Torchlight

  As Elizabeth stepped back, a hand was clamped over her mouth.

  "If you call out now, I'm dead for sure," Sean Jameson said in her ear.

  Elizabeth began to squirm frantically, but he held her tight.

  "Settle down. If you promise you won't yell for the servants, I'll set you free.''

  Elizabeth stopped struggling.

  Sean's arms fell away, and she whirled to face him. "How dare you sneak into my house and scare me like that?" she demanded in a whisper.

  "Are you saying I should have come to the door and called like a gentleman? I've tried that before, and I'm thinking you'll remember the reception I got for my trouble."

  "So you hid in my room because you wanted to see me?" she asked, her anger fading. "For a few stolen minutes, you would take such a chance? How did you know I wouldn't call for help when I found it was you?" she continued, lifting her hand to touch his cheek.

  "I didn't know," he said huskily. "I hoped...." He stared down at her for a long moment, and then he gathered her fiercely into his arms.

  Torchlight

  Doreen Owens Malek

  Copyright © 1991 by Doreen Owens Malek. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Doreen Owens Malek. For further information contact the publisher at www.doreenowensmalek.com.

  First Edition published

  by Harlequin Historical

  July 1991

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Chapter One

  Autumn, 1870

  Elizabeth Langdon clutched her hat as the coach wheels hit a rut and she was jostled in her seat. For the most part, the journey to Langdon from her Aunt Dorothea's house in Wynnewood had been smooth and uneventful. But as soon as they had begun to traverse the coal patch surrounding her father's mine, the carriage had started to rock and plunge like the wooden hobbyhorse she'd had as a child. The road was gouged and pitted like the surface of an orange peel. Elizabeth frowned as she shot out of her seat once more, gasping. She hadn't remembered that the road was this bad.

  But then she hadn't been back to Langdon in a long time.

  She didn't really think of the town as "home," since she had not been raised there. She had been sent to live with her aunt when she was only two, just after her mother had died. Then, her father had not wanted to be burdened with her and sought only to keep her well maintained and out of his hair. Consequently she felt almost a newcomer to the valley where she was born.

  She peered out of the isinglass window to her left at the sagging shanties, the hanging laundry begrimed with coal dust, the ragged children running past with sooty faces and scabby knees. Occasionally a woman attired in a long drab skirt and a fringed shawl looked up from washing clothes in a tub or hoeing a struggling garden. She would glance curiously at the carriage from the main house, wondering who was inside.

  There were no men around; they were either down in the mine or sleeping until the next shift.

  Elizabeth drew back from the window, vaguely ashamed to be seen. She'd been at school for six years, taking her vacations at her aunt's house and seeing her father infrequently. She hadn't been here since she was fourteen, and then only briefly. Had things worsened so much since then, or had she simply been too immersed in her own world to notice the poverty?

  Suddenly the ride evened out. She knew before she looked that they were starting the ascent to her father's house at the top of the hill. The drive was level and smooth all the way to the front door and around to the carriage house behind it, just as she recalled. The house was virtually unchanged, also, looming in gingerbread splendor over the town spread out below it. She knew that from the window seat in her bedroom she could see the breastworks of the mine shafts, the straggling alleys where the miners lived and the two wooden buildings they used for worship—Catholic for the Irish and Protestant for the Welsh.

  When she was visiting at the house, she and her father had attended the Church of England services in Pottstown, six miles away.

  Elizabeth straightened her hat and checked the pins in the bun at the back of her neck. Then she settled her traveling cape on her shoulders and took the lap robe off her knees and put it aside on the seat.

  She would soon have her first interview with her father, and she was nervous about it. She had completed the course at Miss Taylor's finishing school in Philadelphia the previous May, and then had spent the summer with her aunt. Ten days ago, at the beginning of September, her father had summoned her home. He explained in a businesslike letter that since she was grown and educated now he expected her to take her place as mistress of his house. It was clear that he also expected her to find a husband from among the young men he considered suitable. His letter had conveyed, with little subtlety, the message that he considered her old enough to be married and thought that serving as his hostess would introduce her to the propertied families in the area.

  Elizabeth had many private objections to this plan, but she knew better than to confront her father directly. She saw him as a stern, distant authority figure whose sole function was to step into her life at various times and issue orders: this church for his daughter, that school, such and such a milliner and ladies' shop and bootery on Revere Lane in Philadelphia for her clothes. He paid for everything and made the major decisions about her life, but the man himself she knew hardly at all. She knew enough, however, to realize that the progressive ideas she had picked up at Miss Taylor's and from her Aunt Dorrie would not be tolerated in his home. But he was in control of her destiny and so the appearance of obedience must be preserved.

  Todd, the coachman, pulled to a stop in the circle that fronted the house. His family had been in service to hers for generations; his grandfather had come over from England with her grandfather almost fifty years earlier, in 1825. The Todds had always lived in the rooms above the carriage house. Todd still preserved the west country accent of his forebears, disdaining the Americanization of his speech.

  "Home all safe and tidy, miss," he said in a satisfied tone.

  "Yes, indeed," Elizabeth replied. "Thank you."

  When she was little he used to lift her onto his shoulders and carry her into the house, but now he held out his hand for her to take as she stepped down to the ground. She did so graciously, practicing rather selfconsciously for her role as the mistress of the manor.

  "I'll take this little one in now, miss, and tote the rest up later, by your leave," he said deferentially, lifting her carryall once she had gained her footing.

  "That will be fine, Todd," she responded, looking through the glass panels on either side of the cameo door. A brass chandelier, suspended by an extension chain from a plaster medallion in the vaulted ceiling, glowed softly, the flutes of its oil lamps sparkling. The black-and-white tiled floor, reminiscent of the Dutch paintings her father so admired, was spotless. A large blush porcelain vase on the cherry bachelor's chest in the entrance hall was filled with an assortment of late- blooming flowers, and to the left the sliding wooden doors to her father's study were closed. Elizabeth wondered if he were in there, working.

  An auburn-haired maid she didn't recognize was dusting the furniture. As she watched, the young woman folded her polishing cloth and ascended the curved oak staircase, disappearing on the second floor.

  Todd opened the door and Elizabeth preceded him into the house. They were met in the hall by the housekeeper, Mrs. Tamm. She beamed at Elizabeth, clasping her hands together with delight.

  "My dear, it's so wonderful to have you with us at last," she said. "Your father and I have been looking forward to this for weeks."

  "Is he home?" Elizabeth asked.

  "No, he's out at a meeting, but he'll be back for dinner."

  Mrs. Tamm had been working for the family since Elizabeth was nine, and she occupied a quasi-relative status that elevated her above the rest of the servants—especially in her own mind. She was just releasing Elizabeth from a smothering hug when someone pounded on the door behind them.

  "Who's that?" Elizabeth said to Todd, who was blocking her view through the flanking windows.

  "Nothing to bother yourself about, miss," Todd said grimly. "I'll take care of it." He turned and yanked open the door as Elizabeth followed curiously. The door was closed firmly in her face, but she went to the window and peered through the sheer lawn curtains despite Mrs. Tamm's restraining arm.

  "Him!" the older woman said at her side. Her tone was contemptuous. "That one's trouble."

  "Who is it?" Elizabeth said.

  "One of those organizers, the big mouth, worst of the lot," the housekeeper said. Her attitude indicated that she considered such people on a level with the vermin she was constantly battling in the root cellar of the house.

  A tall, lithe young man was angrily confronting Todd, who instantly assumed an equally belligerent stance.

  "Get off with you," Todd sputtered at the new arrival. "I've told you before not to make a nuisance of yourself. You can't come up here to the main house, bold as brass! I'll have the law on you, so help me I will."

  "I wa
nt to see Langdon," the man demanded.

  "In a pig's eye," Todd responded flatly.

  Their raised voices carried easily through the wall to where the women were standing. Elizabeth's view was excellent, and she observed the scene closely, noting that both men were so absorbed in their conflict they didn't even notice their audience.

  Todd's antagonist appeared to be in his late twenties, with thick chestnut-brown hair. He was dressed in rough clothes with bulky work boots.

  "He can't hide forever," the younger man said. "He has to come out and face the real world sometime."

  "I'll get the coal police if you start anything. You hark at me, boy," Todd said.

  "You tell Langdon I'm here," the other insisted, his eyes blazing. That he was a miner was obvious from his dress, and his speech was the lilting brogue of the immigrant collier.

  "I'll tell him nothing at all, you cheeky thug," Todd replied, raising his hand threateningly.

  The miner eyed him wearily and shook his head.

  "Get wise to yourself, man," he said to Todd. "Langdon's using you as well as me."

  "Don't start that kind of talk here," Todd said. "Nobody's listening. I'd take you on if I was twenty years younger."

  "But you're not," the other said softly. "And I won't go away. I'll be back, again and again, until even Langdon has to pay attention."

  "Do you want to hold your place in the pit?" Todd said craftily. "Still keeping that family of yours, widowed mother and how many bairns? It would go awfully hard with them if you lost your situation. Maura's pittance won't do much."

  The young man's mouth went tight. "Don't make threats you can't enforce, old man. If Langdon gave the gate to every miner griping about the working conditions, he'd have an empty pit."

  "They're not all flailing away at his front door," Todd pointed out, his hands on his hips.

  The younger man studied the older one and then shrugged, as if suddenly seeing the futility of continuing the conversation. He said only, "I'll be back," then turned and set off briskly down the hill, long legs striding purposefully.

  "Not if you've got a brain in that thick skull," Todd called after him loudly.

  Elizabeth exchanged glances with the housekeeper, who had watched the byplay with her. Mrs. Tamm pursed her lips and shook her head.

  "No good will come of this," she said ominously. "I don't understand that boy—his sister's such a lovely girl."

  "His sister?" Elizabeth said.

  "Maura, the parlor maid. I hired her myself and she's worked out just fine. Quiet and industrious, such a docile nature."

  "Is that the red-haired girl I saw as I arrived?"

  "The same. She's quite the opposite of that ill- mannered lout who just left."

  Elizabeth thought this over as she watched Todd go to the coach and take out one of the larger bags, still muttering to himself. Elizabeth waited for him.

  "What was that all about?" she asked when the driver came inside.

  He lifted her carryall from the floor with his free hand.

  "Don't you pay him any mind, miss, he's just one of those rabble-rousing miners. Nothing for you to worry about. Your father will take care of them right enough."

  "What are the miners doing?" Elizabeth asked quietly.

  "Getting too big for their britches, if you ask me," Todd replied huffily.

  Todd, like Mrs. Tamm, was one of the house servants. He'd always shared that lady's fine disdain for those who went down into the mines, referring to them as "that lot" for as long as she could remember. Now he mumbled, "Trashy goings-on, hammering on doors like a tinker hawking wares." He brushed past Elizabeth and lumbered up the stairs with both bags banging against his legs.

  "Let me help you with your cape," Mrs. Tamm said briskly, as if to dismiss the unpleasant scene they had just witnessed. "I must be getting old and forgetful, leaving you standing here in the hall in your traveling clothes."

  Elizabeth handed the housekeeper her bonnet and cape as Mrs. Tamm said, "I was thinking of assigning Maura to you, if you have no objection. She's really wasted on cleaning tasks—I can hire a drudge for that. Of course, she'd not trained to be a lady's maid, but she's quick. All you have to do is instruct her—"

  "That will be fine," Elizabeth said quickly. She was curious about the girl's family, which had produced a young man bold enough to confront her father. Few people had the nerve.

  "You'd have to share her with me at serving time, but otherwise—"

  "It's all right, Mrs. Tamm. It seems foolish to hire someone just for me. I wouldn't have enough for her to do."

  Mrs. Tamm nodded and went to the foot of the stairs, calling, "Maura? Maura, come down here."

  After a brief pause the girl appeared at the top of the stairs and then descended them gracefully, her long skirt whispering about her ankles. She was dressed as rudely as her brother in a gray linsey-woolsey jumper and a thin cotton blouse that had seen too many washings. But her beauty transcended the common attire; her sibling's roan-colored hair had turned to flame in her case, and she had braided it into an abundant coil, topped by a frilled maid's cap, which betokened her station. She stopped in front of the two women and looked at Mrs. Tamm inquiringly.

  "Maura, this is Miss Langdon," Mrs. Tamm began kindly. "She's been away at school, but she's home for good. It will be your main job from now on to look after her."

  The girl brightened, then dropped a quick curtsy. "Pleased to meet you, miss," she said shyly, looking up at Elizabeth through coppery lashes a shade darker than her hair. Her skin was milky with a few toasty freckles scattered across her nose.

  "Hello, Maura," Elizabeth said.

  "Why don't you go with Miss Langdon to her room." Mrs. Tamm said. "You can help her unpack."

  "Yes, ma'am," Maura said.

  The maid followed Elizabeth up the stairs and down the long upper hall, papered with maroon-and-white stripes and carpeted with a figured Turkish runner. Elizabeth's room was at the end of the corridor, overlooking the valley. It had been aired and dusted for her return and the carpet had been beaten, but it still smelled musty. The cabbage roses on the curtains were repeated in the hangings on the bed, and the china bowl and pitcher Elizabeth remembered still stood on the mahogany dresser. The scrubbed chamber pot, topped with an embroidered cover, peeked from under the flowered bed skirt.

  Todd had left the bags on the floor just inside the door. Elizabeth bypassed them and went to the cheval mirror in the corner, examining her wrinkled and travel stained clothes.

  "Oh, dear, I'd better bathe and change for dinner," she said, noting her collapsing chignon and crushed linen shirtwaist. She unpinned her hair and its sable waves cascaded over her shoulders. She stared at the flushed cheeks and large dark eyes reflected in the mirror, wondering what to expect of her readjustment to life in Langdon.

  "I'll lay something out for you, miss," Maura said, "and then fetch the water for your bath." She hoisted the larger bag onto the bed and selected a lavender wool dress, spreading out the folds of the fine material on the coverlet.

  "You can put the underthings in the dresser drawers and hang up the rest," Elizabeth said to her.

  "Yes, miss."

  Elizabeth winced and turned to face the other girl. "Do you think you could call me by my first name? After all, we're almost the same age. What are you, eighteen?"

  "Nineteen."

  "All right, then. I'm twenty."

  Maura folded a pair of silk bloomers and shook her head. "Mrs. Tamm would never stand for that, miss. She doesn't hold with the help getting too familiar."

  "I'll take care of Mrs. Tamm," Elizabeth said briskly.

  "Oh, don't do that, miss. She'll give me the devil." Then Maura smiled, relenting. "Maybe just when it's the two of us alone."

  "Good enough," Elizabeth said. She turned from the mirror and began to unbutton her blouse. "I saw your brother today," she said casually.

  She was unprepared for the anxious expression that suffused the other girl's face.

  "Sean?" Maura said nervously.

  "How many brothers do you have?"

  "Two, but the younger one is only five. He's kept at home."

  "I see."