“It’s unlikely,” he conceded. “But nearby St Ives likely would. An inn might survive, but there would be no need for posting stations for the mail coach.”
It was a sobering thought. “Well then,” Mina agreed. “We ought to concentrate on amassing our fortune now while we may.” Nye looked amused. “What would we call our new and improved coaching inn?”
He shrugged. “I’ve not yet given it much thought.” He was silent a moment. “The Good Wife?” he suggested and cleared his throat.
“Why William Nye,” she said in surprised accents. “You flatter me.” He growled and she dropped a swift kiss on his brow for he was clearly not used to paying compliments of the respectable kind. “I have a better idea.” She gazed down at him. “What say you to The Prizefighter.”
Now it was his turn to look surprised. His gaze flickered. “You would not think that as disreputable as its current name.”
“Certainly not!” She turned thoughtful. “I think it’s a vastly good idea. The fights bring us a good deal of business and we could still hold them once a month.”
His brow crinkled. “I like it,” he admitted. “I like it a lot.”
She smiled down at him and met him halfway for the slow, exploratory kiss they shared. For all it was tender, when they drew back, both of them were breathing hard.
“Let’s go up to bed,” Nye said abruptly, sweeping her up from the sofa.
“It’s not yet eight o’clock!” Mina pointed out but found this objection ignored completely as he carried out of the room. “I see now our courtship would have been quite scandalous,” she muttered as they mounted the stairs and Nye grinned.
“That’s your fault,” he rumbled. For it’s my understanding the woman is supposed to set the moral tone of the courtship at the outset.”
Mina gasped at this, quite outraged and Nye burst out laughing before they had even reached the attic.
*
This new state of harmony between them lasted all of two days before Mina received a postcard from Harrogate. She turned it over curiously to read Ivy’s careful writing which stated her marriage to Sam had taken place that morning and all was well.
“Well, that’s a relief in any event,” Mina said briskly, passing the postcard to Edna.
Nye folded his arms across his chest, regarding her narrowly. “Are you going to claim you had no knowledge of this?” he asked. Mina colored slightly.
“Sam who?” puzzled Edna, lowering the card.
“Rollins,” Mina answered absently.
“So, you did know!” Nye thundered, looking disgusted.
“What difference does it make?” Mina asked, plunking a hand on her hip and regarding Nye in a martial light.
Edna speedily excused herself to go and finish the tub of laundry she had left to soak in the bathroom upstairs.
Reuben hovered a moment in the doorway, before slouching off again.
“Your loyalty should be to me, Mina,” Nye said tightly.
Impulsively, she reached out and put her hand on his chest and he went very still. “Nye, don’t,” she paused a moment. “I know that, and it is. Please don’t make more of this than is necessary.”
He stared down at her hand a minute and both jumped when the unlatched window slammed shut with a bang. When she went to move her hand away, he caught it and carried it to his lips a moment, pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles.
“Very well, we’ll say no more about it,” he said gruffly. “I’m headed back to the cellar if you need me,”. He flung abruptly out of the room, slashes of warm color along his cheekbones.
Mina stood a few moments staring after him abstractedly, when she became gradually aware that Reuben had appeared once again in the doorway, he had only vacated moments ago.
“There’s a carter outside,” he said abruptly. “Says he’s bought something for you?”
Mina turned away from the sink in surprise. “For me?” He nodded. “I have not ordered anything Reuben, and neither am I expecting anything.”
“Mebbe someone ordered it for you, then?” He shrugged. “Will you come outside and take a look? He’s waiting for it to be unloaded so I need your instructions.”
Mina glanced at him in surprise. Usually, Reuben resented every order she gave him. Crossing to the window, she looked out. Surely enough there was a cart stood in the courtyard with a hunched figure in a smock sat at the front with the brim of his hat pulled low on his head. Suppressing a sigh, she flung open the door and strode over to the waiting cart, Reuben hot on her heels.
He reached passed her shoulder to fling back the tarpaulin and show her the cart was empty save for two hay bales. Mina frowned and half turned to look back at Reuben,
“I fail to see—”
There was a blur of movement behind her and a sharp sudden pain before everything turned black.
21
The first thing Mina became conscious of was the low murmur of voices. At first, she tried to drown them out to spare her poor pounding head. Then, as her senses returned and she felt the cold stone of the floor beneath her cheek, she realized she needed to regain consciousness and fast. The chill of her unfamiliar surroundings told her she was in trouble. She shouldn’t be here. Even the sounds were echoing and strange. It was almost like she had been thrown into a cellar.
Had she been thrown into a cellar? Someone had spoken recently of cellars. She thought it was Nye. He would never have thrown her into any cellar though. She was sure of that. Mina’s eyes cautiously opened. Wherever she was, it was dark, dank, and chilly. She concentrated on the voices. Surely, she knew them? They were familiar, but danced on the edge of her memory, elusive as dreams on waking.
She was lying on the ground and her first thought was that she was injured. If she had fallen down the cellar steps, maybe she had hurt herself? Gingerly, she tried to move her feet and felt them scrape against the stone floor. Then her hands. Ouch. Her head was aching fit to bust and her side felt bruised and tender. She wondered if she might have broken a rib.
Mina struggled into an upright position, sucking in her breath against the dizzying pain. Her movements had alerted the other occupants she was conscious, and she heard their feet approach.
“Where am I?” Mina asks, raising fingertips to her temples.
“Don’t you tell her!” said an angry voice, she recognized at once as Reuben the stable hand from The Harlot. A memory surfaced of turning to see Reuben with a rock in his hand. With incredulity, she realized he must have struck her head with it.
“Now lad,” Gus said with reproach. “There’s no need to take on so. Mrs. Nye won’t be informing on us, will she?”
“Gus?” Mina blinked up at the fluffy white-haired old gentleman.
“Aye, it’s me,” he told her encouragingly. “Right glad I am your brains weren’t dashed out, girl. Our Reuben was a touch over-zealous, I’m afraid. I only told him to stun you, not to try and stave your skull in.”
“You told Reuben to stun me?” she repeated through lips that felt numb.
“I’m afraid so,” he said with a gusty sigh. “Needs must, you see. You’ve had a most unfortunate effect on Nye.” He tutted. “Never would have believed it, if I hadn’t seen it with me own eyes.”