Chapter 19 #3
She should have laughed, but the world outside grew darker with every quarter mile, and the walls of the carriage pressed in.
“Don’t be a gentleman.”
“I assure you, I won’t.”
She tried to picture them in bed, hot and damp with their legs entwined, but the threat loomed too large.
They passed a weathered sign marking the boundary of Hartham Colliery, and the gallows frame appeared ahead, its blackened beams cutting into the night sky.
A chill ran down her neck.
She mocked her parents for their foolish escapades. This surpassed anything they could have imagined.
The carriage stopped before the open iron gates.
Hugh lowered the window. “What is it?”
“Looks like Howden is already here,” Rowton called down. “Saves me from having to pick the lock. The groom at The George said the gates have been chained since the accident.”
“Cursed saints. I hoped we’d arrive before him. Give me a minute to load. I’ll knock when we’re ready.”
“There are fresh wheel tracks in the mud. He’ll have his coachman with him. Heaven knows who else.”
Hugh set the mahogany case on the seat and opened it. The matched pistols lay side by side in their green baize.
He loaded them quickly, his movements too practised for comfort, then held one out to her butt-first. “You’ve aimed a Henry Nock. This is lighter, shorter, and far less forgiving if you panic.”
Emma took it, keeping the barrel pointed down. “How reassuring.”
“I deal in facts, remember.” He checked her grip, then released her. “Cock it only if you mean to fire. If anyone comes at you, aim for the largest part of him and don’t shut your eyes.”
“Hugh.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll always worry about you.” He touched her cheek, his hand lingering as his gaze held hers. Then he called through the window to Rowton. “Protecting Miss Vane is a priority. I’ve given her a loaded pistol.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? You might not get it back.”
“I heard that,” she muttered.
“Least it’s only your eyesight that’s lacking.”
Hugh waved for Rowton to drive on.
Rowton guided the carriage slowly through the open gates. The lamps picked out a brick engine house, a tall chimney, and the dark skeleton of the pithead beyond. Empty wagons stood near the track.
Nothing moved.
Somewhere above, the wind moaned through the gallows frame.
There was no sign of Howden’s carriage, nor a horse tethered to a post. No figure waiting in the gloom. No ambush of men with torches.
Hugh kept watch at the window. “We’ll not leave the carriage until we see him. I’ll not be shot at in the dark like a lame deer.”
And so they waited.
The yard answered with small sounds: timber creaking and the sharp bark of some animal beyond the buildings.
“It must be eight now.” Her palm was clammy in her glove where she gripped the pistol. “Perhaps I was right and he had no intention of coming here.” She didn’t want to gloat.
“It’s a ploy to lure us out of the vehicle.”
“We mustn’t lower our guard. A man capable of killing his own father is capable of anything.”
Eight o’clock came and went.
The cold crept through the soles of her boots.
Hugh checked his watch again. “It’s almost nine. Stay here with Rowton. I’m going to walk around the site.”
She sat forward. “Not alone.”
“Emma.”
“We all go, or we leave here and visit the fiend in London.” What were the chances Lord Howden would appear to apologise for the accident? “I vote on the latter.”
He hesitated. She had his heart, but his head would always chase the full story. “I need answers. And my gut says he isn’t here.”
She prayed it wasn’t the same feeling that led him to think old Howden was alive. “Very well. One tour of the site and then we’re leaving. That’s a fair compromise.”
He nodded, opened the door and stepped down first.
Emma followed, using his arm for balance while keeping the pistol low. The mud sucked at her boots as Rowton dropped from the box behind them.
The air smelled of damp timber and coal dust, with a metallic tang sharp enough to taste. Darkness swallowed the ground ahead, and she paused at a puddle, mistaking it for a pit.
Hugh took the carriage lamp from Rowton and held it high. The weak circle of light moved over idle wagons, stacked beams, and a line of rails half sunk in the earth.
She tried not to think about the accident. The men trapped below. The panic above. The screams. The silence after.
They crossed the yard slowly, listening between each step.
Hugh paused by a shed door hanging crooked on its hinges. “Howden?” he called.
They heard nothing but a loose chain knocking against wood.
“There’s something on the ground near the engine house.” Rowton took the lamp and moved closer. The shaft cover had been dragged aside.
A body lay beside it, twisted awkwardly, face down in the mud, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. One hand was caught in the iron chain as if he’d fallen and tried to save himself.
Hugh crouched and turned the man’s face towards the lamp.
The fair hair, the fine coat, the pale, handsome profile left no room for doubt.
“It’s Howden.” He pressed two fingers beneath his jaw and waited. “He’s dead.”