Free Helen Dickson by Highwayman Husband Page A

quite a performance you put on—in fact, you were very convincing. You fooled me completely, and poor Sir Edward was all at sea.’
    ‘That was the idea, my lady.’ He shrugged. ‘What could I do? ’Twas an emergency.’
    ‘And your master is a bully and quite unscrupulous, I know,’ she stated, with a smile on her lips.
    ‘I fear that be so, my lady—but ’twas exciting.’
    ‘I gathered that,’ she quipped, spearing a piece of bacon. ‘With a pair of pistols levelled at Sir Edward and poor old Amos—whom you scared half to death, I might add—you seemed to be enjoying yourself. Although I visualised someone a mite younger in the part.’
    ‘A man’s as young as he feels, I always say, my lady.’
    ‘Of course,’ she agreed amiably.
    ‘Shocked, are you?’
    With a mushroom halfway to her mouth, she paused and glanced up at him. ‘Shocked? A little—and surprised. But you should have told me we have a guest,’ she said, popping the mushroom between her lips.
    ‘Guest, my lady?’
    ‘Yes, John. And where is our guest? Still abed, I expect. Where does he sleep, by the way?’
    ‘In the turret room, and he was up and out at first light.’
    ‘Was he? Where did he go?’
    She followed John’s gaze out of the window and along the coast to Stennack’s engine house with its tall chimney in the far-off distance, built precariously on the edge of the cliff. The mine, closed now for a good many years, was owned by the Mawgans. It was the deepest and richest mine in the area, with tin and copper brought up from its deepest workings—from the southern reaches beneath the sea itself—until tragedy had struck and the sea broke in, claiming the lives of twenty men and boys. Their bodies were still down there. No one had been able to get them out. After that the deep workings had been abandoned to the sea.
    John had told Laura that the mine was always dear to Lucas’s heart. Before he had left for France he was seriously considering reopening it, and had employed mining experts to give him advice.
    Savouring the knowledge of having Lucas back at Roslyn where he belonged, Laura finished her breakfast. Then, with a happy spring in her step, an apron tied around her trim waist and a need to do something constructive with her day, Laura went to the part of the house that had not been used in two years. Perhaps it was time to take a look and see what needed to be done.
    Entering the passageway beneath the long gallery, she closed the heavy door behind her. It squeaked loudly on its hinges, and she made a mental note to ask John to oil them. The passageway was dark and eerily shadowed, with doorways leading to several rooms. At the end a large window outlined a smaller doorway where a stairway led down to the cellars. This entrance was never used, since the cellars could be reached from the kitchen. Seeing that the door was ajar, she went towards it. As she peered down into the dark the silence was tomblike, the mournful wail of the rising wind intruding upon the stillness. A cold, dank draught wafting up from below invaded her clothing, and with a shiver Laura pulled the door closed.
    Going from room to room, she assessed what had to be done, pulling the dust covers from furniture and artefacts. Becoming warm from her labours, she loosened the neck of her wool dress and rolled up the sleeves. Working her way back to the first room along the passageway, upon entering she paused to catch her breath. Dust clung to her apron, resisting her efforts to brush it away. Wiping the perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand, she inadvertently smeared the black smudge that was there into a long streak.
    The room, with ghostly shapes of furniture spread with dust covers, was wanly lit by the faint October light. With her hands on her hips she paused in the centre and looked about her. Bookshelves lined the walls and a handsome, heavily carved desk made in the reign of the Stuarts stood near the window. Picking up a