Through the Smoke

“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.”

Truman had had a terrible time forgiving Katherine, but she’d never asked for his forgiveness. Not sincerely. She’d made a game of manipulating his emotions. And she hadn’t gotten caught up with just one lover. She’d willfully betrayed him whenever the opportunity presented itself. “How could he afford to help for so long?”

“It was only about six months. She had a bit put by before that.”

“Do you know where her savings came from?”

“No.”

“And the monthly payments? Six months would be quite a burden.”

“He told me he put together a fund. Several of those who were better off contributed.”

With a scowl, Wythe broke into the conversation. “Why haven’t I heard of this… fund?”

“I hadn’t even heard of it, Mr. Stanhope,” she said. “It was union business. No one was supposed to talk about it.”

“You contributed personally, I suppose?” Truman asked.

She toed a rock. “Yes. We gave as much as we could. There was a time when Jack was making good money that he helped us. We were new here and Jonas hadn’t yet found work. I doubt we could’ve gotten by without him. So I can hardly feel bad about doing a kind deed for his widow. I just wish… I wish it had ended there.”

“Jack helped the two of you?” The disbelief in Wythe’s voice revealed his opinion of Rachel’s father, which came as no surprise since it mirrored Truman’s own.

“Did you thank him the way Jillian McTavish thanked your husband?” Wythe asked.

“Please forgive my cousin.” Truman spoke before she could respond—but she lifted her chin and answered in spite of his attempt to spare her the humiliation.