Gareth
Chiverton sat on a crate in front of Gareth. In one hand he held a burning torch, in the other his pistol.
Elaine’s makeshift bandaging had stopped the bleeding. He’d wandered in and out of consciousness for a while, until the shouting had roused him.
If Elaine made it outside the cave, they’d be hard-pressed to catch her. She could run like a rabbit, that girl. That was really all that mattered to him—that Elaine made it safely away.
As for himself, he was a dead man.
“Where is Miss Cardinham?” Chiverton asked. His face was calm and composed as always, but now Gareth understood the fire burning just behind the velvet brown of his eyes.
“I don’t know,” Gareth said, his voice dry and raspy. His mouth lined with wool. Very dry wool.
“How did she get out?” Chiverton asked, toying with the flintlock of the pistol.
Gareth may not have been at his most clearheaded state when Elaine had escaped her ropes, but he’d been lucid enough. “She pried her hands out. As I’ve already said.”
The back of Chiverton’s hand lashed across his face. “Tell me where she is.”
The good news was that after being shot in the leg, he had no blood left to wet his cheek.
“Give me some water, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
Another swipe of Chiverton’s hand stung his face. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll spare your life.”
Not much of a bargaining chip. His life was already forfeit. He had no doubt of that. Chiverton had killed his father for knowing only a fraction of what he now knew.
Gareth laughed. A dry, cracked laugh that sounded like stones being dragged across a floor.
Chiverton stared at him, then tucked the pistol into the waistband of his breeches and left. He returned a minute later with a tin cup. Perhaps even tin from Gareth’s own mine. Or maybe the cup Miss Tippet had seen in Wickfern’s General Store. Or maybe he’d died hours ago and this was the devil’s version of hell.
Chiverton held the cup to Gareth’s mouth, tipping it too fast. Gareth had to gulp it down or risk losing it.
After draining the cup, he licked his lips and tasted blood. Interesting. Apparently he did have some left to give.
“I think she ran away,” Gareth told Chiverton.
Any diversion would help Elaine. The more time Chiverton wasted slapping Gareth across the face, the farther away Elaine could get.
“Where did she run to?”
“I cannot say. She did not tell me.”
“You lie,” Chiverton said as he prepared his hand for another backlash. “She wouldn’t leave you here.”
Gareth quickly responded. “I’m telling the truth.” He looked right into Chiverton’s eyes. “I swear to you I do not know where she is. I was barely conscious. I only know that Miss Cardinham managed to loosen her ropes, then she was free.” He leaned his head back against the wooden beam. “Spare me or kill me, it will not make a difference. I’ve given you the truth.”
Chiverton watched him intently. “I believe you,” he finally said. “Where do you think she might have gone? Your best guess.”
Even if he knew that, he would never say. But he could draw out the conversation to keep Chiverton occupied. “That would depend on where we are now.” He had a guess, but he’d been knocked senseless during the transportation, waking up only in this one room.
The oaken beams led him to believe he was in part of a mine rather than a cave. Not Polkreath, of that he was sure. Perhaps Long Cross or Tregavern. They were the closest. Tregavern was no longer used, so that would seem the most likely. Maybe even Dunmore, but that was farther inland, and smugglers clung to the sea.
“Let’s test your knowledge of the land where you were born and raised, Cornishman. You claim to know this area better than anyone, so I tell you what. You figure out where we are, and I’ll let you live.”
Re Just. Why was Chiverton such a fool? One can only make the same threat a certain number of times before it ceases to be threatening. Chiverton had crossed that threshold long ago.
He should get on with it already. Gareth did not fear death. His father would be there waiting for him. And John. It was for his mother he wanted to live. She would suffer most if his life ended here. And Elaine. He would endure all Chiverton’s lashings if he could be with her one last time. Tell her how he still felt.
Gareth kept to his purpose. There was nothing more he could do, save stall Chiverton and play his mindless game.
“Well,” Gareth said, his voice growing stronger. “By the timber work, we are in a mine. The color of the rock speaks more toward tin than copper. That you are here with your gang of free traders would indicate a mine that is idle. I guess Tregavern. Six miles south of Havencross, along the coast. Half a mile west-southwest from the old market cross of St. Gavern. And two miles south of”—he almost said Squire Stroud’s, but if Elaine had figured out her location as well, that was the first place she’d go—“Treligga crossroads.”
Chiverton caught his pause and grinned. “You mean two miles south of New Tor.”
Blast. That was what he got for being a braggart. Gareth shook his head. “She wouldn’t go there.” Now he was the one who sounded like a fool.
Chiverton’s grin twisted into something Gareth could picture on the devil himself. “I hope she does go to the squire. In fact, I’m counting on it.”
Then Chiverton’s pistol came down hard on Gareth’s head.