Page 12 of A Tenuous Betrothal
“It’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long while.”
“Most excellent. I’m fulfilling my duty, then.” He bowed with a friendly grin and then turned to the servant he’d called over.
They were about to do something important. She nodded to herself. Somehow. Prince Marc had resources. They could do this. And then she could leave. She could. The beauty around her filled her with hope. Wales was her home, and she knew she could protect her people, the children. She’d do it before she left, or she’d stay forever.
Chapter Four
Miss Davies led them atbreakneck speed toward the mines. They flew along the outskirts of town and avoided her estate property completely. She raced toward the rocky hills, where Marc assumed they would find the mines. Such a distance for the children to walk to return home. Her indignation surely fueled her pace.
As they got closer, he could see scaffolding. Carts full of dirt and rock were pulled from a dark entrance; empty carts were sent back in. Also entering and exiting the mines were tired miners with stooped posture, their repeated motions uniform, exact. The workers had obviously done the same tasks so often they required little thought.
But the workers’ faces were blank.
Marc decided he would not look into mining his country. It seemed a terrible profession.
Miss Davies hopped off her horse and ran toward the entrance. “Mr. Gilson. Mr. Harman.”
The change in the men was remarkable. They stood taller. They wiped their faces with blackened handkerchiefs, and their eyes lit in welcome.
“Well, Miss Davies. It’s good to see you, miss,” one of them said.
“Thank you, Mr. Gilson. And you as well. Could you tell me, please, where is Mr. Thomas?”
“He’s inside, miss,” the other man, Mr. Harman, said. “We’ll fetch him for you. Our shift is near over anyway.”
Marc stepped forward. “I think I’d like to go inside after him, if you don’t mind.”
The men closed off, instantly on guard. They stepped closer to Miss Davies, almost as if to protect her.
“This is Prince Marc of Oldenburg. Father sent him to save us.” She laughed. “Or, at least, it seems as if he did.”
They nodded, each one time. Mr. Gilson pocketed his handkerchief. “Any friend of the late Mr. Davies and Miss Davies here is a friend of ours. Let’s get you inside, then. Fair warning: it’s dark to them who are not used to it.”
Miss Davies came right after Marc, and he didn’t try to dissuade her. For all he knew, she regularly visited the mines. The longer he knew her, the more he suspected she would surprise him. A part of him admired that side of her. The rest of him, the part responsible for assisting her, knew he’d grow tired in a constant worry for her safety, but he could well understand her desire to be present. He’d seen the children’s plight. He, too, felt his sympathy strings being irrevocably stirred. If it were up to him, those children would never set foot inside a mine again.
They approached the large, dark entrance. As soon as they stepped out of the sunlight, everything went completely dark.
But the miners walked at a brisk pace, as if they could see plain as day. When Marc stumbled, they slowed.
“Forgive us.” Mr. Harman’s voice had a singing, though gruff, quality to it. “We forget you don’t have your eyes yet.”
“My eyes?”
“To us, this isn’t dark, not yet.” He said no more, and they continued forward.
They were right. The tunnel grew even darker. Soon they were in a dark so complete, Marc was tempted to run his hand through the air to see if he could feel a thickness he was certain was now there. He did hold up a hand just in case something appeared in front of him. The beginning tendrils of fear grew. The area behind him was just as dark as that in front.
“Steady.” Mr. Gilson must have sensed his unease. “You’re going to want to duck your head now.”
Marc immediately lowered his head, crouching with a hand up above to feel for the lower ceiling. “The darkness. How far in will we go?”
“Almost there. It’s normal to feel lost your first time.” Miss Davies’s hand curled around his arm.
The human touch filled him with reassurance, and he hoped she would not let go. Marc told himself to keep walking, but he covered her hand with his other for a moment before reaching out again in the darkness. “Are you well?” he asked.
“I’m well.” Her voice sounded stronger than he felt.
As they continued, a soft glow up ahead became visible. And sounds—echoes of men talking, their grunts, the digging and clanking of picks, and metal on metal.
