Mr. Tyndale lowered his voice. “They seem to be… close.”
“Indeed.” Truman gestured toward the door. “Mr. Linley, would you please find Mrs. Poulson and keep her occupied while I have a word with Mr. Tyndale?”
“Certainly.” Linley nodded to the Fore-Overman before he left.
“Now you can rest assured,” Truman said once the door was closed. “Tell me, has my housekeeper done something to upset you?”
“No.”
“Mr. Tyndale?”
“She has a sharp tongue, my lord.”
It was easy to tell the Fore-Overman didn’t appreciate being in his current position. “Meaning?”
“She has quite a bit to say about Miss McTavish.”
“And you find that… offensive?”
“I’ve always had a soft spot for Rachel,” he admitted. “I knew her father, of course. He was rough around the edges. I’ll give you that. But he wasn’t always so bad, not before life got the best of him. In the end I felt sorry for him. And I feel even sorrier for his daughter. The poor girl has had a hard life.”
That was a lot of words for a man like Tyndale. “Yet you assigned her to Number 14 Stall when she applied to you for work.”
“Mr. Stanhope may have indicated that was my doing, but it wasn’t. I would never have put her in the mine with the men.”
“Did you try to persuade my cousin to do otherwise?”
He sat up taller. “Indeed I did. I don’t want to risk my job by saying anything… unflattering about Mr. Stanhope, but the truth is the truth.”
“Nothing you say here will risk your job, Mr. Tyndale. I commend you for trying to protect Miss McTavish.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He seemed slightly mollified. “As I have indicated, I care about the girl. I can’t help but take exception to what Mrs. Poulson has to say about her.”
“But Mrs. Poulson is no real threat to Rachel.”
“Make no mistake, she wants her gone and plans to throw her out as soon as… as soon as…” He couldn’t quite spit out the rest.
“I tire of her?”
He flushed. “Those were her words, yes. But no matter what folks think of Miss McTavish, what you may think of her, I can’t hold her accountable for the decisions she’s made since her mum died. When it comes to taking care of Geordie, she’d do anything. I-I saw that firsthand when she came to my office to sue for work.”
Truman liked Tyndale, respected him. “Don’t worry about Miss McTavish. I will take care of her.”
He sniffed, obviously surprised by the commitment. “Thank you. Truly. I am grateful for any help you can give her.”
“Back to Cutberth, then.”
From what Truman could tell, Tyndale didn’t completely relax, but he came off a little more confident.
“Has he been derelict in his duty, my lord?”
“Not quite in the way you might think. I’ve heard he’s trying to start up a union. Is that true?”
Tyndale seemed shocked. “I couldn’t say, my lord. But other than you, and Mr. Stanhope, I fear I would be the last person he’d include in such plans.”
“So all seems as it’s always been at the colliery?”
“At the colliery, yes. But”—he paused before continuing—“there have been some surprising developments in Mr. Cutberth’s personal life.”
“What kind of developments?”
Again Tyndale jerked on the bottom of his waistcoat. He was attempting to straighten it, but he was too overweight to make it lie flat. “You haven’t heard?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Mrs. Cutberth came to the office last week, almost in hysterics. She had a pack of letters she claimed she found hidden amongst his belongings.”
“And what did those letters signify?”
“They must’ve been love letters of some sort because she accused him of… of being unfaithful.”
While he couldn’t admire a man who would betray his wife, Truman hardly felt as though he was in a position to judge, given that he was currently embroiled in a less-than-ideal situation himself. But he had never broken his marriage vows. At least he could say that. “Something gossipmongers would find interesting,” he said. “But what does Mr. Cutberth’s personal life have to do with me?”
Mr. Tyndale clasped his hands together. “That’s where it gets interesting, my lord. I couldn’t help hearing the name she screamed at him.”
“What name was that?”
“Jillian McTavish.”
Truman took the seat closest to his Fore-Overman. “You can’t mean Rachel’s mother.”
“That’s exactly who I mean.”
Jillian had always been pretty—almost as pretty as her daughter. Many had marveled that she’d wound up with Jack. Someone like Cutberth would’ve been a much better fit, except for the age difference. “She must’ve been eight or ten years older than Cutberth,” Truman said.
The Fore-Overman sighed. “Apparently that did not deter them.”
While he sat at dinner with Rachel, Truman wrestled with whether or not to tell her what Tyndale had shared about her mother. It was only hearsay, after all. Maybe he should keep his mouth shut and pray she never learned of it. She deserved to take her good memories of her mother with her to London, didn’t she?
On the other hand, this could explain the extra income she’d noticed. Maybe Cutberth had been using Rachel’s mother to convince Jack to set the fire, and she wound up blackmailing him when the affair ended. Or it was possible he’d really loved her and had been giving her money to help.
“You’re quiet this evening, my lord.” Rachel paused, fork in hand, to look up at him.
She was on his left. He’d had the dressmaker send another gown, this one burgundy and made from Rachel’s own measurements. It had arrived this afternoon and looked even more attractive on her than the one he’d allowed her to take from Katherine’s wardrobe.
“I’m not good company today. I apologize.”
“Is something wrong?”
He cradled his wine glass in his hand. “I’m concerned about the future.”
“Shouldn’t your marriage resolve at least some of that concern?”
“I wasn’t talking about my future.” He was tempted to set her up in a house in London, where he could visit whenever he liked. But he’d never been an adulterer and knew he wouldn’t be able to respect himself if he became one. His wife would deserve better than that. Rachel too. At the very least she deserved marriage to a man who could live with her and openly love her. A man who would be a full-time father to her children.