‘I’ve done the sums,’ she assured him. ‘With the amount of timber ordered we could build a tunnel twice the length.’
He twisted the cap in his hand, looking worried. ‘The tunnel is very long, ma’am. We are tunnelling out underneath the ocean.’
Eliza stared at him in disbelief. ‘We are not! We opted not to take the risk at this time.’ Her stomach began to turn. The board had decided at the last quarterly meeting not to go that far.
‘Pardon me, ma’am, but Mr Detford said we were tunnelling under the ocean.’
Miles Detford? He ran the Wheal Karrek mine for her. She trusted Detford, counted him as friend. Miles would never go against the board’s decision or her wishes. He knew how she felt about the dangers of tunnelling beneath the ocean. Surely, there must be some mistake, that Cardy had misunderstood or that Miles Detford had been pressured by someone, because if that wasn’t the case, it meant she had misunderstood—not just the decision not to tunnel, but so much more. Her board was willing to override her decisions.
If it were true, it was a slap in the face. Someone thought she wouldn’t notice, either because she wasn’t diligent or because they thought she wasn’t smart enough. The other answer was even less appealing. Maybe whoever ordered the timbers simply didn’t care if she noticed. Her wishes were to be overridden. Not everyone on the board had agreed about the tunnel. It had been contentious and hotly debated. She’d rather put the money towards mining schools. Others had not felt that way. There was no money to be made from the schools.
Eliza pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to settle the roil that had started with the realisation. After years of proving herself, it seemed things still weren’t beyond that first year. Hadn’t she been the one who had insisted on steam engines to replace the horses? Hadn’t she been the one to institute safety protocols? The worst of it was, she’d thought things were better. But they weren’t. Someone was laughing behind her back, playing her very publicly for a fool.
Already, her mind was running through options. Which shareholders had conspired against her? Was it Isley Thorp or Sir Gismond Brenley, the other chief shareholders? It must have been if they had enough leverage to force Miles Detford into ordering the timbers. Miles would never have ordered them on his own. He would have defended her decision.
She returned to her desk chair and drew out a piece of paper from the drawer, penning a note with instructions. There was no question of returning to Truro until this mess was resolved. She folded the note and handed it to Gillie. ‘Have a messenger deliver this to the town house with all haste.’ Sophie and her governess could be here tomorrow. That would give her time to find suitable living arrangements. The inn wasn’t a decent place for a young girl. But where? Who did she know in town to whom she could turn? Did she dare ask Lynford? He was her only acquaintance likely to have any connections. The thought of Sophie at the inn, driving guests mad with her exuberance, settled it. As hesitant as she was about asking Lynford, she didn’t have a choice. Wheal Karrek needed her and she needed Sophie.
Decision made, she took out a second sheet and penned another note. ‘Take this up to the new conservatory.’ She reread the note, making sure she’d struck just the right tone, short, concise, a very businesslike message, nothing that Lynford would misconstrue as an invitation to continue what they’d started and finished in the garden. Satisfied, she sent Gillie off. That only left sending a note to Detford. Her stomach surged once more at the thought. She settled it with a reminder that this was all a misunderstanding. Miles would come and explain all. She’d been on her guard for so long, it was too easy to see trouble where there was none.
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