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greeted her; Biscuit, their
hardy piebald pony, bobbed his head eagerly as if he knew he was soon to be
forging across the heath to Arundale's Kitchen.
    And why shouldn't he think they were heading to the
mine? Corisande thought irritably, hoisting the worn leather saddle onto the
pony's swayed back. She'd only gone there three mornings in a row, looking for
that damned mine captain so she could give him a fair-sized piece of her mind.
But each time he'd been nowhere to be found, probably gone down one of the
shafts to purposely avoid her, the despicable bastard, and no doubt smug as a
snake at his cleverness.
    Nor had she been able to find the Arundale family's
agent, Henry Gilbert, when she'd gone to that Tudor monstrosity of a house
where he resided. The sullen housemaid who answered the door had said only that
Gilbert wasn't there—hiding from her, Corisande was certain, the ferret-faced
agent as spineless as Jack Pascoe was cunning. Henry Gilbert was the one, after
all, who'd given Pascoe free rein to run the mine as he saw fit, and his
orders, being the family agent, no doubt had come straight from the Duke of
Arundale.
    "Yes, Biscuit, maybe we're wasting our time going
to the mine after Pascoe," Corisande contemplated aloud as she scratched
the pony's whiskered chin, his breath blowing warm on her hand. "Maybe we
should find Henry Gilbert—before he gets a chance to hide in a wardrobe or
under the bed, and brighten his day with a show of Cornish temper. It may not
help matters much, but at least I won't feel as if I'm going to explode. What
do you say?"
    Biscuit's obliging snort made her smile, but it faded
as she mounted and kicked the animal into a trot, the pony's bumpy
gait—ensuring a jarring ride at best—only adding fuel to the fire.
     
     

 
    Chapter 4

     
    "Is there anything else you'd like to see this
morning, my lord? The rest of the grounds, perhaps? The village of Porch—"
    "That bloody mine wasn't enough entertainment for
one day?" Scowling, Donovan dismounted from his steel-gray stallion while
Henry Gilbert slid from his sweaty mount, the rail-thin Arundale family agent
nervously shifting his feet, looking as if he wanted to flee the stable at
first opportunity.
    And right now Donovan wholeheartedly wanted the
loathsome fellow out of his sight. Ignoring Gilbert for the moment, he led the
snorting animals into their stalls, the cavernous stable empty but for these
two horses and a big ill-kempt gelding whose dull brown coat looked sorely in
need of a good grooming. But that would have to wait as Donovan eyed again the
anemic, long-nosed scarecrow who'd been attending to his family's business
affairs in Cornwall.
    In truth, he couldn't fully blame Gilbert for what
smacked of his late father's doing; the man had been paid to follow orders
after all. But for the agent to have granted such power to a mean-spirited
tyrant of a mine captain because he was too lazy to attend to the day-to-day
workings of the mine himself—good God, it sickened him!
    "Get yourself something to eat at the house and
then ride back and see to it that a new mine captain is hired by noon," Donovan
grated, Henry Gilbert bobbing his head in acquiescence. "I'm giving you a
chance to set things right, Gilbert, or believe me, you'll be close behind Jack
Pascoe in finding yourself without a job."
    "I understand, my lord. Implicitly."
    "Good. Choose a man from among the miners, someone
they respect. Be sure I don't see Pascoe on Arundale property again."
    "Yes, yes, of course, my lord."
    "And restore the miners' pay to its previous level
until I've a chance to go over the books thoroughly—then we'll talk about
raising it further."
    "But—but, Lord Donovan, shouldn't His Grace be
consulted—"
    "If this damned mine is half as rich as my brother
said it was, Gilbert, surely there's enough coin to properly pay the men whose
blood and sweat have made it so profitable, is there not?"
    This time the cowed agent bobbed his head in time