.

London will be a good place for me
, she told herself. She couldn’t imagine she’d like it, but at least she would have a clean slate. She wasn’t important enough that her reputation would follow her. She hoped. The fact that her only reference would come from Blackmoor Hall concerned her. She didn’t want to be the notorious maid who’d had an affair with the notorious earl. Would she be better off striking out on her own?

Mrs. Tate’s voice rose in the darkness, from where she was sleeping in the other bed. Apparently she’d been tossing too much and had given away her inability to sleep. “When ye came, I thought… I thought ’e was done with ye. But it didn’t sound that way when ’is butler showed up. Why’d ye leave?”

“I didn’t want to lose sight of who I really am,” she said.

“Won’t you miss Geordie?”

She already did. Those few minutes she’d spent saying good-bye had been so difficult. But she wouldn’t drag her brother away, not into such uncertainty. “Sometimes those we love are better off without us.”

That was absolutely the case for Truman.

“I thought it would be more discreet to send you, but I should’ve gone myself.” Truman stood in the parlor where he’d first received Rachel when she appeared the night her mother was dying.

Linley hobbled closer, once again using his cane. “Maybe she has a point, my lord.”

He tossed the brass poker he’d just used to stir up the fire against its holder, but in his frustration he missed, and it knocked over a table. “And what point is that, Linley?”

Surprised by this uncharacteristic display of temper, his butler remained silent.

Mrs. Poulson ducked her head in to see what had caused the racket. Truman shooed her out by saying it was a clumsy mistake and she could right things later.

“You have no answer?” he demanded of Linley once Poulson was gone.

“Not one that will please you, my lord.”

Pressing on his temples to ease the headache that had started earlier, he strode to the fireplace and gazed into the flames. “What will become of her?”

“She will stay with her neighbor until I can find her a position in London.”

“Will she be safe there? I don’t want her mistreated.”

“I believe she’s in good hands. And having her out of the house is far better for you, given that His Grace and Lady Penelope will be here any day. Miss McTavish has done you a great favor.”

He clenched his jaw at the thought that she wouldn’t be with him tonight. It had taken him so long to find the contentment he felt in her arms. “I didn’t ask for this favor.”

“Which is why I am so impressed.”

“I’m glad
someone’s
happy.” He was weary of the mystery he’d lived with for two years. Weary of Katherine and the toll she continued to take. Weary of the constant battle. He just wanted to be left alone to rebuild his life. And he wanted Rachel to be part of it. If only he had a better option than the one he felt forced to take—but he wouldn’t have a better option unless he could find at least one of those damn paintings.

“If you were Mr. Cutberth, and you’d stolen a Bruegel or two, where would you hide them?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Linley puffed out his cheeks as he considered his answer, seemingly glad they could get back to business as usual. “Somewhere safe, of course. Somewhere I could get to them when I was ready. And somewhere they wouldn’t be connected to me, if they were discovered in the interim.”

“So not at your house.”

“I would think not, my lord.”

“I agree. But what other safe place would a man like Cutberth have?”

“The colliery. Possibly.”

“
My
colliery?”

“Parts of it have been closed off. There are so many tunnels—it’s a maze. And those who work there know its intricacies far better than you.”

“Perhaps I’ll ask Cutberth’s wife about his activities.”

“I can’t imagine he told her he was going to steal your paintings.”

“He might have. They could be in it together. And if not, who would be more likely to notice something odd about his behavior?”

“There is that, I guess. And considering what Mr. Tyndale told you, she might be eager for revenge.”

“Such betrayal isn’t easily forgiven.” He would know, wouldn’t he? Of course, he might’ve had a chance at forgiveness if Katherine had been the least bit penitent.
Her
affairs had had nothing to do with love—only torment.

“If we go to Cutberth’s wife, she might tell him. And if he realizes you suspect him he could take evasive action,” Linley said.

“I’m counting on the fact that she will tell him. And I’m hoping the knowledge that I suspect him will frighten him into making a mistake.”

“What if he panics and destroys the paintings?”

Whether it would be wiser to wait or not, Truman was running out of patience. “It’s a gamble, but I have to make my move sometime.”

Linley shuffled closer. “Is this about Rachel, my lord?”

“It’s about freedom,” he said. “At last.”

“Back already?”

Startled, Rachel dropped the broom she’d been using. She’d come to the bookshop to pack up what was left of her family’s belongings and clean the building so the earl could lease it after she was gone. But first she’d boarded up the window that’d been broken and locked the doors. She hadn’t expected—or wanted—to be interrupted.

“How did you get in here?” she asked.

Jonas Cutberth dangled a key in front of her face.

“Who gave you that?”

“Let’s not worry about such details. I’m here now. That’s what matters.”

“Then my question is why—
why
are you here? Don’t you have to be at the mine?”

“I’m on my way there.”

“You’re late for work, by my guess.”

“This shouldn’t take long. I just want to know how much you told Lord Druridge before he tossed you aside. Because he did toss you aside, didn’t he? I can’t imagine you’d be standing here in your old rags if he was still anxious to dip his wick.” He
tsk
-ed at her “fallen” state and then laughed. “At least you got to pretend to be important for a few weeks. I just hope that fleeting moment was worth losing all your friends
and
your dignity.”

Rachel couldn’t help but wince at the image he painted of her. She wanted to tell him the situation hadn’t been as he represented it. She’d only gone to Lord Druridge’s bed because she loved him. She hadn’t even taken the dresses he’d given her when she left.

But why bother? She’d only look more foolish for allowing herself to fall in love with a man who was as far above her as the moon and the stars.

“I told him everything,” she admitted and was actually relieved to say it. She’d hated feeling as if she were breaking a confidence, if only because of the respect she used to have for Cutberth.

His taunting smile disappeared as quickly as if she’d wiped it away with a rag. “I hope to God you’re just trying to make me angry.”

A chill went through her. This was a side of him she’d only begun to see since her mother died. But she couldn’t lie. For her own dignity—and for the sake of those miners who were simply looking to improve their terrible lot by banding together—she felt she had to tell the truth. Maybe it was time everyone did. “The earl knows about the union, Mr. Cutberth, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He grabbed her arm. “Does he know
I’m
behind it?”

“Ouch!” She tried to wiggle away, but his fingers dug in deeper.

“
Does he?
” he demanded, giving her a shake.

“Yes!” she cried. “Let go of—”

Rachel didn’t have time to finish her sentence, didn’t even have a chance to brace for the slap that left her ears ringing. She stood, stunned and even slightly disoriented after he hit her, while he continued to rail. “You little bitch! Do you know what you’ve done? Do you know what a disappointment you would be to your dear mother, if she were here to see how far you’ve fallen?”

Strengthened by her own anger, Rachel jerked away. “How dare you bring my mother into this! You have no right to even mention her name!”

“That shows how much you know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Forget it. If you’ve cost me my job, you’ll be sorry. Do you hear? I won’t allow some stupid whore to destroy what I’ve worked so hard to accomplish.”

Rachel wished Mrs. Tate or someone else would interrupt. Her cheek was stinging, her stomach was upset—and she feared Cutberth wasn’t finished with her yet. “And what is it, exactly, that you’ve worked so hard to accomplish? Is it what you’ve always told me you wanted? Better conditions and better pay for the miners? Or a way to make yourself rich?”

This seemed to take him aback. “What are you talking about?”

She wanted to mention the paintings but dared not give away the fact that the earl had found a thread he could possibly use to unravel the whole mystery,
in case Cutberth could somehow counter him. “What were you looking for when you broke in here? What were you looking for when you broke into my home?”

His eyes narrowed. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

She arched her eyebrows. “Was it the ledgers?”

He froze. “Where are they?”

“Where did the money come from, Mr. Cutberth?”

He tried to grab her again, but she managed to put a table between them.

“Give them to me before I wring your neck!” he said.

“Threatening me won’t do you any good. I couldn’t turn them over even if I wanted to. I left them at Blackmoor Hall.”

Putting a hand to his chest, he briefly closed his eyes and shook his head. “You have no idea of the damage you’re doing.”

“Feel free to explain so that I
will
understand.”

“Why would I bother? After the past several months, you’re the last person I trust,” he said and stormed out.

Once she felt confident that he wasn’t coming back, Rachel stumbled over to a chair so she could sit down. Her cheek hurt from when he’d hit her, and her legs felt like rubber, but she was more excited than upset. He’d all but admitted to breaking into her house and the shop, admitted that he’d been searching for the ledger books. That meant he knew something about the money.

She had to get word to Lord Druridge. But how? After what’d just happened, she dared not traverse the five miles to Blackmoor Hall. She’d be far too vulnerable. For all she knew, Cutberth would follow her and toss her over the cliff.