Pennyroyal (7 page)

“What can I get for you, Miss Ridgeway?” asked Bert Armstrong from behind the bar.

“You won’t make a fortune out of me,” said Cassy. “I’d like a tonic and lemon, no ice, thank you.”

“I can see what you mean,” he said. “It’s no wonder you’re so slim, and very becoming if you don’t mind me saying so.”

She smiled at him and hitched herself up on to a bar stool, her long legs curling round the frame. She sipped her drink slowly.

“You must know everything about Netherdale,” she said in a friendly, casual manner. “Pennyroyal must have been the heart of the place at one time. Do you happen to know when the mine closed?”

Even as she spoke, she knew she had missed something. An elusive piece of information had been presented to her and she had not grasped its significance. Whatever was it? As Bert Armstrong chatted, part of her mind was raking over the day’s events, trying to remember what it was that she had missed.

“Now that was a bit before my time,” he said, polishing glasses. “I did hear it said that one day the Pennyroyal was open and the next day it was closed and everyone paid off.”

“How very mysterious.”

“The storm at Pennyroyal, that’s how people used to refer to it.”

“Storm?” asked Cassy curiously. “Did they mean a thunder and lightning storm, or a storm of passion, anger?”

“I don’t rightly know,” said Bert Armstrong, backing off. But he could not resist a last remark. “You could ask yourself what a man like Mr. Jacob Everand is doing around here.”

“Jacob? Oh, you mean, Jake Everand. He’s doing the survey.”

“What’s a top expert doing in Netherdale looking at a mine the size of Pennyroyal? He told me himself that he’d just flown back from South America, then driven up from Cornwall in order to do this survey. Now, I ask you, what’s in the Pennyroyal to interest a man like Jacob Everand?”

“What indeed? But I am paying him a good fee.”

“I don’t think he’s short of a pound or two. He inherited a manor house around these parts, but he’s been too busy travelling the world to live in it.”

“How very strange,” said Cassy. “He never mentioned it.”

Bert Armstrong produced a folded menu and opened it on the counter. “Would you like to choose, Miss Ridgeway?”

It was a pleasant selection for such a small establishment. Cassy decided on a seafood pancake with a green salad, managing to resist a jacket potato with butter. Jacket potatoes were her downfall; she could become addicted.

She thought about Bert Armstrong’s remarks and it puzzled her more and more how she had been able to engage the services of Jake Everand. Pennyroyal was small fry. He could have sent one of his staff. Why had he come in person? She felt a flutter of anxiety; the survey might not be the simple matter she had envisaged.

After her meal, Cassy said she would take her coffee in the lounge. This time she had the deep armchair by the fire and a whole pot of coffee to herself. She stretched out her legs, wriggling her slim ankles, the firelight reflecting on the metallic sheen of her strappy shoes.

“Enchanting,” said a deep, grave voice. “I hope angels don’t ever rick their ankles in such high heels.”

“No chance. We have a celestial insurance scheme.”

Jake stood in the oak-beamed doorway, tall and cryptic, a bottle of old brandy in one hand and two glasses dangling from his fingers. There was music coming from the bar, the sound of voices and laughter; Jake and Cassy looked at each other as if they had forgotten anyone else existed for miles around.

“I thought you might like to join me in a toast to that grand old mine, Pennyroyal,” he said, putting the bottle and glasses down on the table beside her. “To the first trip underground tomorrow.”

His voice was casual, betraying nothing of the maelstrom of feeling that whirled between them. Cassy withdrew her toes from the fire and sat back.

“What a nice idea,” she said lightly. “Though I’m sure someone as experienced as you won’t be needing any luck.”

“Never turn down luck, Cassy. She’s a mercurial lady.”

He smiled the lazy grin that showed his irregular tooth, the one flaw in his good looks that could make her heart turn over.

She reminded herself how rude and arrogant he could be yet, despite this, all she really wanted was to feel his arms holding her again.

“Then here’s to lady luck,” she said, taking the glass he had poured for her. She looked at the lines on his face, no longer bantering, etching them into her heart. “May she never leave you, down the Pennyroyal or anywhere else in the world.”

Chapter Four

“You are not coming down the mine.”

“This may come as a surprise to you, Jake, but I am! As you can see, this time I’m well prepared.”

Cassy straightened her back, determined that Jake would neither weaken her resolve nor set her blood on fire. They were standing in the dusty yard of Pennyroyal, the wind rushing down the windy gates of Winnats Pass with spiteful fingers, tossing Cassy’s hair around and across her face. Cassy pulled a Dior scarf out of her pocket and tied her hair back in a firm knot.

Jake looked big and bulky in a one-piece, waterproof garment and rubber boots. A row of studs fastened the tunic top to his neck, but Cassy caught sight of a thick jersey rib at his throat. He was obviously anticipating the cold down the mine.

“What a fetching outfit,” he said mildly. He ran a hand down her arm slowly, right to her fingertips, as if testing for quality. “What do you call it? A Bond Street second?”

“I don’t call it anything,” she sparked.

Cassy had made sure that Jake could not taunt her for not wearing the right clothes. Over her jeans she was wearing waterproof trousers and a thick, padded anorak, all once belonging to her grandfather and borrowed from Mrs. Hadlow the previous afternoon.

She knew sneakers were unsuitable footwear for the trip ahead but the long trouser legs were covering her feet. Everything was oversized. She felt like the Michelin Man. There was a momentary gleam of amusement in Jake’s flinty eyes.

“I’ll give you six for trying,” he commented laconically.

“As that’s over half a score, put me down for the trip,” Cassy said quickly.

Albert Beadle was unloading the Land Rover. There seemed to be a lot of equipment, including a pump to inflate the dinghy. A pile of instrument boxes and tools grew on the paved stones. Cassy was impressed. She went to the parked Daimler and took a rucksack off the front seat.

“A thermos of hot coffee. Extra point,” she awarded herself cheerily. “That makes seven.”

Jake shouldered one of the boxes, and took it inside the office, but Albert grinned with a nod of approval.

“Good idea, miss,” he said. “There’s nothing like a hot brew when you’re down below.”

“And an extra pair of hands,” said Cassy, lifting a leather-cased surveying instrument and following Jake into the office. “There, I’m up to eight already.”

Jake swung round and caught her shoulders, his fingers
pinching hard into the soft flesh. For one stupid moment, it flashed across her mind that she was going to be kissed again but this was instantly erased by the expression on his face.

“You have scored exactly zero,” he warned. “And be careful with that theodolite. It’s not a mink coat.”

“Okay, not a mink coat,” she said, setting it down with exaggerated care. “So, you used to work the Pennyroyal,” Cassy said to Albert. “How long ago was that?”

“Quite a time, miss. I was just a lad.” His lined face was inscrutable.

“You must know the mine really well then,” Cassy prattled on, trying to put him at his ease.

“There’s not much Mr. Everand don’t know about mines.”

“But every mine is different, isn’t it? There’s so much I don’t know. For instance, what are these rakes and scrins and pipes Mr. Everand was talking about yesterday?”

“Now that’s an easy one,” said Albert, quite willing to talk on a safer subject. “They’re different types of lead vein you get around here. A rake is a really big vein; why it could go for a mile or more, right across the country. It usually goes straight downwards, or sloping a bit, sometimes ten feet in width. If you find a rake, then you’re into the big money.”

“Not much chance of that. And a scrin?”

“A scrin is a small vein branch off a big rake, perhaps a few inches wide and maybe not more than a few hundred yards in length; but still worth finding, the price lead is today. Pipes now are just little bits of patchy stuff lying about.”

“I want to learn all I can,” said Cassy. “Pennyroyal was my grandfather’s mine and I ought to know all about it. When did it close, Albert? No one seems to remember.”

“No, I don’t rightly remember either,” said Albert, returning to the work of shifting equipment. “I’d already left. I went to work steel in Sheffield. That were quite a time ago. Now, don’t you lift that one, miss. It’ll be too heavy.”

Cassy found herself shunted off with a coil of cable in its original polythene wrapping. She shrugged her shoulders and dumped the cable by the pile at the mine entrance. No one seemed to remember anything.

Why all the mystery? Perhaps Mrs. Hadlow would be more forthcoming.

The entrance was flooded in light. Jake had brought in some sort of auxiliary lighting and was halfway down the flight of steps, replacing the blown bulbs.

“Looks bright,” she called out. “You’ve been busy.”

“It’s called electricity,” Jake informed her. “I reckon it’ll catch on.”

“Is that a prediction? I’m not letting you read my tea leaves.”

She did not hear his reply as he went out of earshot, but it sounded light and bantering. Perhaps he was beginning to accept having her around and that was a good sign. She was determined to go with the two men, whatever Jake said.

Cassy wondered what Anton would think if he could see her now, hair scruffed back, the shapeless clothes hiding her figure, probably a film of Derbyshire dust on her face. She was almost happy, humping goods like a navvy, beginning to feel quite warm inside the layers.

With a pang she thought of the agency she had always wanted to own: “Cassandra.“ An agency run with an impeccable efficiency so that every client could rely on the organisation and every girl would feel that she was an important part of its image. Cassy knew she could do it. She just needed her chance.

Modelling was her life. It was what she did best and knew most about. She knew nothing about mines and lead ore. And yet Pennyroyal already meant something to her. It had belonged to her grandfather. She was of his blood and here in his native landscape she felt closer to him than ever before.

She stifled a sigh. She was being carried away by the excitement of something new and, perhaps, more than anything, from meeting a man as dynamic as Jake Everand.

“All right, Cassy. You can stop impersonating a pack horse. We’ll let you come along with us and hold the spare lamp up front. On one condition…if you’re scared, it’ll be too late. There’s no turning back.”

“I’m not scared.”

She followed him carefully down the steps, carrying some of the lighter packages, the rucksack on her back. Her heart was thumping as she descended into the chilled underground gloom. She was afraid but it was not something to tell him. Nor was she going to thank him for allowing her down the mine.

Albert had inflated the dinghy and it was bobbing gently at the foot of the steps.

“Keep the dinghy steady, Albert, while the owner of the Pennyroyal steps aboard. She won’t want to get her false eyelashes wet.”

“Where’s the band?” she asked, ignoring the sarcasm. “I expected a brass band. It was the least you could do.”

Jake shot her a slightly derisive look. Cassy was trying to hide her growing excitement with little success. He was only inches away from her; she could smell his warm clean aroma, faintly fragrant and it made her heart beat faster. Her senses recognised the essence of pine, juniper and rosemary.

She shivered with anticipation as he helped her into the dinghy, moving tentatively to sit forward as instructed. She kept one hand firmly on the roped side of the bobbing boat, ready to hunch her head down as the uneven arched roof vacillated above her.

Jake and Albert loaded equipment, stowing it securely in the centre. Cassy held on tight as the men’s heavier weight rocked the dinghy. When it steadied, Albert pushed off and their journey began into the heart of High Rake.

The tunnel immediately narrowed with only a few inches to spare on either side, the darkness ahead dimly illuminated by overhead lamps. They glided slowly, almost silently over the inky black water. It was eerie, like a dream. The roof jutted low in parts and she had to dodge down to avoid hitting her head.

Albert continued to propel the dinghy along the walls like some ancient gondolier; he used a slow, rhythmic push that moved the craft forward with ease.

Cassy peered ahead into the tunnel, wondering what she would see next and how far they were going. It was all so thrilling. She felt exhilarated, superbly alive and tingling.

“Are you all right?” Jake sounded wary.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m going to start checking off the named veins on the map. Some are so small I doubt it you’ll be able to see them.”