‘It’s not a tincture I’m after, Tommy. It’s you I want to see.’

Grace beckoned him to cross the road. The doorway was just large enough for the both of them. Grace wanted to keep Talek’s financial affairs confidential so was reluctant to be specific.

‘What would lime be used for? Is it used for mining clay?’

Tommy scratched his head with square shaped nails. ‘’Ow much?’

‘A large amount.’

‘Lime is good for making whitewash for painting walls. Turns the wall white and keeps the algae at bay. All the miners’ cottages are painted with it, both inside and out, but mining clay . . . nah.’

Grace breathed a sigh of relief. So they had used it to keep their workers’ cottages in good repair and it was no more than an oversight on Henry’s part to not record the bill in the ledger. Thank goodness she hadn’t accused him of something worse. She had come to realise that his accounting skills may not be as good as hers, but she had learnt her lesson about jumping to conclusions and was glad she had treaded carefully this time.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because I’m interested. I thought I saw a load of it and wondered where it was being taken.’ It was a half-truth. She may not have seen it with her own eyes, but she’d seen the bill for its purchase. She thanked Tommy and watched him walk away. Now she would visit Henry and explain the discrepancy. Talek had received news that he had been discharged from hospital and was convalescing at home. Once he realised he had omitted to include it, he’d make the necessary amendments and all would be well. No one need know about the discrepancy, except Henry of course.

She waited for Tommy to leave before stepping out of the doorway and turning in the opposite direction. She walked straight into Alfred.

‘Thought it was you ’iding in the shadows. I ’eard you were living around ’ere,’ he said, sidestepping to stop her passing as he tried to look into her face.

Grace refused to look at him as she attempted to pass. ‘Did you follow me?’

‘Na . . . you’re not that special to me.’

‘But you are here all the same.’

‘Found out after I arrived.’

She gave up trying to pass him and lifted her gaze to meet his. ‘Who told you I was here?’

‘Does it matter?’

She considered it for a moment. It wouldn’t change anything now. ‘No, you’re right, it doesn’t. What matters is what you intend to do now you’re here.’

Alfred smiled, the pale lines on his face disappearing as his skin creased into a grimace. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to spoil your little set up ’ere. Your secret’s safe.’

She wanted to believe him, but she didn’t. He was enjoying his moment of one-upmanship, when the balance of power tilts precariously to one side. The power and control was going to his head, she could see it in his eyes. Her fear fed that power and she would take no part in it. She attempted to sidestep him.

‘I’ve been paid to keep quiet,’ he said.

Grace stopped and stared at him. ‘By who?’ Her father was the only person who knew or cared enough to put his hand in his pocket for her.

Alfred laughed. ‘That would be telling.’

Grace could stomach no more. ‘I have to go.’

She managed to pass him and hurried away. She could hear Alfred laughing long after she left the road for Roseland.

* * *

Grace looked up at the fine house on the outskirts of St Austell. It didn’t have the history of Roseland, as it was of a modern construction, but the design was inspired by the past. The fine brickwork, with its warmer tones of terracotta and intricate gables, framed the snow white painted windows. The large front door fell in the shadow of a broad brick porch, and although the entrance was not welcoming, the overall design was informal, asymmetrical but ultimately exuberant. The grand design, which had become more popular in recent years, reflected the new wealth and power of the rising middle class.

The servant greeted her more warmly than Henry did. Her surprise visit had caught him at a disadvantage and she could not blame him.

‘Grace! What a surprise. I apologise for my appearance. I have not slid a razor across my jaw since the accident.’ He flushed and fastened his shirt collar. ‘Forgive me for not standing to greet you. I have discovered that a broken rib and arm makes one a little unsteady . . . it is the pain.’ He indicated to the seat opposite him. ‘Please sit down.’

‘I’m sorry to call on you like this, Henry. I should have sent a note first.’ Grace sat down in the fine leather chair. It was all rather embarrassing as it was evident from Henry’s crumpled clothes and untidy hair, that he hadn’t expected to be entertaining visitors today. She held the heavy ledger, wrapped in paper, on her lap and traced its outline with her fingers as she spoke. It was never easy to confront a man about a mistake when they have been nurtured to believe they rule the world. ‘Talek pointed out your house in town the other day. But when I called there, I was told you were now living here. He doesn’t know you have moved?’

‘Is Talek with you?’

Grace shook her head and rested her clasped hands on the book in the hope to stop herself fidgeting.

Henry sighed. ‘I’m relieved to hear it. He is too sensible to allow my stupidity to take him away from the mines . . .’

Grace felt her cheeks burn.

‘. . . although, being the conventional gentleman with high morals, I’m surprised he didn’t insist on accompanying you when you told him you were visiting me.’

Grace felt some sympathy for Henry. While he was convalescing in this large house, his only visitor was someone he barely knew — a visitor whose sole purpose was to question his record-keeping skills.

‘I’m sure Talek would have . . .’

‘Would have?’

‘. . . if he knew I was here.’

Henry’s gentle eyes darkened with interest, but he didn’t press her further. ‘Did Wicks offer you a drink when you arrived?’

‘Yes, thank you, but I declined. The decision to visit was made on the spur of the moment. I hope you don’t mind.’

He laughed. ‘Mind? Never! Particularly today when you look so radiant.’ He reached for a small bottle and adeptly removed the stopper with one hand. ‘My cousin invited me to stay until I have recovered.’

‘So this is not your house?’

Henry shook his head. ‘She recommends rest whilst my doctor recommends something more tangible for the pain.’ He presented the bottle to her, before tilting a few drops into his drink. ‘However, seeing your pretty face is a tonic in itself. The air at Roseland appears to be suiting you well, Grace.’ He placed the bottle on the table, settled back in his chair and smiled at her as he cradled his glass in his lap.

Grace returned his smile, relieved he was not offended by her sudden appearance. ‘Thank you for your kind words. Not that I have spent much time at Roseland of late.’

‘Oh? Why is that?’ asked Henry, taking a measured gulp of his drink and placing it carefully on the table beside him.

‘I’ve been at the St Austell office, preparing the wages for the miners.’

Henry’s face paled. ‘I had forgotten the wages. Time has passed me by since the accident. Did you find everything in order?’

She thought of the hour she had spent rechecking the wages. She had not made an error. Dare she bring up the unrecorded hours, which was either a mistake on his part, or, even worse, a ruse by the miners to gain extra money. Whoever was at fault, Talek had stepped in and agreed to the payment so what was the point in bringing it up now? It was the unaccounted lime that was the problem.

‘The wages have been paid.’ Grace took a deep breath and stared at the book in her lap. She knew, in the society that she lived, a woman questioning a man’s ability, particularly in relation to his work, was a daring thing to do. It called into question his honour, his skills, his very identity as head of a household. Only Grace had come this far and she could not back out now . . . even if she wanted to. She patted the book with both hands. ‘However, I’m having trouble reconciling the accounts. There is an order for lime which has not been recorded.’