The Secrets Of Lord Lynford. Bronwyn Scott

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      It simply couldn’t be this way. The lumber order for the tunnel timbers was excessive. Eliza sat back from the ledgers, hazarding a glance at the clock on the wall of the mine office. It was eleven already. The morning had slipped away while she’d grappled with the receipt, trying to make sense of the overabundance of ordering. She’d meant to leave for home by now and she was nowhere close to making that self-imposed departure. If she left it any later, she’d miss tea with Sophie. She’d promised she’d be back in time and she never broke a promise. But ultimately, she was the one who had to answer to the shareholders in a few weeks at the annual meeting, the one who would be accountable for this over-ordering.

      Eliza went to the window and looked down on the bustling scene below: carters pushing wheelbarrows of ore from the mine to the sorters; sorters separating the ore; her foreman, Gillie Cardy, shouting orders. The sight of her mines at work brought a certain thrill, a certain proof that she’d accomplished something. She caught Gillie’s eye and gestured for him to come up. He would know why so much lumber had been ordered.

      Gillie knocked on the door before entering, sweeping off his knit cap as he stepped inside. ‘Mrs Blaxland, how can I be of service?’ She liked Gillie. He’d been the site manager even before her husband died. He was competent and knew the mechanics of mining thoroughly, and he’d been a friendly face when she’d first taken over.

      She motioned towards the ledgers. ‘I have some questions about the lumber order.’

      Gillie chuckled and shook his head. ‘I’m no good at numbers, ma’am. I just do what I’m told. You want someone to find a lode in the mine, I’m your fella. But if you want someone to do the books, that’s not me. I know mining and not much else.’ Eliza nodded. This was yet another reason her schools were vital. People needed mathematics and reading skills no matter what their profession. Education was power and protection. Without it, people were waiting to be victims.

      ‘I’ve done the sums,’ she assured him. ‘With the amount of timber ordered we could build a tunnel twice the length.’

      He twisted the cap in his hand, looking worried. ‘The tunnel is very long, ma’am. We are tunnelling out underneath the ocean.’

      Eliza stared at him in disbelief. ‘We are not! We opted not to take the risk at this time.’ Her stomach began to turn. The board had decided at the last quarterly meeting not to go that far.

      ‘Pardon me, ma’am, but Mr Detford said we were tunnelling under the ocean.’

      Miles Detford? He ran the Wheal Karrek mine for her. She trusted Detford, counted him as friend. Miles would never go against the board’s decision or her wishes. He knew how she felt about the dangers of tunnelling beneath the ocean. Surely, there must be some mistake, that Cardy had misunderstood or that Miles Detford had been pressured by someone, because if that wasn’t the case, it meant she had misunderstood—not just the decision not to tunnel, but so much more. Her board was willing to override her decisions.

      If it were true, it was a slap in the face. Someone thought she wouldn’t notice, either because she wasn’t diligent or because they thought she wasn’t smart enough. The other answer was even less appealing. Maybe whoever ordered the timbers simply didn’t care if she noticed. Her wishes were to be overridden. Not everyone on the board had agreed about the tunnel. It had been contentious and hotly debated. She’d rather put the money towards mining schools. Others had not felt that way. There was no money to be made from the schools.

      Eliza pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to settle the roil that had started with the realisation. After years of proving herself, it seemed things still weren’t beyond that first year. Hadn’t she been the one who had insisted on steam engines to replace the horses? Hadn’t she been the one to institute safety protocols? The worst of it was, she’d thought things were better. But they weren’t. Someone was laughing behind her back, playing her very publicly for a fool.

      Already, her mind was running through options. Which shareholders had conspired against her? Was it Isley Thorp or Sir Gismond Brenley, the other chief shareholders? It must have been if they had enough leverage to force Miles Detford into ordering the timbers. Miles would never have ordered them on his own. He would have defended her decision.

      She returned to her desk chair and drew out a piece of paper from the drawer, penning a note with instructions. There was no question of returning to Truro until this mess was resolved. She folded the note and handed it to Gillie. ‘Have a messenger deliver this to the town house with all haste.’ Sophie and her governess could be here tomorrow. That would give her time to find suitable living arrangements. The inn wasn’t a decent place for a young girl. But where? Who did she know in town to whom she could turn? Did she dare ask Lynford? He was her only acquaintance likely to have any connections. The thought of Sophie at the inn, driving guests mad with her exuberance, settled it. As hesitant as she was about asking Lynford, she didn’t have a choice. Wheal Karrek needed her and she needed Sophie.

      Decision made, she took out a second sheet and penned another note. ‘Take this up to the new conservatory.’ She reread the note, making sure she’d struck just the right tone, short, concise, a very businesslike message, nothing that Lynford would misconstrue as an invitation to continue what they’d started and finished in the garden. Satisfied, she sent Gillie off. That only left sending a note to Detford. Her stomach surged once more at the thought. She settled it with a reminder that this was all a misunderstanding. Miles would come and explain all. She’d been on her guard for so long, it was too easy to see trouble where there was none.