Page 78 of The Cornish Inheritance

Chapter Thirty-One

“We’re going to have to climb up this stope,” Nat said, adjusting the hold he had on Yves’s limp form. “We have to get up toward the worked adits, and this is the only way.”

Luckily, the candlelight didn’t show much of the steeply uphill climb they were going to have to make, but it did show how narrow it was. Caroline didn’t want to know what lay ahead of them. She’d been taking this trek a little bit at a time for some time now. Just another ten steps. Just round that next bend in the tunnel. Just while she declined some Latin nouns and adjectives in her head to keep from thinking about their situation and her own fears. Just another ten steps. A stope. Another word to add to her litany. Stope. Adit. Tomb. Don’t think.

Exhaustion had long since taken its toll. Not that they could have walked that far. Rather, it was the nature of the walking: in the dark, by the light of a single candle, along narrow adits that ran with water so she was near as wet as Yves, now. Having to walk bent over where the roof came down low, and splashing through puddles of water on the uneven floor so that her boots and feet were soaked.

Added to all that, the sensation of being miles under the ground with tons and tons of solid rock above their heads, and the knowledge that no one knew they were there, pressed down on her like a physical weight. She mustn’t think about being stuck down here forever. In the dark. Entombed. She mustn’t. Of course, the moment she tried not to think those things, they became the only thing she could think of.

In obedience to Nat’s command, she started up the uneven, rocky slope that would hopefully take them to the next level. Nearer to the worked adits. Nearer to safety. If it was hard for her, it must be even harder for him. Yves wasn’t a heavy child for his age, but he was nine and not a baby anymore. And Nat’s shoulder should not be taking such a punishment so soon after his injury. She could hear his panting breath from behind as she climbed. But at least he wasn’t hampered by wearing a long gown. She was holding it and her petticoats up with one hand, but still her clothing hampered her movement. Once more, the thought that Ysella had it right about wearing boys’ clothes rose to the surface. Too late now. Unless, of course, she ripped off her skirts and climbed in just her drawers. What a thought. Only the hope that they were going to get out of there, in the end, and someone would see her in her underwear, prevented her from doing just that.

Before long they had to rest. Climbing the stope was worse than walking along the adits had been. Her own breath was heaving, and the air felt thick and heavy and difficult to force into her lungs. Hadn’t she once read somewhere that bad air in mines could kill you? The urge to burst out laughing washed over her and she only just managed to hold herself in check. Because if she started laughing, she’d end up sobbing. And she mustn’t do that in front of Yves.

Nat sat down on a large rock and shifted Yves so he was lying in his arms like a baby, his blonde head resting against Nat’s shoulder.

Caroline sat down beside them and felt Yves’s face and hands. A little warmer than they had been.

He opened his eyes. “Caroline?” How feeble his voice sounded in the darkness.

“I’m here. We’ll have you out of this dreadful place soon, don’t you worry.”

“Am I going to die?”

She bit her lip and forced a smile. “Of course not. Do you feel a bit warmer now?”

He nodded, but she couldn’t be sure he was telling the truth. “I’m so tired. My candle went out. I was in the water in the dark for so long. I didn’t think anyone would ever come.” His voice faltered. “I-I thought I was going to die and never see Dash again.”

How dreadful that must have been, afraid that no one knew he was there, that he’d die alone in the cold dark of the maze of tunnels and never be found. He might only be nine, but those thoughts must have run through his mind as he clung to the rocky wall of his wet tomb. What bravery and determination it must have taken not to give up and let the water take him. He’d never given up hope. She squeezed his hand. Thank God they’d come in time.

“We’re all tired,” Nat said. “But not long now. We can’t be far off the worked levels, and there should be men there who’ll be able help get us out.”

“Am I having an adventure?” Yves asked.

Caroline nodded, keeping her voice light and cheerful, which was difficult, as what she needed herself right then was reassurance. “You are indeed. And so are we, thanks to you. But I have to say, it’s an adventure I could have done without.”

Nat laid his free hand on her knee. “But you have turned out to be a fine and brave adventuress.”

She chuckled, glad of the warmth seeping through her wet and torn skirt. “If only that were true.”

“You are,” Yves whispered. “You came to save me.”

“Technically, Nat did that. I couldn’t reach you.”

“He’s brave too. Like Mr. Crusoe and Man Friday.” He closed his eyes and nestled closer to Nat. In a few moments he was asleep.

What a sweet picture the two of them made. Nat, with his hair all awry and the little, sleeping boy cradled in his arms. Despite her fears, Caroline found a smile.

Nat glanced at her. “My father died down here.”

She would have liked to tell him not to talk about dying while they were still not sure they could get out, but she didn’t. “I know. Sir Hugh told me.”

Nat sighed, shifting a little on his rocky seat as though uncomfortable. “I was with him.”

She nodded. “He told me that, as well.”

“I couldn’t do anything to save him.”

Unable to think of a response, she waited for him to go on.