“And what good willyourknowledge of Parliament do us if you do not know a pilchard from a mackerel, or why the clothes of our people hang loose in the spring? You speak of your brother’s power, but I would stake a large wager that you would do so for your own benefit—not Trelowen’s.”
“I have no intention of using my brother’s title for anything, Lady Radcliffe.”
The sharpness of his tone surprised her. “You were the one who mentioned him as a tool for Trelowen?—”
“And regretted it immediately.” He said nothing for a moment. “I admit I am not perfect, Lady Radcliffe. I have my deficiencies, but I am not so very deficient as you seem to think.”
Their gazes held for a moment. Long enough for her to wonder if therewasmore to Mr. Yorke than first met the eye.
“I understand Oswald means to reopen the mine,” he said.
Her brow knit at the change of topic. “What of it?”
“If your mine is like most, you will be digging deep, which requires more money than ever. Without the support ofsomeone prominent, there is no chance at all of receiving what you will need, and when the situation becomes desperate, you will turn, as so many have, to Parliament. But there is little appetite there for subsidizing such endeavors.”
She gave a little caustic laugh. “There is little appetite in Parliament for doing anything but what puts more money in the pockets of those who already possess it. Gentlemen who have never labored a day in their lives sit on their polished wooden benches in their fine breeches to debate the fates of men who go barefoot, breaking their backs for a day’s pay. Parliament may not like mining as well as they did when it was bringing them money, but for many in Cornwall, it is all we have. Oswald knows that.”
She did not know why she was defending the mine. She was not a great supporter of its reopening. It felt like a step backward in many ways, not to mention the danger it put people in—greater than ever since they would, as Mr. Yorke said, be digging deep—but she understood that Trelowen was desperate for more work. That was something Mr. Yorke could not fathom.
He regarded her in that frank way he had. “Or perhaps Oswald is too close to see things clearly. Perhaps he is looking to a past that cannot be revisited when he should be looking to Trelowen’s future.”
As Oswald returned just then, Caroline was not offered the opportunity to reply. Nor would she have known what to say.
It was typical of a man like Mr. Yorke to think he knew what was best—to be confident in his ignorance. And what would happen if hewereelected? When the opportunity arose for him to advocate for Trelowen or to turn a blind eye to the suffering here in favor of an opportunity for himself, which would he choose?
Brightmoor had made similar promises, had boasted similar experience, and little good that had done them.
The worst of it was that Caroline agreed with Mr. Yorke to an extent. Oswald knew Trelowen. But how would he fare in London?
But Richard had been clear that, in leaving Trelowen in her hands, he expected her to see Oswald elected—and not to use the borough as an experiment with any of her more heretical views.
“Here, my lady,” Oswald said, handing her a damp cloth.
“Thank you, Oswald.” She smiled at him and took it, then cleaned her hands of the dirt.
Oswald was not a dog with a bone. He was there when she needed him, willing to fetch her a rag when she required one. He had proven himself time and again, particularly since Richard’s death. As for his ignorance about the way things were done in London, he cared enough for Trelowen that he would find a way to carry out what the borough needed. He was not without friends or allies.
Mr. Yorke moved to pick up the box of fairings, but Oswald beat him to it.
Oswald opened the box and presented it to Caroline, though his gaze shifted to Mr. Yorke, who smiled good-naturedly. No, amusedly.
Did anything shake the man from his charmed nonchalance? Her reference to his plan to use his brother’s influence seemed to have, a fact that she found puzzling.
Caroline took out a fairing, which was no longer warm to the touch, thanks to the delay. The smell of ginger and treacle filled the air as she took a bite.
It was, in a word, divine. How had she known Mrs. Tonkin so long yet never tasted one of her fairings?
She chewed and chewed while Oswald and Mr. Yorkewatched, as though her reaction would tell them something more important than whether she liked the fairing.
“It is good,” she said, a most lackluster response to a heavenly dessert.
Mr. Yorke’s brow quirked, a twinkle in his eye, as if he knew she was dampening her response. “You seem to appreciate them less than I do. I shall be all-too-happy to relieve you of them.” He reached toward the box, but Oswald retracted it, and Caroline reached for it at the same time.
Mr. Yorke smiled knowingly.
Caroline had the unnerving sense that he could somehow see through her. What he should have seen was that he had come to Trelowen in pursuit of a futile goal. But the confidence in his smile told her that when he looked ahead, he saw victory.
He would soon discover it was naught but a mirage.
