Chapter 17 #3
Yanking his own boots off, James jumped into the mud pit, slipping on his backside down the mud until he came to rest near Entwhistle.
He swam through the mud to reach the man.
He had to dig mud away from the side of the man’s head.
Gideon, knowing what needed to be done as well as James, joined him, bootless, in the pit.
Being lighter than James, he didn’t disturb the surrounding mud as much as James did.
He dug Mr. Entwhistle’s head out of the muck, untied his cravat and used it to wipe the mud from the man’s eyes, nose, and mouth.
Almost immediately Mr. Entwhistle started coughing and spitting dirt from his mouth.
“Damn you—get me out of this—!” he sputtered, furious.
With one arm free, he tried to pull himself up out of the mud, but it held his body in its grip.
Gideon tried to help him, but Mr. Entwhistle pushed him rudely away.
“Stand off—you are but the poorest semblance of a man. I’ll take care of you later. ”
A white-hot anger flared in James. This was an example of what Gideon had lived through his entire life. Not anymore. “Gideon, this way,” James yelled. “Another section is giving way.”
Gideon scrambled over toward James. They worked their way through the thick mud threatening to shift more.
“George!” screamed Mrs. Hargrave.
“He said it would be here, the bloody bastard!” Entwhistle said as he worked his other arm free of the mud. The rain washed off his face, his hair in strings. He was deep in the mud past his waist. Behind him, timber cracked and mud groaned as it shifted.
Cecilia looked from Mr. Entwhistle to Mrs. Hargrave and back. He? Who was he? Cecilia hadn’t felt this confused since discovering two years ago that Lord Havelock was one of Lord Candelstone’s spies.
“What more could you have expected? To have everything handed you on a silver platter?” Mrs. Hargrave laughed shrilly. “It doesn’t happen that way, fool. Where’s the coin?”
“It’s gone.”
“Who did you throw it to?”
Mr. Entwhistle shook his head and didn’t answer.
Mrs. Hargrave screamed in frustration, “You will regret this George Entwhistle. IF you survive this day, You will regret betraying me!”
She looked at the other men on the second terrace with her and those standing at the top of the mine.
“Get me out of here!” she ordered the people standing at the edge of the clay pit.
From her knees to the hem, and her wrists to her elbows, her dress was caked with mud.
She could scarcely move even though rain poured down on her to wash away the mud. Her skirts were laden with water.
Mr. Thornbridge and Mr. Lamont went to help her get out. “Don’t touch me!” she declared, shying away from the mud caking them. Mr. Hawley was on his knees, digging in the hole.
“Cecilia! There should be a rope by the winch,” James yelled up at her.
Cecilia ran off to find the rope. When she came back, she tied it around the beech tree. “Mr. Bagnall-Bently, Baron Compton, can you come help make sure I have this rope secure?”
The men immediately came to her aid. “Thank you. From the story I heard of James and Gideon rescuing Mr. Abney, there should be a couple of tarps in the area as well. Please see if you can find them,” she said as she tried to throw the rope down to her husband.
Mrs. Hargrave grabbed the rope before it made it to the men lower down in the mine. She wrapped it around herself. “Pull me up! All of you! Pull me up!” she yelled.
Cecilia set her jaw, her teeth grinding.
How mistaken could she have been in a person.
Her eyes narrowed as she watched Mr. Bagnall-Bently and Baron Compton try to pull her up.
The woman was doing nothing to help herself.
So that is the way she works, Cecilia thought.
They knew it took two people to set the cider mill afire.
One to start the fire, another to leave the message.
And that was true of other incidents. Mrs. Hargrave and Mr. Entwhistle together?
Or the person Mr. Entwhistle tossed the coin to?
It could only have been Mr. Bagnall-Bently or Baron Compton.
The woman climbed to the top of the mine. She unwrapped the rope from around her and threw it down in the direction of Mr. Entwhistle. It was just out of his reach. He shouted for Mr. Bagnall-Bently and Baron Compton to flip up the rope, to see if they could get it closer.
“No!” James shouted to the two men. “Flick it this way so we can get the earl safe,” he ordered.
“I’m stuck!” Entwhistle yelled.
The men ignored him and did as James commanded.
With the rope around him and not burdened with mud-filled boots, Gideon almost ran up out of the clay pit.
“Get Mr. Thornbridge, Mr. Hawley, and Mr. Lamont next,” James ordered.
Gideon saluted. “Yes, Colonel Branstoke.”
This time James did not feel regret or guilt. He laughed, then sobered. The baron stood bent over, his hands resting on his knees. Mr. Bagnall-Bently was breathing heavily. “Cecilia, Mr. Bagnall-Bently and the baron are flagging.”
“No, I’m not,” protested the baron as he straightened.
“Not at all,” said Mr. Bagnall-Bently.
Cecilia grabbed Mrs. Hargrave with one hand and Mrs. Norcroft with the other. “We are going to help pull the men out.”
“I will not!” Mrs. Hargrave said, throwing up her chin.
Though Mrs. Hargrave was taller than her by several inches, Cecilia went up to her, her eyes dark blue slits.
Her bonnet brim flopped in her face. She raised a hand to hold the brim back.
Rain sluiced down her face. “If you don’t want to be in the bottom of the pit with your paramour, waiting for the magistrate to arrive, you will pull on that rope with all your strength. Do you understand me?”
The woman’s eyes grew wide open. “Yes…yes, I do. I’ll pull on the rope.”
Cecilia’s lips quirked. “I’m glad we could reach an understanding,” she said.
Miss Nieves left the Compton’s coach. “I’ll help, too.”
Cecilia nodded. With her bonnet so heavy with rainwater that it wouldn’t stay out of her face, Cecilia yanked it off and threw it to the side. “Get in front of Mr. Bagnall-Bently,” she said quietly.
Miss Nieves nodded, threw her bonnet to the side as Cecilia had, and with a winning smile on her lips, positioned herself in front of the retired banker.
With the help of the women, it was much easier to get Mr. Thornbridge and Mr. Lamont to the top.
“Mr. Hawley,” called down Gideon. “You’re next. Put the rope around yourself.”
“No, not now! I must continue digging,” said the gangly antiquarian. “I can’t leave this area to the rain to wash away.”
“I’ll throw down a tarp that you can use to cover your hole,” Gideon said.
“A tarp?”
“An oiled cloth. It will keep the rain out,” Gideon explained.
Mr. Thornbridge found one of the tarps and threw it down to Mr. Hawley.
Mr. Hawley picked it up uncertainly. “But someone might come by and start digging here.”
“I have guards posted here at night,” Gideon explained.
“Oh, oh… All right.” Mr. Hawley carefully laid out the tarp over the place they had been digging, then reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled up to the surface.
“Now we must get Mr. Entwhistle out of that mud,” Mrs. Hargrave said.
“And my cousin as well,” Gideon said.
Mrs. Hargrave turned to Gideon, her features softening. “Of course, my dear,” she said soothingly.
He looked at her. His dark eyes hard, rainwater washing down his face and body in torrents.
“Cecilia and James figured it out first. I’ve finally put it together.
I’d heard for a long time that you loved Pomum Court.
That your husband tried to buy it for you.
I thought that was just complimentary to my home.
But it goes further than that, doesn’t it.
Your husband would do anything for you. He provided the help my father needed to break the entail.
I wonder, if I look hard at that paperwork, if I’ll find it is all legal.
Unfortunately for your husband, after the entail was broken, he failed to buy the manor house.
He died soon afterward because he failed you.
Isn’t that right, Mrs. Hargrave? And then there was my brother… ”
“You tried to get him to marry you. When he wouldn’t, you had Entwhistle kill him.”
“You are insane! No! That’s not how it is at all. I did not! I would not! You don’t understand,” Mrs. Hargrave said, tears joining raindrops running down her face.
She turned to run away from him, but he caught her wrist in a firm grip. She pulled against him, but he held on.
“Didn’t count on a little person being this strong, did you?”
“Let me go!” she pleaded. “I’ll tell you everything about your brother and the day he died. Let me go!”
“Shut up!” yelled Mr. Entwhistle. “Don’t try to blame me. It was your doing!”
Cecilia whirled around to stare down at Mr. Entwhistle. What was he yelling about? “James—”
A hard shove sent her falling into the clay pit.
She heard shouting and screaming as she fell hard on her side on the first terrace tier, and onto the tarp. Her breath caught in her chest, but she turned over quickly. She’d have bruises, but the mud was soft enough that no bones broke.
Miss Nieves wrestled with Mrs. Johnston, for it was Mrs. Johnston who had pushed her. She had completely forgotten about Mrs. Hargrave’s loyal companion. Gideon chased Mrs. Hargrave. The baron tripped her.
But it was Miss Nieves who surprised her.
“Mr. Thornbridge,” Miss Nieves called out from her position lying on top of Mrs. Johnston. “We are going to need more rope.”
The rain, having caused enough mischief, stopped.