‘So many . . . so big . . .’
‘You think they are ugly.’ It was not a question; leastways he didn’t wait for an answer. ‘The clay found in this area provides employment to hundreds of people. Without it you would not have porcelain for your table, or smooth white paper to pen your letters.’ The sharp-edged mountains grew larger as they approached. ‘They are not to your taste?’ he observed.
Grace felt his gaze and turned to meet it. ‘Does it matter what I think?’
He tilted his head, as if he was seriously considering her question. His smile was fleeting.
‘Not in the least, Miss Kellow.’
‘Then it’s best I keep my thoughts to myself.’ Grace returned her gaze to the window. Her attention was immediately seized by a line of labourers walking the length of the road, their boots scraping the chaotic beat of men eager to reach their destination. As they passed, Grace noticed a fine dusting of white powder covered many from head to foot, while their legs and boots appeared splattered with milky white water. All wore flat caps, which were hastily tipped in greeting to Talek Danning and accompanied by a tired murmur of ‘Captain’, before returning their attention on the road ahead. Grace did not need her travelling companions to explain who they were. Their end of shift exhaustion, sweat, grime and white dust marked them out as miners of clay.
‘They’re not like the workers in your father’s dairy, Miss Kellow.’
‘Don’t tease her, Talek,’ interrupted Amelia.
Mr Danning ignored his sister. ‘They spend their days working out of doors and in all weathers. It’s a hard, tough life, but there’s a bond between them that few will understand.’
‘There are so many of them,’ observed Grace, bewitched by the sight of the ghost-like figures receding into the distance. ‘Where have they come from?’
‘Bothick Mine.’
‘Where are they going?’ She turned to find him watching her, as if he was in the midst of studying a newly-discovered species.
‘Home.’
He waited for her to ask another question. She wanted to learn more, but she felt she should not have to ask for each morsel of information. He should be willing to share it, as part of a normal dialogue between two people. She was new to the area and he knew that. He should be explaining how the surrounding villages had sprung up and expanded since the discovery of clay. How the community had formed and the landscape had changed through the years. A simple, interesting conversation, which two normal people could enjoy and that would bring them closer together. The unspoken conversation hung between them in the form of a resounding silence. Even Amelia did not come to their rescue. Grace felt her skin prickle as he continued to watch her, but not say a word. Finally, she gave in and looked away first. At least she still had manners and would attempt to learn more.
‘Who owns the mine?’ she asked.
‘What you really mean is who works these poor men to near exhaustion?’ replied Mr Danning.
She glanced at him, intending to disagree, but something in his eyes challenged her and she could not lie. She inclined her head in agreement as that was exactly what she meant. She fancied that she saw him grudgingly respect her for it.
A slight smile curved his lips. ‘I think you have already guessed. You are looking at him.’
Chapter Seven
Their carriage left the miners behind and entered a valley of two characters. On one side lay a mountainous landscape of white spoil. Scattered between the peaks were vibrant, still lakes, their deep waters so unnaturally green, that they reminded Grace of stained glass slotted between the stone frames of a church window. In stark contrast, the other side of the valley was carpeted with densely planted trees and, according to Amelia, in its midst, shielded from the industry on their doorstep, lay their home.
It turned out that their house, although hidden from view, was nicely situated. A large clearing had been landscaped in the wood and a well-manicured lawn welcomed their approach. Their Georgian house was also pleasing to the eye, as its symmetrical lines, crafted from local stone, complemented the leafy greenery that surrounded it. Tall, evenly-spaced arched windows reflected the tips of the mountain peaks that still remained visible above the opposing treeline, but otherwise the house and grounds was an oasis of tranquillity neighbouring on the carnage of industry that faced it.
The housekeeper, a comely middle-aged woman with a welcoming smile, rushed to greet them, whilst in the distance Grace saw a young lad disappear into the house at great speed.
‘Welcome to our home, Grace,’ said Amelia, squeezing her hand as the housekeeper opened the carriage door. ‘This is Winter, our housekeeper.’ She looked down at the woman and smiled brightly. ‘I am back and all in one piece. I told you that Robert would look after me.’
‘I was worried, miss,’ said the housekeeper, her sweeping, welcoming gaze jarring momentarily on Grace’s hair. ‘It’s only natural,’ she added, quickly masking her surprise at her shockingly short hair.
‘Indeed it is, and I welcome your concern, truly I do. However, I can reassure you that my adventure has not resulted in my brother being angry with you. Are you, Talek?’
‘Anger is not the word I would use,’ replied Talek, solemnly.
Winter’s brows pinched together in concern at his tone.
‘Take no notice of him,’ Amelia reassured the housekeeper. ‘Please prepare the blue bedroom. We have a guest for the night.’ She sheepishly glanced at Grace. ‘Although I hope she will consider staying a little longer. I do not venture out very often and would enjoy the company.’
Talek stepped down from the carriage and offered his hand to Grace. Grace was about to decline his help and his sister’s invitation to stay longer, when she noticed the young lad emerge through the open doors of the house. He appeared to be moving a chair. The sight piqued her interest, but Talek was waiting, so she took his hand and stepped down so she could continue to watch the boy in the distance. He carefully navigated the furniture down the small number of steps leading to the gravel path and approached the carriage, pushing it ahead of him. As he drew nearer, Grace could see that it was an Indian reed chair, with large wheels and a cumbersome footrest just waiting for an invalid to place their feet upon it. It dawned on Grace who it was for. She looked at Amelia in horror.
‘You thought I’d killed my sister,’ Mr Danning reminded her quietly. ‘The truth is I was carrying Amelia because she cannot walk. A year ago her back was broken in a carriage accident. The horse bolted and the carriage overturned down an embankment. It took me two days to find her.’
Grace only realised her hand was still resting in his when he quickly withdrew it to assist his sister. Talek lifted Amelia down from the carriage and helped to make her comfortable in the high-backed chair. Grace was grateful for the diversion as it allowed her a moment to recover from the shocking news. When Amelia was satisfied with the placement of her legs and blanket, the housekeeper took over the control of the chair and pushed it carefully back to the house. Even so, despite the housekeeper’s care, Amelia’s head jolted against the weaves of wicker with each jutting stone in the path.
Grace’s eyes smarted with emotion. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered when she was sure she was out of the young woman’s earshot.
‘Sorry for what, Miss Kellow?’ enquired Talek. ‘Sorry that the horse easily startled? Or that the driver possessed the horsemanship of a child and could not control it? Or sorry that I didn’t find her sooner, so she did not have to endure the company of her dead travelling companions . . . her closest friends, a minute longer than was necessary?’
There was something in his tone that caught at her heart and dragged her attention away from Amelia. For the first time she saw vulnerability in the depths of his eyes. Her heart, which had been numb since yesterday, began to ach painfully between her breasts. He had been talking of his own regrets, under the guise of attempting to guess hers.
‘I’m sorry that time cannot be turned back. So much pain could be avoided if it was possible.’
His gaze lifted to her hair. ‘And what pain do you bear, Miss Kellow? We both know you’ve not been ill recently.’
Grace carefully replaced the shawl about her head. ‘None that I wish to share,’ she replied, before following in the wake of Amelia’s wheelchair as it headed towards the house.
* * *
Talek didn’t expect to revisit Bosvenna Manor again so soon, but a visit to Kellow Dairy had redirected his search to the derelict manor and overgrown grounds. He had felt duty bound to inform Miss Kellow’s father of her whereabouts, despite her insistence that there was no need. Talek played out the charade of accepting her reassurances, but unknown to her, as soon as their evening meal had finished, he had strode out to his stables and saddled his horse, much to the bemusement of the stable boy looking on.
‘Where are you going, sir?’ the lad had asked.
