Regina Scott (14 page)

“Perhaps I should give her my share,” Nick said, but he sat beside Alice and bowed his head as his daughter said grace.

“Bless us, dear Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive through Christ our Lord, amen.”

Glancing up into her smile, Nick felt himself blessed indeed.
Perhaps You’ll accept my thanks, Lord, if nothing else.

The next thing he knew, Emma had set a china bowl in front of him. The porridge was surrounded by fresh cream, the color making the meal look more golden, as well. Two currants had been positioned equal distance from the edges of the bowl near the top, and a dribble of honey had been curved around near the bottom. Was he mad to see a face grinning back at him?

“Stir it all together, Papa,” Alice encouraged him, “like this.” Her tongue poking out of her mouth, she swirled her silver spoon around the mixture.

Nick did as she instructed and discovered more currants waiting under the surface along with nut meats and something more. A bite of the fruit confirmed it.

“Where did Mrs. Jennings get the pineapple?” he asked.

“I believe she said it’s from the Duke of Bellington’s conservatory,” Emma replied, spooning up some of her own porridge. “She received it from the cook there. All the servants in the great houses of the dale seem to talk to each other.”

He could imagine they would have many tales to tell. The Earl of Danning was an avid angler, he knew, escaping to the river whenever he could. Bell rusticated here when Parliament was out of session. And John Lord Hascot seemed to have found his calling with his riding horses.

“Alice thought to try the kite again tomorrow,” Emma ventured across from him, “if there’s a bit of wind. Perhaps you’d like to demonstrate.”

Nick was surprised to see how quickly the porridge was disappearing from his bowl. “Another time, perhaps. I hope to work on my experiment then.” He glanced up at Emma. “How is the new footman coming along?”

She was busy spooning up another bite of porridge. Funny that it would take such an act of concentration.

“Lady Chamomile doesn’t like him,” Alice said.

Nick raised a brow and turned his gaze to his daughter. Alice wore a deep frown, and he felt a sense of foreboding. “And why would Lady Chamomile take him in dislike?”

“He says mean things to Nanny,” she replied, giving her porridge a whack with her spoon for emphasis.

Emma’s cheeks were darkening again. “He was merely questioning me about his role in the household, Alice. No harm done.”

No harm done? That made it sound as if harm had been attempted. Nick raised his head. “If he questioned your authority in the nursery, he’s a poor choice for the position,” he said, feeling the prick of anger. How dare the man raise his voice or say anything unkind to Emma! “I’ll speak to him myself.”

“No need,” she said with a cheery smile that did not seem commensurate with the tone of their conversation. “He is no longer employed here.”

“What?” Nick set down his spoon. “Do you mean he quit?”

She nodded before dropping her gaze to her breakfast once more. “It seems he decided he liked London better after all. I understand he gave his notice this morning.”

Nick shook his head. “Unacceptable. You require a footman.”

“Alice and I will be fine,” Emma replied with a look toward his daughter.

“Untrue,” he returned. “You should not be doing heavy lifting as required by carrying these trays, bringing up the coal for the fire. And I need your help.”

“Oh, yes, my help.” She smiled to herself as if she’d somehow forgotten all about his request. “I’m afraid the wicks will have to wait.”

He’d thought her outspoken from the moment they’d met, but such a bald refusal seemed too much even for Emma. “If you have no need for a footman, why are you unable to complete my commission?” he challenged.

“Because,” she said, rising, “today is Sunday. We have services this morning and more contemplative pursuits planned for the rest of the day.”

“Your knitting seemed entirely contemplative,” he insisted, standing, as well.

“It can be,” she acknowledged. “But not when I’m trying to help Alice. I’m sure her spiritual development must be just as important to you.”

Certainly it was. In fact, given his inability to address the Lord since his fall from grace with the Royal Society, someone else must be Alice’s example. “Very well,” he agreed. “Tomorrow then.”

“Ah, but tomorrow I fear I will be too busy showing Alice how to fly a kite properly. We wouldn’t want another mishap with a chimney pot, particularly after you worked so hard to fix our construction.”

“No, we would not,” Alice agreed, scraping the bottom of her bowl.

“Besides,” Emma continued before Nick could protest, “there is quite a science behind kite flying, you know—air pressure, weight, balance.”

She glanced at him, and he could see that the light was back in her eyes, as if a candle was flickering in the blue-green. As before, he found the look challenging, demanding a response from him. And it suddenly struck him that the minx was manipulating him!

“Now see here, Emma,” he said, drawing himself up once more. “You cannot barter for my time.”

She widened her eyes. “Heaven forbid, sir. Besides, I hardly think you’d want to be a father who had to be cozened into spending time with his daughter.”

Was that her game? The hypothesis encouraged additional examination. Her appearance outside his door, always with Alice in tow and with fanfare that required his involvement. The changes in his food that had landed him in the nursery for breakfast twice now. Even his idea that they join him for dinner. She was trying to keep him from his work.

For Alice’s sake.

How could he fault her? It was her job to see to Alice, and he could tell that she took the position seriously. She sincerely cared for his daughter. If she coveted Nick’s time for the girl, she was only trying to help. She didn’t know the harm that might befall others if he wasn’t successful. Very likely she saw the construction of his wicks as another of his mad whims.

But if being with Alice would win him his wicks, he was all for it.

“Very well, Emma,” he said. “This afternoon I will attempt some contemplation myself, and tomorrow Alice and I will go fly a kite. But I expect a reward for our efforts.”

Chapter Fourteen

S
unday passed peacefully enough, but Emma had to smile when Nicholas presented himself in the nursery at precisely one minute after noon on Monday.

“Oh, is it afternoon?” she asked, rising from the table as Alice ran to meet him. “Wherever did the time go?”

“It passed more slowly than usual from what I can tell,” he said, and she hoped some of his impatience had to do with boredom. Being with Alice was seldom boring.

She made sure her charge was dressed for the weather, for the day was cooler with a breeze blowing, and then sent her and Nicholas out to the yard, watching from the window until she sighted them below. Alice looked so tiny from this vantage point, but Emma could see that Nicholas was holding her hand and moving at her pace.

Thank You, Lord, for this opportunity. Help me make the most of it.

She started knitting, sitting in her rocking chair by the fire, but she finished two of the wicks to Nicholas’s specifications within the hour. It would have taken even less time if she hadn’t ripped out her stitches twice trying to make sure she had the right gauge. Still, she tarried in the nursery awhile longer, hoping to give Alice as many moments as possible with her father.

After all, Emma might not get another chance to further her goals for Alice. It was clear Nicholas was on to Emma’s game. She’d seen the moment his brow had cleared yesterday, his eyes brightened as if he’d made a tremendous discovery. He knew she was trying to manipulate him, even if it was for an excellent cause.

At least he’d been a good sport about it, she mused as she descended the stairs for the ground floor, her gray wool cloak draped about her day dress. Her foster father would never have entertained her foster brothers or his own daughters for that matter to give her time to complete some task he’d set her. He would have expected his work to come first and for Emma to still get everything else done, even if it cost her sleep.

Nicholas seemed to care. Oh, he was insistent on hiring a footman to give Emma time to assist him with his experiments. But he’d suggested the footman before he’d ever known she could be useful to him. He’d noticed she needed support, and he’d taken steps to meet her needs. It was more than most people had ever done for her.

The kite was high in the sky when she located Nicholas and Alice on the side lawn. The day was overcast again, silvery mists rising into the sky. A breeze brought cool air down from the peaks, making Emma glad for her cloak.

Alice was standing on one edge of the lawn, holding on to the kite string. Her little head was tilted so far back to watch the kite that her bonnet had fallen behind her and clung to her neck by its blue satin ribbons. Nicholas stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest, coattails flaring in the breeze.

He was watching just as fixedly, but his gaze was on Alice. The pride and love in his look froze Emma’s movements.

That was the look of the father she’d dreamed might exist, the father she’d hoped Nicholas might become.

That was the look of a man she could love.

A man she could love?

As if the Lord had other thoughts, there came a deep boom, like a giant hammer striking far beneath the ground. The earth shook, and Emma nearly lost her balance. Above her, the glass rattled in the windowpanes.

“Papa!” Alice cried, dropping the string and running for him.

Nicholas caught her and pulled her close, but his gaze had turned to the hill behind his laboratory. The kite came plummeting down into the woods.

Emma knew where her duty lay. She hurried to Nicholas and Alice, put a hand on Alice’s shoulder. “What was that?”

“Very likely an explosion at the mine,” Nicholas said, and she marveled that he could state the matter so calmly. “They’ll require help.” His gaze jerked back to her, dark, unfathomable. “Are you opposed to nursing, Emma?”

“No, not at all,” she assured him. Did he expect so many injuries then, perhaps even deaths? She felt a tremor run through her and knew it wasn’t from an explosion this time.

“Take Alice to her aunt, then,” he instructed, prying Alice’s fingers from his legs. “Tell Mrs. Dunworthy to send me every servant who can be counted on to think logically in a crisis. I’ll see Mr. Dobbins about a wagon.”

Who was this dispassionate person? Where was the caring man she’d seen moments ago? Emma took Alice’s hands into her own, gave them a squeeze of encouragement. “At once, Sir Nicholas.”

“Papa?” Alice piped up, raising her head to meet his gaze before Emma led her away. “What about my kite?”

His face was set. “I can make you another kite, Alice. Right now, there are other papas in great danger, perhaps injured. I need to see to them first. Please go with your nanny. I’ll return to you when I can.”

* * *

A very short time later, Emma found herself up on the box of the estate wagon, the coachman Mr. Dobbins at the reins beside her. Charles, the footman, the grooms and gardeners and Dorcus huddled in the bed, along with all the blankets, sheets and water buckets Mrs. Jennings could muster on short notice. Already Dorcus was working with Charles to cut the sheets into the bandages they expected to need on arrival.

Nicholas rode beside them up the wide dirt track that wound toward the top of the hill. His face remained set, his gaze narrowed on their way as the mists darkened around them. Emma’s stomach turned as she considered what they might find ahead.

Please, Lord, protect the miners. Bring everyone out safe.

The scene was as bad as she’d feared. The mine lay just over the hill from the Grange. Several tunnels had been dug into the hillside, the gaping holes held open by solid timbers. The undergrowth around them was coated with black dust. Between the tunnels, the ground had been scraped flat, crossed with the tracks of horses, mules and wheeled vehicles. Carts and wheelbarrows lay scattered on their sides, the black rocks spilling in piles from them as if a child had overturned them all in a fit of pique.

On either side of the clearing lay winches and smoking towers. From snippets of conversation she’d overheard between her foster father and his colleagues, Emma was certain the machinery was used to force clean air deep underground and pump out the water that frequently flooded the tunnels as well as to refine the coal before it was shipped to market.

Below them, she could see the road continuing down to a village where the miners must live. Already women and children had come out of their homes and the church to gaze up the hill. She didn’t have to see their faces to know how frightened and worried they must be for their fathers, husbands and brothers.

Several men were crowded around the entrance to one of the tunnels. A man wearing a coat and trousers that had once been rather fine, Emma thought, separated himself from them to come striding to meet Nicholas and the wagon.

“Mr. Jennings,” Nicholas greeted him, reining in his white horse and nodding to Mr. Dobbins to bring the wagon to a halt, as well. “I see there’s been an incident. How can we help?”

Jennings? Related to Mrs. Jennings perhaps? Emma struggled to see the cook’s warm welcome in the man’s haggard face. She thought his hair might have been blond under the black of the coal, his eyes blue within their reddened rims.

“Good of you to come, Sir Nicholas,” he said. “We can use all the help we can get. We’ve no news of deaths yet, thank God, but we’ve a dozen injured and one still trapped.”

“Take me to him,” Nicholas ordered. Though his face was calm, his horse turned in an agitated circle as if sensing that the philosopher’s underlying emotions were darker than he displayed.

As Charles helped Emma down from the wagon, Nicholas rode to the mine entrance nearest them where the others were clustered. Rocks had fallen, obscuring the mouth of the tunnel, and a beam stuck up at an odd angle. With no one to direct her, Emma wandered closer.

“We can hear him tapping at the other side,” Mr. Jennings, who must have been the mine manager, was saying. “But we can’t reach him. Even with your men, there’s no way to lift this rubble without risking another cave-in.”

Emma could see Nicholas’s fingers tapping at his thigh. “Have you any more beams waiting to be used?” he asked Jennings.

“Several,” the mine manager confessed, eyeing him. “What did you have in mind?”

Nicholas pointed in rapid succession. “Place one of the larger rocks here and here and put the beams on top. Wedge one end under those two rocks. You should be able to lift the mass enough to allow the miner to escape, or someone to go in after him.”

Mr. Jennings stared a moment as if trying to picture the arrangement, then shouted at his waiting men. “Well? You heard him! Fetch me those beams!”

As workers scattered in all directions, Nicholas dismounted. “I’ve brought Miss Pyrmont and Miss Turner to help with the injured.”

Jennings turned and looked surprised to see Emma standing nearby. He managed a weary smile as he gave her a nod. “Prettiest sight they’ll have seen in some time. They’ll be overjoyed to see you, miss.”

Emma blushed. “How can I help, Mr. Jennings?”

In answer, he waved her toward a narrow metal-sided building a few yards away from the mine entrance. “We put the worst of them in my office. But they’re a grim sight. Perhaps we should leave it to the fellows.”

She could see Nicholas frowning. Did he think she would quail, as well? How was he to know she’d spent more than her share of time nursing others who had been injured? She could not tell him about her foster brothers, or the man who had repeatedly injured them, all in the name of scientific progress.

“I’ll be fine, Mr. Jennings,” she assured the mine manager. “I’ll get Miss Turner, and we’ll see what can be done.”

The mine manager nodded his thanks, but Nicolas moved to her side, hands on the reins. “Thank you, Emma,” he murmured. “If you’re certain you’ll be all right, I’ll see what else can be done.”

Emma smiled at him. “We’ll be fine.”

He nodded as well and set out. Emma went to find Dorcus.

The maid was less sanguine about their usefulness when she carried pails of water behind Emma to the manager’s office.

“Eh!” she exclaimed, dropping one of the buckets with a splash to cover her nose with her sleeve.

A dozen men sat or lay on the rough plank floor of the office, their backs braced against the metal siding. Their faces were black with coal dust, their clothes blacker. Some clutched at legs, cradled arms. The pain and bewilderment on their faces were all too familiar to her.

Worse were the two boys waiting with them. At first, Emma thought they must be sons come running to help their fathers. But the amount of coal dust on their clothes and their injuries told her they actually worked in the mine. By his size, she’d have guessed one was no more than six.

Nicholas had been right—boys did need his safety lamp.

She handed Dorcus a piece of the sheet the maid had torn apart on the way up the hill. “The first thing we do is clean off this filth. Then we’ll know what else needs to be done.”

Dorcus looked doubtful, but she wet the rag in the bucket and knelt by the first man to swab off his face. Emma went to work on the littlest boy.

Within a half hour, she had determined that most of them had minor injuries—scrapes, cuts, bruises. She was thankful none showed burns, for those were still the most difficult for her to treat with equanimity, given her own history. One of the remaining six men seemed to have a concussion, for he was disoriented and dizzy. Barty had had one once after Mr. Fredericks had broken a glass over his head to see if the material could withstand such an impact. That was one of the few times she’d been able to prevail on her foster father to send for the physician.

How long would it take for the physician to reach them this time? Were her skills enough to help these men, these boys?

I never thought I’d be grateful for learning to nurse, Lord, but thank You for the knowledge. I believe I finally understand why Nicholas is so determined to solve the problem of firedamp. Show me how I can help.

* * *

Outside, Nick watched as the last miner was dragged to safety. The man’s friends clasped his hand, touched his shoulder, murmured words of encouragement as he attempted to stand and took a few hesitant steps. A cheer went up when he gave them all a toothy grin.

A shame Nick couldn’t save more lives as easily.

“Well done, Sir Nicholas,” Jennings said, trotting toward him. “I received word the physician is on his way now. Will you join me in my office?”

Nick nodded and fell into step beside him.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he entered the single-roomed building. Certainly Emma had proven efficient and effective when dealing with Alice. But caring for grown men, perhaps badly injured, was something else. Charlotte would have recoiled in horror. Ann would have fainted long since. His mother had never so much as visited the mine.

The sight inside brought him to a stop. Instead of filthy, distraught faces and moans of pain, a dozen men and two lads leaned against the walls, calling encouragement to the maid Dorcus, who was sitting next to a fellow with a dazed expression on his face and singing at the top of her lungs.

“That’s it,” Emma was saying, waving her hands as if directing a choir. “Don’t let him fall asleep.”

Jennings strode forward, and his men lapsed into silence, heads ducking in respect. He knelt beside the maid, who snapped shut her mouth, as well. One look in his man’s eyes, and he raised his head to Emma. “Concussion, eh? Nicely done, Miss Pyrmont. Carry on, Miss Turner.”

Dorcus grinned at him and launched into the next verse.

“It was all I could think of,” Emma said to the mine manager over the noise. “I knew we couldn’t let him close his eyes.”

“You’re right there.” He nodded at the others. “What do you make of the rest of them?”

Emma glanced at Nick as if begging his pardon. “Most have only scrapes and bruises. We’ve cleaned them up as best we can, but a cake of soap or two would not be remiss.”

Jennings chuckled. “Always a challenge at a coal mine.”