He blinked hard, feeling suddenly and overwhelmingly weary. Once the men were lowered, though, he told himself, everything became easy, almost monotonous, and he could hand over to one of his team. He would join Burrell on the checks, remind the man who was boss here.
His mind wandered to Ned and how he could set the record straight with his friend. And naturally his thoughts drifted to Iris and the news that something odd was going on at their house. Come to think of it, the nine o’clock wink that irritated Jack no end hadn’t occurred tonight. That certainly was strange.
There was a sickening crunch as all the machinery sputtered. A jarring shudder ran through the great wheel. Jack felt it through the levers, through his gloves. In that split second he felt like he’d been catapulted back years in time to a wintry morning in Penzance. He held his breath as shock ripped through him; he glanced out at the wheel and it was intact, cables still shivering from whatever the impact was.
He had the presence of mind to hit the brakes and shut down the engines to an idle. Jack’s mind felt blurry. He was expecting shattered machinery but everything was intact as far as he could tell.
Burrell came hurtling into the winding room yelling and Jack could hear Marty screaming from the shaft’s entrance. The bell was jangling overhead and a telephone was clanging angrily nearby.
But it was Babu who was pointing, his eyes wide with fright, moustache twitching as he urged his boss. ‘The dial, Master Bryant, sir. The dial.’ He kept jabbing a thin finger at the depth dial.
Jack’s eyes flashed upwards, his gaze dragged fearfully to the dial that told him much too clearly that the men had been lowered to a depth of nine thousand feet.
Nine thousand.
Too deep!
Men were trapped in cages that were firmly locked from the outside, having been lowered to the floor of the shaft where deep pools of water naturally gathered.
‘They’re drowning!’ Burrell howled, leaping onto the platform. ‘The pumps are compromised, remember?’
‘What?’ Jack said, befuddled and slow.
‘Raise them!’ Powell screamed, newly arrived, white as a sheet with fright.
Around him was a familiar sound of pandemonium and Jack uncharacteristically stood back in a daze of shock. Powell pushed him aside and took control of the winding machine, instantly throwing the lift machinery into reverse, dragging the cage out of the water. But it had been over three minutes.
The siren sounded – a different tone this time – the one every woman in KGF dreaded hearing.
And then Burrell was at his side. ‘Get out of here, Jack!’ he growled. ‘Go and sober up somewhere.’
‘Sober?’ Jack repeated, sounding confused.
‘I smelled it on you earlier. I was a fucking fool. Now they’ll blame you!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Get out!’ Burrell hustled him from the engine room.
Jack wanted to fight back but all the fight had suddenly gone out of him; he could already hear the shrieks and screams. He knew what came next.
He wasn’t given a chance to think. Burrell bundled him into one of the mine’s vans and gave orders to an Indian to take Master Bryant back to his house. Jack wanted to say something but nothing was coming out of his mouth.
All he could see was his father’s face, gloomily shaking his head in disappointment at his son. In the back of the van Jack finally broke. He crumpled in on himself and drew deep, silent, heaving breaths as his emotional dams burst and his sorrows erupted for the men who had surely perished on his watch, for Ned and Iris, for Kanakammal, for the shame of what his child would now grow up knowing about him, and ultimately … and always … for the father he had never managed to live up to.
Kanakammal heard the long siren and her heart skipped a beat. She should hurry up the hill, to join the other wives and mothers, sisters and aunts, who would be panicking, trying to get to the mine shaft quickly, as though by physically being closer, they could save their men.
But somehow she knew she was not required this time. Jack was not below the earth. He was here, being brought home in a van, waving away help and tumbling out of the passenger seat. She could see he was in deep shock.
She steeled herself for what was to come, and waited for him to mount the steps to the verandah. He fell into her arms and wept like a child. There was nothing to do except hold him until this wave of desolation passed.
She couldn’t tell him about Ned; she had trouble enough believing it herself. She’d gone to her father’s shop and found the Sinclairs’ chokra boy. He’d been dismissed by Mr Rupert Walker and told he’d no longer be required. Mr Walker had paid him and given him some extra money, and let slip that the master and madam were not coming back to their house. That was all the boy knew. Kanakammal had walked down the main street to find out more. She passed one of the orderlies from the hospital.
‘A man was killed today. A terrible accident. He was electrocuted,’ her friend had said in Tamil, wide-eyed.
‘Do you know who?’
‘He was married to Dr Walker’s daughter.’ She waggled her head. ‘Poor Dr Walker.’
Kanakammal stared at her friend. It wasn’t her fault that she had stated the facts so baldly; she couldn’t know that Kanakammal knew Ned Sinclair personally.
The pain and shock had caught in her throat and she’d had to excuse herself. She’d run all the way back home and then stood in the middle of the back garden, hugging herself, as if she were cold. Monkeys running up and down in the trees called down, hoping she might throw some fruit scraps to them, but Kanakammal was heedless to their pleas.
No, she would not be telling Jack the news of Ned just yet. For now it seemed he had enough agony to deal with.
‘I don’t understand,’ he groaned, as they separated and walked into the house. ‘I did everything right.’
Almost immediately, they heard a car pull up outside. Kanakammal stood and craned her neck. ‘It’s the mine people,’ she said, feeling a rising anxiety. She went to the door and let the men in. Even though she still had no idea what had happened, it was obvious it was traumatic. Both men were from Britain; a Scot she had met once before in passing with Jack, and an Englishman she didn’t know. She pointed to the front room and hovered at the door when they’d gone inside.
‘Jack,’ the Scot said. ‘How are you, lad?’
Jack stood. He appeared sober but his eyes still looked dazed.
‘I’m devastated, Mr Mackenzie. I … I would have stayed and helped but Stan Burrell —’
‘Did the right thing in sending you home,’ the other man said.
‘Mr Johns, I don’t know what to say or think. It wasn’t my fault.’
Johns nodded but Kanakammal sensed it was just a way of shutting Jack up. He wasn’t agreeing; he was simply humouring him. She walked into the room and stood beside Jack.
‘This is my wife, Elizabeth.’
‘Your wife?’ Johns said, unable to mask his surprise. Then he checked himself, giving a half-hearted bow to her.
Mackenzie was far more polite. ‘Mrs Bryant.’
‘Perhaps your wife,’ Johns said, adding a slight emphasis on the last word, ‘could make some tea?’
She knew he was trying to get rid of her. She also knew he assumed she didn’t understand English. ‘Do you take it with milk or lemon, Mr Johns?’ she said.
He threw her an acid glance. ‘It doesn’t really matter, Mrs Bryant. We’d like to talk to your husband alone.’
Jack stared at the men. He felt as if his thoughts were trying to stay afloat in a stormy sea but were losing the fight. There was such a sense of drowning; his sorrows combined with his anxiety and conspired with a weighty fatigue to drag him deeper.
Johns was fairly new to KGF; recently out from head office and full of eagerness and stiff-upper-lip briskness. In any other circumstances Jack would have slung the man out on his ear – senior or not – for the way Johns had sneered at his wife. But this was no ordinary nigh
t and he had looked at Elizabeth and given a small nod. She went without another word, although she threw a glance of encouragement back at him before she disappeared.
‘You have a beautiful wife, Jack,’ Mackenzie said.
‘Thank you, sir.’
Mackenzie was the executive engineer at the mines and liked by everyone.
‘All right, Bryant. There’s no way we can sweeten this for you so I’m going to tell you exactly what we’re up against,’ Johns said, taking a seat without being asked.
Jack gestured to Mack. He was terrified; there would be no good news.
‘We have seventeen confirmed dead.’
Jack leaned forward, his head in his hands, and began to deep breathe. It was either that or throw up.
‘We have another two who are likely brain dead.’ Johns continued without mercy. ‘You not only lowered them to the maximum depth, Bryant, but straight into ten feet of water in a locked cage. All thirteen men in that bottom layer perished.’
‘Mack,’ Jack appealed, his voice tight with shock. His breathing had taken on a shallow rasp. ‘I don’t know what happened. Everything was normal.’
‘Not everything, Bryant,’ Johns said viciously, before his colleague could respond. ‘There’s talk you showed up for your shift under the weather, as they say.’
Jack looked up now. Mack was eyeing him with genuine sympathy but Johns’ eyes were burning with intensity.
‘What does that mean?’ Jack asked.
‘Several of the men saw you yawning. One is prepared to go on record that you’d been drinking.’
‘Find me a miner who doesn’t drink in this town, Mr Johns.’ It was not the right approach.
‘But you are not a miner, Mr Bryant. You are the senior engineer at Top Reef mine. The mine took a risk with you and it seems that faith was misplaced.’
Jack stood, his hands balled into fists. He hoped he didn’t sway.
‘Sit down, Jack,’ Mack said softly but firmly. Jack obeyed. ‘The fact is it doesn’t matter what the reasons are. We’re now concerned for your safety.’
Jack frowned.
‘Yes, and the company is responsible for it,’ Johns added, looking sour. ‘These deaths come hot on the heels of the dreadful business at William’s Shaft. A lot of Indians died down there and now another load at Top Reef. There’s a bad mood brewing, Bryant. The local workers are constantly griping about safety and equipment, but this is going to make them militant. This time only Indians died.’
Mack got to the real point. ‘The thing is, Jack, if they get wind that one of the Brits wasn’t on his game, they aren’t going to be reasonable. Hell, lad, they’ll tear you limb from limb.’
Jack looked between the two men. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Deadly,’ Johns said. ‘You’re not safe.’
‘But I didn’t —’
‘It doesn’t matter, Jack,’ Mack said softly. ‘They want to blame someone. They’ll blame the man operating the winder. I can’t tell you how ugly the mood is. We don’t have long.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
Johns impaled him with a hard look. ‘We get you out tonight – immediately.’
‘Out? Where?’
‘I’ll drive you to Bangalore. From there we’ll arrange passage home for —’
‘Wait. Leave India? No, I —’
‘Mr Bryant. The company is not asking you, it is telling you. It’s in your contract. There are no ifs and buts. The company has the right – and particularly in these circumstances to safeguard your life – to remove you from India, back to your place of origin.’
Mack moved to sit next to Jack, put an arm around his shoulder. ‘Mr Johns is right. It’s written into all our contracts. Any sign of trouble and they send us back.’
Jack shook his head. ‘The Indian workers —’
This time Mack interrupted him. ‘Times are changing, lad. India’s changing. These aren’t the meek village folk of ten years back. The push for independence from the Crown is gaining momentum. Have you heard about this fellow Ghandi?’
Jack shook his head, his mind spinning too hard with the notion of leaving KGF to worry about politics.
‘Right now, if there is any way that the Indians can strike back at the British they will. These two accidents in such a short time could be a catalyst for a much bigger uprising. I’m not saying getting you out can stop the inevitable, but —’
Johns cut across Mack’s words. ‘The company does not want your blood on its hands, Mr Bryant. Do you understand? It wants no further responsibility for you. It will see you back to Britain and it will not require your services again … anywhere. Now, you have ten minutes to grab a few things. Time is of the essence.’
Jack felt his world collapsing in on itself. They were serious. He would be gone tonight. They believed he had killed those men through negligence. A voice at the back of his mind, sounding a lot like Stan Burrell, agreed. Kanakammal had begged him not to go to work; she’d known, and deep down so had he, that too much had happened today, and too much liquor had been consumed. Seventeen men dead on his watch, in his cage, dead because he had failed to pay attention to the depth dial. The depth dial – the lynchpin of a winder’s existence! He should have listened to Elizabeth.
His voice was forlorn and desperate when it came. ‘My wife …’
Johns shook his head. ‘Just you, Bryant. You can send for your wife. She is safe. She’s Indian.’ Perhaps he tried not to smirk but Jack saw it all the same.
Mack must have caught it too. ‘Come on, Jack. Let’s move. Grab some clothes, shaving gear … just throw a few things into a suitcase and I’ll get you to Bangalore. Do you know anyone there?’
Jack rubbed his face, dismayed, confused. ‘Yes, yes. Henry Berry. He works for the government.’
‘Good. He can get you on a ship home.’ He bundled Jack towards the bedroom, where Kanakammal had been listening.
‘Elizabeth,’ Jack began.
‘Just go,’ she said. ‘Be safe first. Mr Mackenzie is protecting you. The people won’t listen to reason tonight.’ She stood up and started gathering Jack’s belongings together into a leather holdall.
Mackenzie stood by awkwardly. ‘We’ll send the rest, I promise. Just take what you need for a journey.’
Within a few minutes Kanakammal had him packed.
‘Come with me,’ Jack said. His offer sounded hollow and meaningless. They both knew it was impossible.
‘I cannot,’ she said.
‘Then I’ll come back for you when this has blown over.’
She nodded, eyes lowered.
Mack grabbed the holdall and Jack’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’
It was Johns who sounded the alarm. ‘I hear them. Hurry!’
Sure enough, they could hear the angry murmur of excited voices like a wave, coming down the hill.
‘Jack,’ Kanakammal began, so many things still needing to be said.
He broke free of Mack’s grip and grabbed her, hugging her hard. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’ His eyes were watery.
‘I know,’ she said, and kissed him softly. ‘Naan wooni nasikiran.’
Jack didn’t need any translation. ‘I love you too, Kanakammal,’ he said, surprising himself, because he meant it with all his heart. A pain stabbed in his chest as he realised they might never see each other again.
Kanakammal knew it too.
‘Then no distance will change that,’ she said in English, and she gave him a pure sweet smile that felt like the sun warming his cold, fearful heart.
The first lamps of the mob appeared on the hillside.
Johns was already in the car. ‘Mr Bryant, I cannot protect you a moment longer!’
‘In the car, Jack,’ Mack ordered. He turned to Kanakammal. ‘I’m sorry. We’ll get word to you.’
She nodded at him and then at Jack, her hand absently held against her belly.
And then they were gone, Mack gunning the engine, lights switched
off so they could make their getaway, stealing away in the darkness that felt as black as Jack’s heart.
Minutes later, still stunned and unable to say much, Jack noticed they were driving into Oorgaum. He leaned forward to tap Mack’s shoulder.
‘I need to let Ned Sinclair know I’m going,’ he said.
Johns didn’t slow.
‘Mack, please, you’ve got to let me say goodbye. Ned is —’
Johns turned. ‘Edward Sinclair is —’ but he didn’t finish because Mack gave him an intimidating glare that said plenty.
‘The Sinclairs aren’t at home, Jack,’ Mack said gently.
Jack hadn’t missed the glare or the tension that had flared at the mention of Ned’s name. Something was badly wrong – he knew it.
‘Then I’ll speak to the Walkers!’ He reached for the handle, opened the car door and tumbled out, rolling once in the dust. The car hadn’t been travelling fast so he was on his feet by the time Johns had braked to a halt and running towards Harold’s house, which seemed to have every light blazing, despite the hour.
He looked behind him as he banged on the door. Mack was walking up the gravel drive slowly, a pained look on his face that Jack could just make out in the glow cast out from the house. Johns reversed to idle the car outside the Walkers’ gate. The Christmas lights were not switched on and there was an eerie silence surrounding a house that looked to be wide awake.
He banged solidly again and the door was pulled open before he’d finished. ‘Sabu.’
‘Mr Bryant, sir. This is not a happy time for calling.’
Jack frowned. ‘Is Ned here?’
Harold Walker emerged from the depths of the house and to Jack’s eyes it seemed as though the man had aged a decade.
‘Dr Walker!’ Jack called.
Rupert followed behind on his crutches.
‘Jack,’ Walker said and shook his head. ‘Please go away.’
‘What’s going on? Something’s wrong and no one’s telling me. Is it the baby? Is Iris …’
Fields of Gold Page 48
