Through the Smoke (32 page)

Truman passed a long, miserable night. He tried to convince himself not to let Rachel’s absence bother him, but it was no good. Blackmoor Hall had never seemed so empty.

He walked around in her room, even felt the fabric of the dresses she’d left behind, and wished she’d waited. His guests hadn’t arrived and could still be another day or two.

Grateful when the sun finally rose, he dressed with the intention of visiting Mrs. Cutberth at her home. By the time he arrived, her husband would be at work, giving him an opportunity to speak to her without him. But Wythe showed up, catching him before he could go anywhere.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to even be here.”

“This is important.”

Wythe had been upset ever since Truman insisted he move to Cosgrove House. They’d barely spoken since, which made Truman feel conflicted. His mother’s dying wish was that he be good to his cousin. And this was the same cousin who’d subsequently rescued him from certain death—all the more reason to honor those wishes. But he wasn’t ready to let Wythe back into his good graces. Although he’d spent years trying to take the high road where his cousin was concerned, he was consistently disappointed in Wythe. How he’d treated Rachel was just one reason. Truman wasn’t ready to have his cousin return to Blackmoor Hall. He didn’t want to be apologizing for Wythe’s drinking and inelegant behavior when the duke and Lady Penelope were here.

So if Wythe had come to plead his case, Truman was hardly eager to listen. He’d heard it all before. How Wythe hadn’t known what he was saying when he threatened Rachel. How he never would have entered her room if he’d had his wits about him. How he wouldn’t have really hurt her, regardless. But Wythe started up the stairs toward the study, presumably because he wanted to speak in private, before Truman could demand he leave.

Truman cursed the delay this would cause—but he followed. He figured he might as well listen before His Grace and Lady Penelope arrived.

“What is it?” he asked as he closed the door.

Wythe turned to face him. “There’s something happening at the mine.”

This sounded ominous. Wythe usually pretended to have the colliery well in hand. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

“It feels serious.”

Truman swallowed a sigh. Didn’t he have enough problems for one winter? “I’m listening.”

Wythe’s eyes were red-rimmed and his face pale but at least he was sober.
“There’s been a shift in sentiment among the workers. It was subtle at first, but Cutberth tells me—”

“Cutberth,” Truman broke in.

“Yes.”

“That’s where you’re getting your information?”

Wythe spread out his hands. “Why not? He’s always been reliable in the past.”

“Tyndale’s the Fore-Overman. Why aren’t you listening to him?”

“Cutberth seems closer to the men.”

Thanks to Rachel, Truman now knew why that might be the case. “When did you last speak to him?”

“I just came from the offices.”

Rachel had mentioned that Wythe and Cutberth were being secretive, but Truman wasn’t sure how much importance to attach to that. Because of their work at the mine, they had a lot of things to talk about that they may not want the miners to overhear. It could be nothing more than that. “Go on…”

“He claims that many of the miners are upset with you over Ra-Miss McTavish. They’re talking about doing something to defend her honor.”

“Defend her honor!” Truman couldn’t believe it. “
I
was the one who had to defend her from
them
. They didn’t care a fig about her honor, or even her safety, when they were trying to drag her to the ground so they could throw up her skirts.”

“That was four men, Truman. Not all of them. And you’re the only one who’s actually bedded her. Hence the problem. I wish you would have left her to me instead of bringing her here. I could’ve used her as a sorter at the mine until they would accept her again.”

“You could have made her a sorter to begin with and didn’t.”

“I regret that. I truly do.”

If only Truman could believe him.… “You have never had any love for Rachel.”

“I don’t like her arrogance. She thinks she’s smarter than everyone else.”

“Because she is,” he said.

A muscle moved in Wythe’s cheek. “Be that as it may, now that you’re
involved with her, they’re complaining about it. They’re saying it’s not enough that you can have every woman in your own class? You have to ruin Rachel?”

“I hope I don’t need to remind you that Rachel would never have been ruined if you hadn’t—”

He held up a hand. “I realize that. It was a mistake, one I’m not likely to forget since you publicly embarrassed me by banishing me from the house.”

“You earned that and more.”

“I may not be thrilled that you’ve taken up with a-a”—he seemed to note the warning look Truman gave him because he made an effort to curtail his comments—“woman so far beneath you, but I am still your cousin.”

“Then prove you have my best interests at heart.”

His eyes flashed with anger. “What do you think I’m doing here? I’m trying to warn you that this thing with Rachel is getting out of hand—in more ways than one. From what I can tell, you’ve grown besotted with her. You’ve certainly put her interests above mine. And now the villagers feel as if they have to defend one of their own. They’re saying you drove her father to the grave, then you took advantage of his pretty, defenseless daughter.”

Truman moved to his desk and picked up a paperweight, which he tossed from hand to hand. “And what do you think they’re going to do about it?”

“Who knows? Maybe they’ll set another fire, and maybe next time I won’t be around to drag you out.”

“I see.” The irony of Wythe being his savior never ceased to amaze Truman. “And did Cutberth tell you why he would be privy to the sentiment of the miners?”

Wythe remained agitated but stopped pacing. “What did you say?”

“Did he tell you that, as our loyal employee, he has secretly been working to start up a union?”

His cousin’s jaw dropped. “What? No! You can’t be serious.”

“I assure you I am. As steward, you didn’t notice
anything
?”

“Nothing, I swear it!”

Of course he’d be oblivious. He had his head in a bottle most of the time. And Truman had been just as preoccupied since the fire. The miners could
have held union meetings on his own property at the beginning of each shift for all he knew.

“Now that you are aware, has Cutberth ever acted… oddly, in your opinion?”

“Never.” Wythe scowled. “Are you sure you have your facts straight?”

Truman put down the paperweight. “I doubt Rachel would lie about something like that.”

“How would
she
know what Cutberth is doing, Truman? Maybe she’s just trying to cast suspicion on anyone except her own family—”

“Even if her father set the fire, someone else paid him,” Truman said. “I don’t know a lot, but I know that the McTavishes came into some money after the fire. And they’ve been receiving additional payments ever since.”

“From whom?”

“Cutberth, for all we know. Maybe he even embezzled that money from Stanhope & Co.”

“Cutberth can’t be involved. What reason would he have to murder Katherine? Whoever killed her had to have come from London. It was probably someone she played false, maybe even the father of her unborn babe.”

Truman no longer believed her killer had come all the way from London—not since he’d learned about the money Jack McTavish had received to fire the manse. “No, the killer is here in Creswell.”

“It’s not Cutberth,” Wythe responded. “Cutberth wouldn’t hurt anyone—wouldn’t risk his job, his family.”

“Cutberth hasn’t been as careful about his job and family as you’d like to believe, dear cousin.”

“What does that mean?”

“Besides his union activities?” Maybe Truman should show him, see what his response might be. There might be a bit of truth to be gleaned from doing that. “I was heading out to speak with his wife. Why don’t you join me?”

Chapter 18

Jonas’s wife didn’t look anything like Truman remembered her. He’d seen her at a company picnic two summers ago but she’d aged so much since then he doubted he would’ve recognized her if she hadn’t been standing in her own doorway.

“Mrs. Cutberth?”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. There was no question she recognized
him
. But, of course, he expected to be recognized. He generally was. “Yes?”

“I wonder if you might spare my cousin and me a moment of your time.”

A baby cried in the house behind her. She barked an order for one of her older daughters to take the child into the other room so they could hear. “My husband isn’t home, my lord,” she responded when she turned back.

“I assumed he’d be at the mine. It’s you I’d like to speak to.”

She hesitated. “But I’m sure he’d rather deal with you himself.”

“I’m not here to make trouble. I just have a few questions.”

“Mum, who is it?” A skinny, dark-haired girl of about twelve came to stand at her elbow. The moment she saw who it was at the door, she covered her mouth and her eyes went wide. “Lord Druridge!”

“At your service.” He bowed. “And you are… ?”

“Sarah, the eldest.” A wide smile spread across her face. “Wait till Papa hears about this. Would you like to come in?” She nudged her mother. “Mum, you must let them in. You wouldn’t want the earl and his cousin to be left standing in the cold.”

Shamed into remembering her manners, Mrs. Cutberth stepped back. “Of course. Please, come in.”

Truman blocked Wythe from entering and lowered his voice even though Sarah had rushed back into the house to straighten up for their visit and wasn’t paying close attention. “No, thank you. This matter is best handled in private.”

She pressed her lips together and wrung her hands. “So… where would you like to go?”

“Maybe we could take a walk. It’s chilly but not stormy.”

Her chest lifted as she drew a deep breath, but she didn’t refuse. She grabbed a cloak from a hook by the door and threw it around her shoulders. “Sarah, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Watch your siblings.”

“
What?
” Sarah cried. “They’re leaving? But I’ve just about got the house ready.”

Truman couldn’t help smiling that she would be so disappointed. “Perhaps you’ll forgive us if I send over some juicy oranges when I get back to Blackmoor Hall?”

She clapped her hands. “Oranges are my favorite!”

“Oranges!” came the echo from her younger siblings.

“You owe them nothing,” his cousin muttered. “Especially if what you believe about Cutberth is true.”

Truman ignored him. Mrs. Cutberth was already pulling the door closed.

“Whatever you want, my lord, I can’t help you. I know nothing about the fire. I’ve said so before—to your man, Linley—who’s questioned almost everyone in the village.”

“This isn’t about the fire.”

Her glance shifted to Wythe before returning to him. “Please tell me my husband hasn’t done something at the mine to get you angry. He would never intentionally cause a problem.”

“Would he intentionally start a union—while on my payroll?” Truman asked.

He expected her to deny it, but she sighed in resignation. “Rachel told you. Jonas was afraid she would.”

“You knew all along? About the union?”

“Of course I did. I warned him that he’d be jeopardizing his own family if he got caught, but he wouldn’t listen. He feels so strongly about… about the men. Please try to understand.”

Truman studied her, surprised by the sincerity of her defense. She obviously admired her husband a great deal, despite his infidelity—which was what he had to ask her about next. “From what I hear, he feels just as strongly about the men’s wives. Or at least he did about Jack’s wife.”

The color drained from her face. “I had no business taking those letters down to the office, my lord. I wouldn’t have, if I’d given myself some time to calm down.”

“What did your husband have to say about them?”

Tears sprang up but she blinked them back. “He’s sorry, terribly sorry. He made a mistake.”

“And you’ve forgiven him?”

“It’s not so hard when you know the circumstances. He’s always felt sorry for the McTavishes, ever since their first son was caught in that cave-in. After Jack died, he stopped in every now and then to help chop wood and that sort of thing.”

Truman hated the memory of the accident that had killed Rachel’s brother. He felt the sadness as much as anyone. But short of closing the mine, he couldn’t stop all the accidents, no matter how many safety measures he imposed. And if he closed the colliery, how would most of Creswell survive? “I see. Can I read those letters?”

“No, Jonas burned every last one of them.”

That was unfortunate, but Truman could understand why he would. “Did your husband help Jillian financially too?”

“He did,” she said. “Every month. It’s our Christian duty to assist widows and orphans.” Her voice thickened as she fought more tears. “I didn’t know, of course, until I found the letters, that he’d been helping a bit
too
much, but I wasn’t opposed to giving her what she needed to survive.”