Page 11 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

“I hate to force you out in this weather, Bartlett, but I just feel a visit with the Trenwiths is too important to put off.” Meredith smoothed her skirts as Bartlett set the basket at her feet.

“’Tis my pleasure to serve you, milady.” His climb on the box shook the carriage and they were off.

The trek into the village took almost an hour. Meredith hadn’t any idea where her errant husband had disappeared, but with his accusations burning her ears, she’d opted not to inform Mr. Ashcroft of her plans. The realization hit hard; she’d become too dependent on the man.

The chances were great that her husband would not be long at Perlsea Keep. She wouldn’t mind giving him his cursed annulment, except her father would kill him. He’d threatened her with that very fate. The memories rushed her…

“What, Papa?” Meredith looked in the entryway mirror and adjusted her hat. An adorable poke bonnet of cream with streaming blue ribbons she’d tied under her chin.

Her father strode past her. “Come into the study. We must speak.”

The dictatorial cur. All he did was demand: Do this, don’t do that. Oh, the day she clamored not to be under his all too pressing thumb. If she thought it wouldn’t get her killed, she’d accept the first offer to come forth. With an annoyed sigh, she clutched her gloves and followed.

“I don’t wish to be late.”

He speared her with a glower. “You’d better not be meeting with that harlot from Berwick Street. I’ve warned you before.”

“I’m meeting Lady Hannah, Papa.” She didn’t add that Geneva and Abra would happen along, as that would have her confined to her bedchamber for the rest of her days.

“You’re to marry this Tuesday. Everything is in place.”

“No.” The word slipped out and he was in front of her before Meredith blinked, his massive hand gripping her by the throat.

“I see it has slipped your mind that you were to marry Pender’s heir. He’s a comely enough fellow. You could do worse.” He pressed briefly cutting off her oxygen then just as suddenly released her and shoved her back.

She gasped out a small cough. “W-when?”

“Tuesday morning. St. George’s has been secured.”

“But today is Saturday. What of m-my dress… the flowers… my… my friends,” she whispered.

“Everything has been taken care of. The dressmaker will be here Monday for your final fitting. You may be excused. To your chamber. I’ll send a note with your regrets to Lady Hannah. I’ve much to do.”

A rut in the road rattled Meredith’s head from that horrid day and she glanced out the window.

Bartlett turned the carriage onto the path leading to the Trenwiths’ cottage.

Thank heavens for the gravel. It saved the carriage from sinking into the mud, but the uneven ground made the ride rough.

Small primroses and stalks of heather grew alongside and over the landscape but were beaten down with the rains.

He drew the conveyance up to the door and assisted her trembling body down before taking the basket.

He held an umbrella over them and ushered her to the door.

It opened before she reached it. “Hello, Sarah. Might I come in for a moment? I won’t stay long.”

“O’ course, milady.” Sarah’s frame was slight, smaller than Megan Penrose, though they were near enough the same age. Dark blonde hair escaped its tie at her nape. Her large blue eyes, brimming with sadness, reached into Meredith’s chest and ripped out her heart.

Sarah stood back and Meredith retrieved the basket from Bartlett.

“Wait inside the carriage. I shan’t be long.

” She crossed the threshold into a humble but warm and cared for home.

The main room was small and dominated by a rough wooden table surrounded by several mismatched chairs set off to one side in a makeshift kitchen.

A large stone hearth took up one wall, where a low fire burned.

Flickering shadows danced across the room.

Above the hearth, simple iron hooks held a few cooking pots, while a small cupboard near the table contained a meager collection of crockery.

The scent of peat smoke and something faintly herbal filled the air.

The floors were of uneven flagstone, topped with a few scattered rugs woven from coarse wool.

The one window was small and covered by thin, threadbare curtains, allowing limited light.

With the pounding rain outside, it turned the inside into a dim shadowy cave.

Wood shelving along the walls held simple belongings—a chipped teapot and small mementos likely passed down through generations.

Meredith’s heart broke.

“Papa and Jacob are at the mine working,” Sarah said softly. “Mama has taken to her bed.”

“Working, but…”

“They won’t get paid otherwise.” The words weren’t spoken in anger or resentment but of hopeless resignation.

“I see.” It was an outrage. Meredith found a small plate on the shelf and pulled out a fresh scone and set it on the table, then guided Sarah to one of the mismatched chairs and gently pushed her into it. Meredith took the chair next to her. “Eat,” she commanded the girl.

Sarah broke off a small piece of the scone and nibbled.

“Did Mr. Thornfield happen to pay your papa a visit?” Meredith was careful to keep her tone light, fully aware of the anger simmering within.

Sarah pinched off another bit and crumbled it between her fingers, all thought of eating clearly obliterated.

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes glistened with tears.

“He told Papa accidents happen and that he and Jacob were needed. He said if they didn’t come in, they might as well stay home and not come back at all. ”

“Oh, Sarah. I’m so sorry,” Meredith whispered, her own tears threatening. She covered Sarah’s hand with her own. With a small squeeze, Meredith stood. “I believe the basket contains enough provisions for your family to last a couple of days.”

“Oh, milady, you shouldn’t have. Mama…”

“Of course, I should. I only wish I could do more.” And she would, starting with a meeting with that oily rogue, Mr. Thornfield.

“I won’t stay, dear. Please, accept my condolences for your loss.

Tommy… he was an adventurous child. I know you’ll miss him.

” Meredith squeezed her hand again at a loss for more words.

Sarah was much too young for such heartache.

“Thank you, milady.”

Meredith nodded and went to the door, shocked to see the rain had abated. She didn’t wait for Bartlett to come for her. Instead, he emerged just as she reached the carriage. “Take me to the mine office.”

“Ma’am?”

“I wish to speak with Mr. Thornfield. Immediately.”

“But—”

Meredith stopped and pierced him with a glare. “Am I mumbling my words, Bartlett?”

“No, milady.”

“Excellent.” She entered the carriage and dropped onto the seat setting the conveyance shaking with her fury.

The ride was short because the stone building was visible from the split in the path. Bartlett pulled to a stop. Again, the carriage shook with his descent and the putting out of the steps before the door opened.

His forehead creased with worry. “Lady Pender, are you certain about this?”

She considered him for a long moment then asked, “Would you question your lordship for taking action?”

“No, milady. But…”

“No buts, Bartlett. I’ve been handling matters for Penhalwick for three years. I shall handle this as well.” She held out her hand for his assistance.

“Of course, milady, but—” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Mr. Thornfield is a dangerous man. And, Mr. Ashcroft has been about to assist you.”

It was true, she had never confronted Mr. Thornfield before.

But she was a countess. She represented these people and as such her word was law.

Her husband—she couldn’t bear thinking of his name—would be on his way back to London within days, if she had anything to say about it…

hmm. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to help him along.

“Lady Pender?” Mr. Thornfield’s condescending tone reached through her momentary musing. “What a lovely surprise.” His gravelly voice had softened, but the false air of courtesy was blatantly apparent.

She stepped down from the carriage. “I’d like a word, sir.”

“Certainly.” He came forward and offered her his arm.

With no option, she took it aware, and thankful, of Bartlett right on her heels.

Mr. Thornfield led her inside a large room with rough wooden benches and chairs along two walls.

A large noticeboard was posted and Meredith caught what appeared to be work schedules, safety warnings, announcements, and such.

But before they reached what she assumed was his office, a list of names brought her to an abrupt stop.

She read through the list and her mouth fell open.

She jerked her hand from the vile man and turned to him.

“Is this a list of those who have been…” She couldn’t bring herself to voice the actual words because at the end of the list was T. Trenwith.

“’Tis a list of those who have been injured and disciplined.”

“Tommy Trenwith? He was not an employee of yours, sir,” she said coldly. “He was a child who snuck into the mine under your watch. His blood is on your hands.”

With a sharp glance about, he took her arm a little forcefully and pulled her past a small desk manned by a clerk, who stared at her open-mouthed, and into his office and shut the door in Bartlett’s face.

Seething, Meredith took in the relatively spacious room.

The size reflected what the man clearly thought of himself.

Walls bare of artwork hosted crudely drawn maps pinned on dark paneling.

Heavy curtains were drawn to block out the chilled morning, yet Meredith shivered from the inside out.

Several oil lamps about the room burned brightly.

He led her to one of two wood chairs, no cushioning. She refused to sit.