“I’ll Marry the First Man Who Enters,” She Joked — Then the Duke Walked In
Chapter 16
Theme:
Font Size:
24px
The carriage hadn't completely stopped when she forced the door open. The pit yard was a scene of unmitigated chaos: women from the village were already running through the gates, screaming names into the dust; miners who had been working the upper levels staggered out of the main shaft building, coughing violently, their faces masked in pale rock dust.Bella shoved her way through the frantic crowd, her heavy coat dragging in the black mud."Miller!" she shouted, spotting the steward pulling a coughing boy away from the pumphouse. "Miller, report!"The steward turned, his face pale beneath the soot. "Cave-in, Your Grace! Eastern seam! Deep down!"Bella's stomach dropped out of her body. "My husband."Miller swallowed hard, looking away. "He went down at dawn, Duchess. He's in the eastern seam."The world tilted. For one agonizing second, Bella felt the hysterical urge to drop to her knees in the mud. The ledger, the bargain, the transaction—it all dissolved, leaving nothing but a raw, gaping terror that threatened to swallow her whole. Augustus was 700 feet below the earth, buried.She inhaled sharply. The sulfur burned her lungs, clearing her mind: panic was a luxury she could not afford; Augustus was a survivor; if he was alive down there, he needed her up here holding the line."Listen to me!" Bella commanded, her voice slicing through the screaming. She grabbed Miller by the lapels. "Send a rider to the village; I want the physician here in ten minutes. Empty the manor of every clean sheet, every blanket, and every drop of whiskey we possess. Clear the sorting sheds—we will use them as a triage hospital."Miller blinked, stunned by her absolute lack of hysterics. "Yes, Your Grace.""And Miller," she added, her eyes entirely flat, "tell the engineers to get that cage working. If they cannot fix the steam winch, I want every able-bodied man pulling those ropes by hand."For the next four hours, Bella didn't sit. She organized the crying women, putting them to work tearing sheets into bandages and boiling massive vats of water over open fires. She directed the physician, pointing out the most severely injured men as they were dragged from the shallow tunnels. Her silk gown was ruined, soaked to the knees in freezing, soot-stained mud; her hands were black.The winter sun began to set, plunging the yard into a bitter, freezing dusk.The main shaft winch gave a sudden, agonizing groan. The massive iron gears bit into each other, screaming in protest. Silence fell over the yard; the weeping stopped; hundreds of eyes turned toward the gaping mouth of the pit.The heavy iron cage breached the surface. It was mangled, the iron bars bent inward. Inside, six men were crammed together: five of them were bleeding, weeping, and clutching broken limbs; the sixth man was Augustus.He was holding the heavy iron gate shut with his bare hands. His left arm hung at a sickening angle; his face was entirely black, save for the stark white of his eyes and a jagged gash across his temple that poured thick crimson into his collar. He looked dead on his feet, kept upright by nothing but sheer, stubborn rage.