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“Until he found out that you were the child’s father. And you know Katherine would have told him eventually. From what I have learned, she couldn’t possess such a powerful weapon and not use it—against you both.”
“Sadly, that’s exactly why Mrs. Poulson said she had to die. She wouldn’t let Katherine destroy me.”
“And the paintings? Did she steal those, too?”
“No, that was me. I didn’t see why they shouldn’t be salvaged.”
“But you weren’t expecting Lord Druridge to arrive.”
“That was terrible timing, really.” He sounded quite wistful. “You should have seen Mrs. Poulson’s face,” he added with a laugh that indicated he was as out of touch with what he should be feeling as ever. “We thought we were done for—until he rushed straight to Katherine, oblivious of everything except his rage. Of course, the smoke was barely discernable at that moment. For once, fate was on my side and not his. And now Truman will hang for her murder, and I will spend the rest of my days with a title and more money than I know what to do with. How’s that for a reversal?” He gestured with the hand that held the knife. “Everyone will scrape and bow as I walk by.”
“So Mrs. Poulson set the fire? She’s the one who tried to hire my father?”
He crouched lower. “She hired Greenley and the boys to do it for her, but that was a mistake. It left us vulnerable and essentially got them killed.”
The path was almost clear. If only he would shift a bit more to the right. “I don’t understand. Why? Why would she kill Katherine?”
“She wants me to inherit the title as much as I do.”
“You won’t get it,” she said, in no uncertain terms.
“What’s to stop me?”
He had finally moved far enough.
“Me,” she said and threw the pick as hard as she could.
She saw the whites of his eyes as they flared wide. He hadn’t expected her to make such a bold move, hadn’t seen it coming. Instinctively he dropped the knife so he could protect himself, but the pick hit him far more solidly than the lift and knocked him down again. He got up as fast as he could, but she grabbed the Davy lamp, blew out the flame and made a run for it.
When Rachel reached the place where Wythe had been meeting with the hewers of Number 14 Stall, she could see their bodies lying on the ground. Their blood, looking like black ink in the dim light of the two Davy lamps that had been left behind, seeped into the ground.
Such a gruesome sight made it far too easy to imagine what would happen to her if Wythe managed to catch her.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought that she would be alone in the dark with four dead bodies and their killer, but she had to extinguish the lamps. If he was going to have light with which to come after her, she wanted him to have to go back to the surface to get it. It would buy her some time, at least.
“You bitch!” he screamed. The sound echoed off the walls, making it difficult to tell if he was coming after her. The extreme darkness made it feel as if the mine had swallowed her whole. She hadn’t spent enough time as a putter to feel comfortable navigating the many tunnels without light. She had assumed she would be able to remember the various footpaths, but that wasn’t remotely realistic.
Keeping one hand on the wall so she would know approximately where she was in relation to what was around her, she moved as fast as she could. She wished she could break into a full run and put some real distance between them. But there were too many dangers in the mine for that—low ceilings, sudden drop-offs, machinery, turns. She could only hope she was walking at least as fast as he was.
When the ground gave way, she yelped in surprise. She half expected to fall to her death—but it was just a puddle. Still, she turned her ankle, which caused some pain, and the stinking, fetid water soaked through her shoes, making her even more miserable. Lord knew what was in it, but the real problem was that she had given her location away.
“You think you’re getting out of here alive?” he asked.
Fear nearly choked her. He was right on her trail—and he spoke low, as if he knew it.
God help me. Covering her mouth to keep from making any sound, even when she dared breathe, she felt for a crevice, slipped into the first one she could find and tried to make herself small. He would be batting the air, hoping to make contact.
She prayed he would pass her by so she could double back.
Chapter 26
Wythe had never been angrier in his life. Everything he wanted was so close he could taste it. Now that Collingood, Greenley, Thornick and Henderson could never reveal what they knew, only Rachel stood between him and the title, between him and the admiration and power he had always craved. He would be the one riding through the streets of Creswell in the earl’s coach. He would be the one hiring a steward to run the mine. He would be the one traveling to London with an entourage of servants to cater to his every whim instead of being a burden, someone who was only tolerated, a mere hanger-on.
Maybe he would even take up residence in Town part of the year.
But first he had to silence the stubborn, overly ambitious wench who threatened it all. And he had to dispose of the four bodies lying on the loading dock. The miners would arrive for work in two hours or less. If the earl wasn’t lying hurt or dead somewhere, as the bitch seemed to think, he could show up sooner.
“You’re making a mistake,” he called out.
He paused to listen, but there was no response. Could she even hear him? Or had she slipped too far away?
“Rachel?” He wished he hadn’t sent Mrs. Poulson to destroy the paintings. He needed someone to block the entrance of the mine so that Rachel couldn’t escape while he took those corpses to Number 15 stall. They would be safe there until he could bury them, if only for the chance to load them into a wagon.
But even if he had the opportunity, it wouldn’t be as easy as it could have been. Thanks to Rachel, he didn’t have a lamp.
What was he going to do? He could spend hours down here searching in the dark and never find her. Even if he went to the surface and brought back a Davy—and locked the lift up at the top so she couldn’t get out while he was gone—he could search any number of tunnels before finding her. It was possible that she could elude him indefinitely.
That meant he had to do something else, something with a better chance of success.
“You have a choice,” he yelled. “Come out, or I will blow up the mine.”
