Page 13 of Kiss Me Lady One More Time
She took her leave, then, and climbed back into her gig. She was going to more than try. She knew what had to be done. It was going to take every bit of influence, pressure and persuasion she could manage to make it happen.
* * *
He heardthe sound of the quarry before he caught sight of it. Through the trees echoed the shouts of men, the creak of rope and wagon and the constant pinging of tools pounding into rock. Following a decently sized tributary, he came around a bend and pulled up so he could take it all in.
Across the fast-moving stream, an entire, high hillside was under siege. Terraced levels of bare stone marched down from the top and men swarmed like insects on several levels, all busy shearing away huge hunks of rock.
A small bridge crossed the stream and Sterne urged Scylla over it, to approach the wooden office on the other side. She kept on alert, her ears swiveling at the noise, but passed over easily enough, until they crossed beneath the large sign on the bank.
Brazard Quarry.
“Are you Mr. Brazard?” he asked the man who came stalking out of the office, muttering over a sheaf of pages.
“No.” The man looked up and looked Sterne over, from top hat to worn, but quality boots. “Brazard doesn’t come in for the day to day. I’m Lewton. I’m foreman, here.”
“A good day to you, sir. I can see you must be busy. I only mean to inquire after a couple of your men. The Curtis brothers were recommended for a job of heavy lifting and labor. I was hoping to speak to them, but I will keep it brief.”
“Permanent job?” the man asked, brow lifting high.
“No. Just a day’s work.”
“Well, then you may be all right hiring those two, but you won’t find them here.”
“Oh? I was told they were quarrymen.”
“And so they are. They work here—occasionally. They come in, do a week’s work, sometimes two . . . before they are gone again.”
“Gone?”
“They are free miners, as so many born around here are. They have their own gales and work it themselves.” He shrugged. “I’ve heard they craft a fine millstone. They haven’t been around here for a month or more. I expect they have some orders of their own.”
“Where do they have their quarry? Do you know?”
“It’s a site just past their home. The place is not much, just a small shack in the woods. Go back to where the trail turned from the main road and ride on about another mile or so. You’ll find the house. Go on past it to the site. They combined their lengths and claimed a good-sized hillside out there.”
Sterne dragged a few more detailed directions from the man and thanked him before he moved on. Even with the extra instructions, he nearly missed the faint track off the main road. But he caught a sign of a wagon’s passage and made the turn. It led through a close growing, sun-flecked wood before emerging into a small clearing. The listing wooden shack sat there, waiting.
He called out a greeting and jumped a bit when a raven burst from a nearby bush, but there was no other answer or stir of movement. He sat still for several minutes, waiting and listening. Finally, he knocked on the door, but when there was again no answer he vaulted back into the saddle and moved on.
Once more, he heard the sound of the quarry before he saw it, but this time it was only a small, steadyplink,plinkthat called him on. The shrub and bushes cleared again, and he emerged before a very different sort of quarry. A much smaller hill had been only partially dug into, at irregular intervals. A trench stretched across the front and in it had been placed a couple of tall, wooden tripods, all hung with ropes and pulleys. The noise had come from the base of a large pile of scraps and tailings. An older woman sat there, upon a leather pelt spread across the uneven ground. She hunched over a slab of sandstone, painstakingly pecking away at a pattern of small holes in the piece.
“Good afternoon,” he called.
She looked up in shock, grey hair falling away in all directions from an untidy bun. She let out a screech and dropped her tool.
“Don’t be alarmed! Please.” He dismounted, holding up a hand. “I’m only looking for the Curtis brothers. Is this their quarry site?”
“Aye. Who are ye? It’s all square and legal, here,” she said defiantly. “They’ve paid their shillings and pence to the Gaveller, just the same as any free miner.”
“I’m sure they did. You know them, then? The Curtis brothers?”
Snorting, she climbed to her feet, clutching her tool once more. “Happen I do know them, as I birthed them.”
“Oh. Well, good day to you, Mrs. Curtis. Are your sons available? I’d like to hire them for a job. It requires heavy lifting of a delivery of furniture and they come finely recommended.”
“Aye, they are strapping lads,” she agreed. “They do sign on for a bit of that kind of work, but they are not here. They already have a job, making a delivery themselves.”
“How disappointing. Would you mind if I left my card, then? The delivery arrives next week. Perhaps they will have returned by then.”
