Kitty came to tea shortly after Georgiana’s departure. The two sisters had never been close in the intimate way that Lizzie and Jane had been. But, since her marriage to the Rector at Pemberley, Kitty had matured remarkably and, having developed a pleasing sense of humour, she was at least a more interesting companion to her sister. Though she would never be as deeply loved as Jane or Georgiana, Kitty was more than welcome at Pemberley.
The work that Kitty and her husband had undertaken with the children’s choir, which was now a permanent feature of the community, and their dedication to the Parish school they ran for the children of the Pemberley and Camden estates had earned them a special place in Elizabeth’s heart. On this occasion, Kitty brought much news from Hertfordshire and especially from Longbourn and Meryton.
Jane was spending the day at Pemberley with Elizabeth while their husbands were attending a cricket match in Derby. The sisters had much to talk about. Jane wanted to know how Maria and her family had settled in at Haye Park, while Lizzie was interested to hear of Charlotte and Mary, and of course everyone wanted to know if Kitty had seen anything of the Wickhams!
“Now Kitty, you must tell us everything,” said Elizabeth.
As for Kitty, she was very keen to tell her sisters all she knew and more! Jane could hardly wait for the maid and footman to leave the room before demanding to know whether Kitty had been to the house in Meryton that Lydia and Wickham occupied.
“Amelia-Jane tells me it is a large and rambling place with an untidy garden. Surely this cannot be true?” she asked.
“Indeed, it is, and situated just a mile or so outside Meryton, down a very poor sort of road,” replied Kitty. “We were asked to tea one afternoon, and Lydia had all this food prepared and laid out on tables on the lawn, but the surroundings were so unkempt that we were continually attacked by Summer gnats and midges, so that Maria and I had to retreat indoors. The children didn’t seem to mind, though I was glad my girls had elected to stay at Longbourn with Mary and Charlotte. They would not have enjoyed it, I am sure.” Kitty continued with an unflattering description of her sister’s household, which she declared was “without doubt the most disorganised I have ever seen.
“I swear, Lizzie, if it were not for poor overworked Mrs Brown, who looks after anything and everything that needs looking after—including Lydia’s youngest, the naughtiest little boy I have ever met—the household would be a complete muddle.”
Neither Elizabeth nor Jane were surprised. Lydia had been so totally spoilt by their mother that she had never shown any interest in learning to run a household, much less to cook or sew. Having been married at a very young age, and before any of her sisters, she had continued to follow a path of self-indulgence and irresponsibility, letting her children grow up as they wished, making no attempt to influence their upbringing. A similar lack of interest appeared to prevail on the part of their father.
Kitty, accustomed to the care and concern of her own husband, found this to be quite reprehensible and said so. “Wickham just does not seem to have any interest in the children at all,” she said, “and Lydia seems not to have made an effort to change him in any way. He is much as he was all those years ago.”
Jane seemed exasperated, but Elizabeth showed little emotion. “Nothing you have said surprises me, Kitty. Lydia’s mind was only ever fixed on fun, flirtation, and falling in love—whatever that meant to her silly way of thinking. As we all knew, Wickham had no thought of marriage when he eloped with her; it was only accomplished thanks to our dear Uncle Gardiner and Mr Darcy. Had they not been assiduous in their efforts to trace them and insist upon their marriage—to the extent of bribing Wickham to marry Lydia—there is no knowing to what depths she may have sunk when he abandoned her, as he surely would have done when he had tired of her.”
The seriousness of Elizabeth’s words reminded them of the dreadful circumstances they had lived through on their errant sister’s account. None of them would forget, even though all three were perfectly happy and content today, how close Lydia had come to ruining all their lives. All three of them owed much of their present happiness and good fortune to the generosity and magnanimity of Mr Darcy.
They fell silent for a while, until Jane decided to lighten the conversation with a question about Mary and Charlotte at Longbourn. She knew Kitty had spent some time with them and was eager for news. “How do they get on?” she asked. “Jonathan seems to think they are very content together.”
Kitty agreed. “Indeed, they are. I could see no sign of any trouble between them. Charlotte seems pleased to have a home at Longbourn, and in view of her sister-in-law’s most uncharitable attitude, she is probably very happy with Mary. She certainly runs the household well. They have a very good cook, and since dear old Hill passed away, there has been only the one maid and Mrs Binns. Charlotte has her own maid, of course, a very proper young woman from Mansfield, who has been schooled to read and write. They seem to manage very well indeed.”
“I am very glad for Mary’s sake; Charlotte is interested in everything that goes on in the world, and she will keep Mary alert and informed, I am sure.” Elizabeth was certain the association could only benefit Mary, who had overcome some, but not all, of her dullness of mind.
Kitty could only agree. “I am sure you are right, Lizzie. Mary seems very happy with her pupils. She has gained quite a reputation as a music teacher. Maria tells me she sent her own girls to her until they moved to Haye Park.”
“And do they have a visiting tutor now?” asked Jane.
Kitty laughed, “Of course they do. They are both very proper young ladies and have different tutors for music, drawing, and French!” Seeing Jane’s incredulous expression, she added, “Can you imagine us at Longbourn with tutors for everything and a dancing master?”
“A dancing master?” the sisters exclaimed, and all three dissolved into laughter at the idea, recalling the days when the five Bennet girls were all out, not a tutor or a governess in sight, much to the annoyance of some of their neighbours and the disapproval of no less a personage than Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Lizzie, who was still an excellent mimic, provided her sisters with a perfect rendition of Her Ladyship’s censorious comments, delivered at Rosings. “What? Five daughters brought up without a governess? I never heard of such a thing! Who taught you? Who attended you? You must have been grievously neglected!”
“Oh Lizzie, you have her down to a T,” said Jane, who had a vivid recollection of Elizabeth’s original recital of Her Ladyship’s outrage. Having subsequently met her at Pemberley on a few memorable occasions, Jane could vouch for its accuracy of tone and attitude.
They were still laughing when Jenny appeared at the door. The seriousness of her expression stopped their laughter. It was quite plain that something was amiss. “What is it, Jenny? What’s happened?” asked Elizabeth, rising and going to her side.
“If you please ma’am, John’s back, and there’s a message from the master,” Jenny replied. “There’s been an accident at one of the mines near Whitfield and they need help. The master is taking some of the men from Kympton and Mr Forrester. John is to get some of our lads together, take some blankets, rugs, and things, and go out there. John says they may be there awhile, ma’am.”
While she was speaking, Jane and Kitty had joined them, eager to discover what had happened and what was known about the accident. When Elizabeth went downstairs, they followed her.
John, who was in the kitchen having a cup of tea, sprang to his feet as Mrs Darcy and her two sisters came in with his wife, Jenny. He looked so tired and distressed that Elizabeth ordered him to sit down at once and finish his tea. Though determined to obtain more information, she decided she would wait until he had finished.
While they were waiting, a man from the Camden estate arrived to inform them that a roof cave-in had occurred in one of the older pits, and several miners were trapped underground. Mr Wi
lliam Camden and his son had already left, taking a couple of farm hands with them to help.
Elizabeth, Jane, and Kitty looked at each other. “There must be something we can do,” said Jane. “We cannot just stay here while everyone is out there helping in some way.”
John had joined them and added his voice to hers. “If you please, ma’am, I think the master hoped you and Mrs Bingley could get to the hospital and join the others who will be waiting to attend on the men and boys who are brought out. There is no county hospital anywhere near the mine; the nearest is over in Newcastle under Lyme,” he explained, pointing out that at least some of the injured miners might have to be transported to Littleford or Matlock.
“Do you know whether Dr Gardiner is aware of what has happened?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, ma’am, we stopped at his house and the master went in and told him and Miss Cassandra. He was going at once with Mr Ward who was also at the house. They thought we might need more medical supplies at the mine. Mr Forrester has also taken some supplies with him.”
“Has Mrs Forrester gone, too?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes ma’am, and Mrs Courtney.” It was plain that John was eager to be gone, and Elizabeth asked only that one of the smaller carriages be readied for them.
While they were preparing to leave, Kitty’s husband, having heard rumours in the village, arrived and was distressed to discover that it was indeed true. He declared his intention to go with John to the mine in case his services were required.
Kitty agreed to go with her sisters to the hospital to prepare for the injured who may be brought in. Within the hour, they were ready and on their way to Littleford, where they found a number of volunteers waiting to be taken to the mine. Alighting from their carriage, Elizabeth, Jane, and Kitty urged them to use their vehicle, and to their surprise, two young women, who were waiting with medical kits at the ready, climbed in with alacrity and were gone in a trice. They were part of the enthusiastic group who, inspired by the work of Florence Nightingale in the war, had been training for several months with Miss Louisa Bingley, they said.
Elizabeth and her sisters went into the building to begin the long wait for the casualties, who would surely arrive sooner or later.
The mine was situated southeast of Whitfield on an old coalfield that straddled the border between the two counties. Over the last fifty years several new pits had been opened, as coal became the mainstay of the industries that had been established here. Like the potteries all over Staffordshire, these coalmines had spawned small towns with grimy rows of cottages accommodating hundreds of families, who had moved here in search of work. Many of the men and boys went down the pits while the pottery works employed others, including women and girls. Hundreds of the pottery works produced the crate loads of chinaware that Britain exported to the world. Accidents in the mines and factories were not rare, and most communities had taken their share of pain, but a pit collapse was quite another matter.
When they reached the site of the accident, Isabella was struck by the silence, for there was quite a large crowd present. A small knot of men stood close to the entrance to the pit. Further away, on a hill slope, a larger crowd waited quietly, concerned folk from the villages around the coalfield. A few old men, women, and children predominated. Some had obviously come direct from the pottery works or the warehouses—a fine greyish dust lay all over them, the dust that hung in the air around the potteries where the clay was pulverised, ground, sifted, mixed, and moulded into shape. The dust covered their clothes and hair, making even the young women seem old.
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Isabella noticed that the miners, standing by the pit were similarly covered in dust, black coal dust, which seemed to be ingrained in their pale skin. Yet they hardly seemed to notice it, so accustomed had these men become to it; they must breathe it in and eat it with their food, she thought, grimacing slightly. Later, Henry would explain to her that many of them died of it, too, as it filled their lungs, causing a dreadful respiratory disease.
The miners who had managed to struggle out of the pit were already being helped—large mugs of soup, slabs of bread and cheese, and cups of tea were being handed around. It was plain that people had come quickly to do whatever they could to help. Even as they watched, more groups of people were arriving—from Newchapel, Tunstall, Burslem, and Hanley—even as far away as Stoke on Trent, where the news had spread earlier that day; they came eager to help.
Teams of men were digging out the rubble, clearing a path for rescuers to use to bring out those who had been trapped by the cave-in. Some of the miners, who had not been on the shift, had come back to dig their mates out. No one seemed to know how many were trapped underground.
A few boys, looking stunned and shaken, sat in the dirt by the side of the road. Isabella began to organise their removal to a more suitable place—the church in the meadow opposite was the only possibility. Dr Jenkins had obtained permission to use the small hall adjoining the church and helped her take the boys over.
The women had brought hot soup and bread for the rescue workers as well as the rescued, and others had supplies of a more potent brew for those who needed it. Indeed, as they waited, some, who could bear the suspense no longer, had imbibed already, and were a little the worse for wear.
As they started to bring them out, Richard and Henry went at once to the mouth of the pit. Some were only bruised and shaken, covered from head to foot in coal dust, while others, injured and obviously in pain, seemed unable to comprehend what had happened, surprised that they were alive. Richard began to examine them quickly, taking those who needed immediate treatment aside into a makeshift surgery, dispatching others to the church hall for further examination.
The women worked as hard as the men, fetching, carrying, and caring for the injured. Isabella worked with them, oblivious of the dirt and grime. Suddenly, after about an hour, during which about twenty men and boys had been brought out from the mine, there was silence.
No one spoke or moved. Isabella was cleaning the cuts and bruises on a lad who had been brought out earlier. “What is it?” she asked. “Why have they all gone quiet?”
The boy spoke in a whisper. “They’re listening ma’am. They’re trying to hear if anyone is still alive beyond the fall in the tunnel.”
“You mean they could all be dead in there?” she asked, her eyes wide with alarm.
The boy nodded. “Unless they hear tapping or someone calling out,” he said ominously.
Isabella ran across to where Henry stood with Richard. “Are there still men and boys trapped in there?” she asked desperately.
Henry Forrester put an arm around his wife; she was trembling. “Yes, dearest, we are trying to discover if they are still alive. Once we know they are, we shall have to try to get them out.”
“How will you do that?” she asked, very quietly.
“We shall have to go in and dig them out,” Henry replied in a very matter-of-fact voice.
Isabella said nothing. If she had understood him correctly, Henry was calmly proposing to go down the mine himself.
She felt cold and ill. As she stood with his arm still around her, two of the rescuers emerged from the cage, their faces pitch black with coal dust and streaked with sweat.
The others gathered around them, anxious, eager to hear what they had found. “It’s not good news, sir,” one of them said as the other, his face crumpling with emotion and weariness, turned away. “We think at least four of them are dead; one’s just a lad. But there’s two more a little distance from the main group—they seem to be injured and their voices are very feeble, but they are alive.”
“Can they be moved?” asked Richard.
“No, sir, not until we dig around them and make room. We have to mind what we do, or we might bring the rest of the roof down as well,” he warned.
While they pondered how they might rescue th
e two who were alive, a third man emerged to declare that five were definitely dead and two were injured but still alive.
“They’re father and son, sir, Jack Higgins and his boy Johnny. They work together,” he said. “Jack’s trapped; a piece of the roof has fallen on his leg, he cannot move, he is cold and numb, lying there all this time, and the boy can move, but he won’t leave his father.”
Matthew Ward stepped up. “Let me go down to him, I’ll take him some brandy and a blanket and stay with him until they dig him out,” he said.
As Matthew prepared to go in, Henry turned to his wife. “Bella, I must go down with Matthew. If this man is trapped, he may need surgery, and I will have to do it. It may be the only way to save his life. I want you to wait here with Emily and Richard and have everything ready to transport him and his son to Littleford. If I have to amputate, we will need to get him to hospital at once.” Seeing fear in her eyes as he spoke, he added quickly, “Bella, you will be strong for me, will you not?”
Isabella nodded as he left her to join the rest of the men. Matthew had prepared a bag and a litter to be taken down and two of the miners led the way with lamps.
There was still plenty of light in the sky, but it had started to rain very gently but ominously, because with rain came the danger of flooding in the pits. Emily held Isabella’s hand as they waited. The women and children across the way seemed to press closer, anxious for news. None came for what seemed like an eternity.
The owners of the pits were largely unknown to the men and women who worked there. They were generally investors who lived in Birmingham or London, leaving the running of the mines to managers. Two of them had arrived and left early after an initial inspection, showing very little concern for the feelings of the anxious people waiting for news. It appeared their chief concern was the fact that the mine would be closed for some time, a fact they would need to report to their employers. Richard was appalled at their apparent callousness.
The Women of Pemberley Page 25
