Haunted by the Earl's Touch - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,63

but he smiled manfully. ‘Miss Wilding,’ he said, shouting to be heard above the noise of the great machine some distance away. ‘I was not expecting you today, but welcome to Old Men’s Wheal, as it was called once. I hope your...’ He glanced down at her feet, then coloured. ‘I hope you are quite recovered from your unfortunate accident.’

She smiled at the young man. ‘But for you, Mr Trelawny, I doubt I would be here to tell the tale,’ she said, leaning close to his ear to make herself heard.

The young man’s colour deepened.

Bane surprised her by swiftly catching her hand, pulling her close and putting it on his arm. ‘Show us the workings, Trelawny.’ He did not raise his voice, but clearly the manager heard for he nodded and gestured for them to follow. He led them to the machine making all the noise.

‘Stampers,’ he yelled.

Bane’s gaze swept over the monstrous structure, a beam supported on legs. Heavy metal tubes hanging from the beam on chains, rising up and down alternately, each one crashing down to crush the rocks shoved beneath it by a couple of men.

Driving the whole was an enormous waterwheel that clanked and creaked, adding to the cacophony. Beyond it three large pools were being stirred by women with long rakes and shovels.

Compared to the beauty of the countryside through which they had passed, it was ugly and dirty. And the noise was horrendous. She could not imagine working with that sound all day.

As far as she could see there were no children.

She put her hands over her ears, but it did nothing to lessen the noise. ‘From here, the black tin is taken to the foundry at Hayle. You should visit it some time,’ Mr Trelawny shouted.

Bane nodded. ‘Where do they get the coal?’ This time even he had to raise his voice.

‘Wales.’

He grimaced.

‘The mine is this way,’ Mr Trelawny said. ‘Up the hill. The carriage will take you up to the entrance, Miss Wilding.’

‘We will all go in the carriage,’ Bane said when they reached it.

How strange. She let him help her back in. Mr Trelawny climbed up with the driver, citing the dust and dirt he had gathered from his visit to the workings earlier that morning. Getting ready for the new owner’s visit, no doubt.

Bane dropped the window and the noise of the stamper continued to assault their ears. ‘Imagine living with that din day after day,’ she said. ‘Those poor men. They must go home with a headache.’

He cast her a sharp glance. ‘They are paid well enough.’

She pressed her lips together. She had no wish to start an argument, but she had to be glad there had been no children working near that noisy machine.

As the carriage wound its way to the other side of the hill, the thumping faded to a bearable level. It was more like the sound of a heart beating loudly from this distance.

The carriage once more halted and they stepped down. The view of the surrounding countryside was breathtaking—open common, trees in the valley, sheep on the moor—but right here, on the side of the hill, industry was an ugly scar. Bare rock. Gravel. A horse walking steadily round and round a revolving drum. Every now and again, a bucket full of rocks would appear at the surface to be emptied into the back of a cart by a couple of workers. No doubt those rocks would end up at the stamper.

Another horse went round and round, pulling a chain, and beside it a strange-looking object spurted water into a ditch.

‘A rag-and-chain pump,’ Mr Trelawny explained, ‘to remove water from the shafts. Let us go down. The men are expecting us. Please be careful where you walk, Miss Wilding. The ground is rough and there are some disused shafts here and there from the ancient workings.’

At her nervous glance, he smiled. ‘If you stay close to me at all times, you will be fine.’

Bane shot him a glare and Trelawny flinched.

‘This way,’ he said, hustling them towards a stone structure. It looked a bit like a square Norman tower, without crenellations or arrow loops. He ducked inside and, after glancing around, Bane urged her to follow with his hand at the small of her back. The stone chamber was lit by candles.

Mary immediately recognised the greasy smell of melting tallow. They’d been forced to use tallow in the kitchens and working areas at the school when money was in short supply—or apparently in short