“I think that’s far enough, don’t you think?” asked Hutchins. Robert couldn’t really see the man in the dim light, but he could smell the sweat. Or maybe that was his own, as the heat was suffocating.
“No,” Robert forced out. “Show me where you’re working now.”
“But that’s a ways further down, my lord,” said Charlie, doubt lacing his tone. “And it’s none too pleasant.”
“Lead on,” he said grimly while his gut tightened. Then, to distract himself, he began asking questions of Charlie. Mr. Hutchins didn’t have the breath to answer, but Charlie had a good head and full understanding of the work being done. Robert’s head was nearly bursting with information when they came to the newest cut.
Miners were there with pickaxes and shovels, all stooped over as they worked. Robert’s clothing was drenched in sweat, and his head was pounding from the noise and the thick air, yet he was still compelled to greet every man and compliment his work as any noble lord should. It was his responsibility, and so he did his best though inside he was screaming to leave. And then he asked a most terrible question.
“But,” said Robert, looking at the rickety wood supports in the tunnel, “can those possibly be safe? What if someone accidentally knocked it with a shovel? Or if a child drove a cart into it?”
“We take care not to,” answered Charlie. That wasn’t a terribly inspiring answer to Robert, who was lifting his candle to inspect the wood. To his eye, it was thin and worm-eaten.
“Keep that down!” rasped Mr. Hutchins in a gasping cry. “Do you want to kill us all?”
“There’s no firedamp here, sir,” said Charlie gently, as if he were talking to a child. “We bled off the gas just yesterday. That’s why we’s working here, if you recall. You wanted to tell his lordship about the fresh tunnel.”
“Yes, yes, but you can never be too careful,” said the manager. “Gas is the very plague down here, your lordship. And it hovers at the top of the cave.”
Which was why all the candles were set on the floor or in low crevices, Robert realized. “I’m not so worried about the gas right now as the wood. Where did you get it?”
“Got a right nice lot in a few months ago. Found it meself. Cheap and sturdy.”
Robert looked at the miners. None of them seemed to agree, but they didn’t speak up. Mr. Hutchins must have seen it or perhaps he was used to defending his purchases. Either way he wheezed his way over to the largest of the support beams.
“Sturdy, I tell you. It’s good wood!”
“But it’s too thin, sir,” inserted Charlie. “It don’t hold in place and it don’t hold strong.”
“’Course it does. You just have to make sure it’s seated right. Look here.” He squatted down and brushed at the base of the beam. “Seat it solid like this, and nothing will bring it down.”
Robert dutifully inspected the base of the beam. It certainly did look well braced to him, but what did he know? And how could one see by the light of a few paltry guttering candles?
“You’ve done a good job bracing it, Charlie,” he said as he inspected the smaller wood pieces that ringed the beam.
“Thank you, sir, but—”
“Don’t you worry, Charlie,” interrupted Mr. Hutchins. “This here is good wood and extra safe with those braces.” He pushed to his feet, or at least he tried to. But given his size, he had to grab hold of the wall to help himself. It would have been fine, but the wall crumbled a bit beneath his hand, and the falling rocks hit a candle, knocking it over. Mr. Hutchins, obviously fearing for his clothing, jumped backward. But he was not a man who could jump easily. He lost his footing and tripped over another rock. Which brought him right up against the support beam with all his terrible weight.
Robert sighed. All he saw was a fat man falling down. A man who ought to be able to maneuver better in the mine he supervised. But the mine workers understood more. They saw one of Mr. Hutchins’s feet knock aside two of the bracing wood pieces before his full body slammed hard against the beam. The wood slid out of its seating with a scrape that was almost inaudible. But the men heard it and were rushing up and out of the tunnel long before Robert realized the danger.
Only Charlie stayed behind, his arms reaching up to grab the beam before it toppled completely. Robert joined him a second later, but it was too late. They had no secure hold on the beam. The thing fell to the ground, bringing down another roof support that fell squarely on the toppled Mr. Hutchins’s legs.
That was when the dirt began to fall. Hard rocks, tiny pebbles, choking dust poured down. Something heavy slammed into Robert’s shoulder, but didn’t bring him down.
“Run!” he screamed at Charlie, but his voice was choked off by the dust. He could barely see. God only knew how some of the candles still burned in the thick air. Robert grabbed Charlie’s arm and hauled him past the growing pile of debris. Then he shoved Charlie up the tunnel before squatting down to help Mr. Hutchins, who was howling like the very devil.
Going completely by feel, Robert ran his hands over Mr. Hutchins. The man was half covered in dirt, but he could find no other obvious injury. Already the man was clawing his way backward, slowly pulling himself out from the pile of rocks. But he wasn’t working fast enough and would never get free in time.
Squatting down, Robert gripped the man beneath his armpits and hauled. Good God, the man must weigh fifteen stone! But he heaved. And Mr. Hutchins moved. And together, they worked him out enough that he could be dragged clear.
Charlie met them ten feet later, along with two other miners who waited beneath the more solid supports. With more hands to help, Mr. Hutchins was at last pulled to his feet. At least his screaming had stopped. The air was too thick with dust for anyone to speak.
Then they all stumbled, climbed, and hauled one another up the ladders to the blessedly clean air. Mr. Hutchins collapsed just outside the entrance. By his wheezing breath, Robert knew the man was still alive. And in the sunlight, he didn’t see any blood beyond the small cuts that they all sported. Probably bruised badly and would soon hurt like the very devil, but just in case, Robert performed the medical inspection he’d been taught.
He ran his hands over the man’s body, steadily, carefully probing for broken bones or unseen wounds. Nothing unexpected appeared.
“You’ll live, Mr. Hutchins,” he finally managed to push out through his raw throat. Then he turned to look at the other miners. “Anyone else hurt?”
“No, milord,” said Charlie. “Weren’t a real cave-in. Just a slide, like, and we’re all faster than him.”
“Good, good,” said Robert as he dropped to his knees. Bloody hell, he felt weaker than a kitten. “One more thing, Mr. Hutchins.”
“Yes, my lord?” the man wheezed.
“You’re fired.”
Helaine Talbott looked at the huge edifice before her and tried not to tremble. It was a wealthy home in an exclusive neighborhood. Five years ago, she would have sailed up the walkway, assured of her acceptance. But that was before her father had exposed himself as the Thief of the Ton. That was before his friends had cut him, his clubs had blackballed him, and he had disappeared to parts unknown. That was before his wife and daughter had sunk to the pits of penniless despair. And that was well before Helaine had discovered a strength inside her that defied even her father’s terrible blunders.
That was before, and this was now. She had to remind herself that she was not coming to this establishment as a petitioner. She was offering a business deal, straight and simple. With luck and a lot of charm, she would emerge victorious. She would have to, because failing today would mean the poorhouse tomorrow.
So she steeled her spine, went up the walkway, and took the knocker firmly, though she had to work around the faded black ribbon that signified mourning. Helaine was wearing her best gown, one appropriate to her former status. And when the door pulled open on well-oiled hinges, she gave the butler her most aloof smile.