‘I heard them talking, while I were waiting in the workroom to get my leg seen to. Mr Maskell tried to tell him not to, but Mr Shepherd were most insistent he should go.’
‘He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t …’ Carrie stared past Archie into the pit yard. Pools of lamplight illuminated figures going back and forth.
He wouldn’t go down there. He was too afraid. Unless …
Unless he thought he was doing it for her.
‘He’ll be all right, Carrie.’ She felt Nancy’s hand on her shoulder. Now it was her turn to be the comforter. ‘He won’t be in any danger. He’s the pit manager,’ she added.
Carrie stared at her blankly. What was she talking about? As if being the manager would somehow shield James from danger! Would his smart suit save him from a crumbling roof and falling rocks?
She wanted to shake Nancy, shout at her for being so stupid. But then she saw her friend’s kind, open face and realised she was only trying to help, as Carrie had just done for her.
‘Carrie?’
She turned around, her heart lifting with relief at the sight of her mother and sisters.
‘What are you doing here?’
Kathleen Wardle frowned at the question. ‘Where else would we be? We can’t stop at home at a time like this.’
Carrie fought the urge to hug her mother. She looked more frail than Carrie had ever seen her, and some of her indomitable spirit had died with her husband. But at least she was here.
‘James is down with the injured men,’ Carrie blurted out.
Her mother’s face creased in a frown. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ But it was a lie. Carrie knew very well what had driven her husband to put his life in danger.
And if he died, it would be her fault.
‘I’m going to find out what’s going on,’ Eliza said, slipping away from them into the crowd.
Kathleen Wardle laid her hand on Carrie’s arm. ‘It will be all right,’ she said.
‘I know.’ Carrie smiled back. But she didn’t mean it, any more than her mother meant what she had said.
Eliza returned a few minutes later with news that more injured men were being brought up to the surface through the drift mine, but at least one had already died.
Panic seized her like a fist in her chest, twisting her heart. Her mother asked the question that she daren’t.
‘Who is it?’
‘Reg Willis.’
‘Oh, no, poor Reg. And poor Ida.’
Carrie was silent, hating herself for the relief she felt. Somewhere in the crowd, Ida Willis’ world had collapsed around her. She thought about their daughter, her friend Betty, always laughing and smiling behind her counter at the Co-op. The poor girl would be devastated.
They stood for a long time, waiting for more news, but none came.
‘You should go home and rest,’ her mother said. ‘You’re doing thysen no good standing here.’
Carrie shook her head. ‘You can go, if you like. I’m stopping here.’
‘I’ll stay with her,’ Eliza said.
‘And me.’ Hattie turned to their youngest sister. ‘Gert, you go home with Mother. We’ll stay with our Carrie.’
‘Aye.’ Kathleen Wardle nodded. ‘Come on, Gertie. Look after her, won’t you?’ she said to her daughters.
Carrie was grateful to her sisters for rallying round her as the long hours of the night stretched on. They found a spot close to the pit gates, and spread out their coats to sit on. They huddled together against the chill of the night and for a while they talked, making conversation about nothing, until Eliza and Hattie both drifted off to sleep, one on either side of Carrie, their heads lolling on her shoulders.
But Carrie stayed awake, keeping a lonely vigil, her gaze fixed on the yard. Every time there was a movement at the pit head she jerked upright to look.
Gradually, more men emerged from the workshop, nursing bandaged wounds, all with a story to tell. Carrie watched as they greeted their loved ones, so joyful to see each other again. Then they headed home, their arms around each other, and the other people at the gates huddled closer, watching and waiting for news.
And all the time, the rumours kept circulating. There had been another rock fall, more men were trapped, one was dead and then he wasn’t …
Gradually, the sky turned an opaque indigo colour, heralding dawn. Thin threads of pink light had begun to appear on the horizon when Eliza stirred.
‘What time is it?’ She stretched and yawned.
‘I don’t know.’ Carrie had stopped counting the hours a long time ago.
Eliza looked around. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘They all went home.’ Now they were alone, sitting on the cobbles by the pit gates. The last person to emerge had been Hannah Arkwright. She had come through the gates shortly before dawn, nodded to Carrie and headed off down the lane.
‘Is there any news?’
‘Not yet.’
Hattie woke up shivering. ‘I’m cold.’
‘Perhaps we should go home?’ Eliza ventured.
Carrie shook her head. ‘I in’t going anywhere.’
‘But Carrie—’
‘I said, I in’t going!’ Carrie turned on her. ‘Not until I’ve seen him with my own eyes.’
She caught the worried glance that passed between Eliza and Hattie. ‘You go, if you want,’ she said, more gently. ‘But I can’t leave, not now.’
Footsteps approached, coming up the cobbled lane from the rows. Carrie looked round to see Hannah Arkwright marching up the lane, huddled in her old overcoat, a flask in her hands.
She approached them. ‘I thought you might be in need of this?’
Carrie stared dumbly at the flask she held out to her, too befuddled by weariness to understand what was being said to her.
‘It’s tea,’ Hannah said shortly. ‘Don’t worry, I in’t trying to poison thee.’
‘Thank you.’ Carrie took the flask from her. ‘I’m very grateful.’
Hannah shrugged. She looked embarrassed by her own kind gesture. ‘It’s only tea.’
Eliza took the flask from Carrie and poured the tea for her. Carrie wrapped her hands around the cup, feeling the warmth seeping into her chilly fingers.
‘No news, then?’ Hannah nodded grimly towards the gates.
‘Nay.’
The woman hesitated. ‘Seth’s down there,’ she said. ‘And t’nurse. And your mester.’ She looked sideways at Carrie. ‘They went to help another one who was trapped further down the seam, but the roof caved in and blocked the way back out. They’re down there clearing the way now, trying to get to them.’
She didn’t attempt to console Carrie, who was oddly grateful for that. She was tired of listening to people telling her that everything would be all right, and that they would get everyone out safely. Carrie knew they were only trying to be kind, but she didn’t need false hope.
But Hannah knew the truth. It was written there, in her bleak expression. She knew as well as Carrie did that the longer they were down there, the less chance there would be of anyone coming out of the pit alive.
And so she and Hannah stood, side by side in silence at the gates, and watched. Carrie felt reassured by the other woman’s tall, solid presence beside her. Hannah was an odd one to be sure, but somewhere inside her she had a heart.
And her heart was breaking, just as Carrie’s was.
Dawn light flooded the sky, flushing the yard with a soft pinkish-purple colour.
‘Why don’t you go home?’ Carrie said, turning to Hattie, who leaned against the fence, her eyes half closed, drooping with weariness. ‘You should be in bed, not—’
‘There’s someone coming out,’ Eliza interrupted, her gaze fixed beyond Carrie towards the pit head. ‘I can see a stretcher, look. And there’s more. One, two, three …’
Carrie and Hannah both swung round. Sure enough, men were emerging, carrying stretchers between them.
‘Who is it?’ Carrie heard Eliza saying. Her voice se
emed to be coming from a long way away, growing fainter every minute. ‘I can’t make them out from here.’
‘Nor me,’ Hannah said.
‘I think the second one’s a woman, but I can’t see James.’
The last stretcher appeared, shrouded in a tarpaulin canvas. The sight of it took away what was left of Carrie’s strength, and her legs crumpled from under her.
‘Carrie!’ she heard her sister scream. The last thing she remembered was Hannah’s strong arms around her as she sank to the floor.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Everyone reckoned Seth Stanhope should have died at the bottom of the pit.
The rocks that rained down should have shattered his bones and crushed him, just as they had poor Reg Willis and John Porter. But instead he had escaped with nothing more serious than a dislocated shoulder.
‘He must have the luck of the devil,’ they said.
And perhaps he had. Hannah had invoked every spell and incantation her mother had ever taught her as she kept vigil during that long, lonely night.
She was still keeping vigil now as she sat at his bedside in the cottage, watching him sleep. His poor, battered face was more bruised from the beating he had received earlier than it was from the rock fall.
At least the accident at the pit had put a stop to all that nonsense. All morning the other men had been calling at the cottage to see how Seth was and offer their thanks for what he had done. Suddenly he was a hero again in their eyes.
Hannah hadn’t allowed them over the doorstep, of course. She wasn’t touched by their humbleness or their contrition. Seth might be willing to forgive and forget in time, but she knew she never would.
He stirred restlessly in his sleep, his lips moving. Hannah watched him, drinking in every detail of his face: his strong jaw, the shape of his mouth, the delicate fringe of his eyelashes, the way his hair fell across his brow.
Without thinking, she put her hand out and touched his bare shoulder. His skin was surprisingly soft, compared to the hard, unyielding muscle beneath.
‘What …?’ He jerked at her touch, struggling to sit up before he was fully awake.
Hannah snatched her hand away. ‘It’s only me, Seth.’ He turned sharply to look at her, and she saw the remembered fear in his grey eyes and knew that for a moment he was back there, lost in the darkness and the swirl of choking dust.
Then the fight seemed to go out of him and he settled back against the pillows.
A stray lock of hair fell into his eyes. Hannah fought the urge to reach out and push it back.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
‘Like I’ve been put through a mangle.’ He winced in pain as he shifted his weight against the pillow.
‘Here, let me.’ Hannah reached over and adjusted the pillow for him. ‘You had quite a jolt. It’s bound to be painful.’
Seth looked past her towards the door. ‘Where are the children?’
‘They’re at school. Where else would they be at two o’clock in the afternoon?’
‘Two o’clock?’ He frowned. ‘Surely I’ve not been asleep all this time?’
‘Aye, and I’m not surprised. You were exhausted.’
‘I was sure I was awake.’ Seth’s eyes fluttered closed again. ‘I must have been dreaming.’
‘You were. And talking in your sleep, too.’
His eyes flashed open. ‘Was I? What did I say?’
‘I don’t know, I couldn’t make it out,’ she lied. She didn’t want to tell him he had been crying out Agnes’ name.
He was quiet for a long time, and Hannah could see him steeling himself, preparing to ask the question.
‘How are the others? John Porter? Did he—’
Hannah shook her head. ‘Dead before they got him to the hospital, poor lad. And Reg Willis, too. But Rob Chadwick’s alive, thanks to you and Mr Shepherd. You were heroes, the pair of you.’
‘Fools, more like,’ Seth said grimly. He looked at Hannah. ‘How is he – Mr Shepherd, I mean? He were right in front of me when the rocks came down. He took the worst of it.’
‘He’s in hospital.’ Hannah lowered her gaze, thinking of poor Carrie Shepherd, shivering at the pit gates all night. ‘But as to what will happen to him – I don’t know.’
Seth nodded, his face sombre. Once again, Hannah knew he was reliving those last dreadful moments in the pit, when he thought his life was going to end.
Then he said, ‘What about the nurse? Have you seen her?’
He made it sound like a casual question, but Hannah could see the intent in his eyes.
‘Nay, but I heard they’d taken her to the hospital. Just to be on the safe side,’ she added, seeing the panic on Seth’s face. ‘She’s all right, from what I can make out.’
He nodded. ‘That’s good, then. Y’know, she surprised me, when we were down that pit. Never lost her head, not even for a minute. She’s a tough one, that girl. Tougher than she looks.’
‘Aye, she is.’ Hannah pushed down the pang of jealousy she felt at the admiration in his voice. ‘Now, why don’t you get some more sleep? You’ll feel better for it.’
‘I don’t need any more sleep. It’s time I was up and about.’ He started to throw back the bedclothes, only to let out a sharp hiss as the pain caught him unawares.
‘You see? You in’t going anywhere till that shoulder’s healed, Seth Stanhope. Now settle down and get some rest.’
‘I told you, I don’t want to sleep!’
Hannah sighed. He was going to be a difficult patient, she could tell. ‘At least promise me you’ll stay in bed while I make you a nice cup of tea?’ she said.
‘If I must.’ Seth rolled his eyes. ‘Then I’m getting up.’
‘Just as you like.’
She took her time putting on the kettle and making the tea. By the time she returned with the tray, Seth was sound asleep again.
It was the middle of the afternoon before Agnes finally managed to convince the staff of the Leeds General Infirmary Casualty department that she was not suffering from concussion.
‘I told you, I’m really quite well,’ she insisted several times. But they refused to believe her, and insisted on putting her to rest in the Admissions ward for a few hours, so they could keep an eye on any developing symptoms.
Agnes could scarcely hide her irritation. She had always known how insufferable doctors could be when they thought they knew best, but she had never realised nurses could be just as bossy and overbearing. She made up her mind there and then that she would try to listen to her own patients more, instead of always believing herself to be right.
Finally the young doctor accepted that her pupils were not dilated, she had not been sick, nor did she have any headaches, dizziness or bleeding from her ears. She was also well enough to be able to scold him when he turned up to shine his torch in her eyes and ask her if she knew the name of the Prime Minister.
‘Yes, well, I think you can go home,’ he mumbled, blushing to his ears.
But Agnes had no intention of going straight home. Instead she went up to Male Surgical to visit Christopher Stanhope. It occurred to her that he might be wondering why he had had no visitors that day.
Naturally, he was worried when he heard about the accident, but Agnes was able to reassure him that his father was quite well.
‘I daresay he or your aunt will be in to see you as soon as they can,’ she said.
‘Thanks, Nurse.’ He grinned sheepishly at her, no doubt remembering how mercilessly he had teased her in the past. Strange how none of that seemed to matter now.
After she had finished visiting Christopher, Sister Surgical invited Agnes to her sitting room just off the ward for a cup of tea. They discussed the boy’s progress, which Sister was very pleased with, and then she asked about the accident at the pit.
‘I understand you were quite heroic, Miss Sheridan?’ she said.
‘I don’t know about that.’ Agnes thought about poor John Porter and Reg Willis, and how she
had followed as their bodies were brought to the surface, shrouded in old pieces of sacking.
She remembered Ruth Chadwick telling her a similar story about her brother when she had first come to the village, but it only struck Agnes now what a humiliating end it was for a proud miner.
She looked up at Sister Surgical. ‘May I ask how you know about the accident, Sister? I didn’t think the news would have spread all this way?’
Sister smiled and put down her cup. ‘Have you forgotten, Miss Sheridan, one of your Bowden men was admitted to my ward this morning?’
‘So he was.’ Agnes shook her head. How could she have forgotten that? Perhaps that young doctor was right and she was concussed, after all? ‘How is Mr Shepherd?’ she asked.
Sister’s expression clouded, and Agnes recognised the look she knew only too well from her days as a trainee at the Nightingale Hospital.
‘The operation was a success,’ Sister said, choosing her words carefully. ‘The surgeon managed to stop the internal haemorrhaging and stitch up the rupture in his abdomen, but his injuries were severe and he lost a great deal of blood …’ Her brow furrowed. ‘Of course we remain optimistic that he will make a full recovery, but the next few days will be critical for him.’
Agnes set down her cup. ‘May I see him, Sister?’
‘Of course, although I must warn you he still hasn’t fully come round after the operation. His wife is with him now. I’ve put him in room three, off the main ward. For peace and quiet,’ she said.
Agnes’ heart sank. The private rooms were generally given to patients who had little chance of recovery.
Carrie Shepherd sat at her husband’s bedside, clutching his hand above the white coverlet. She looked around sharply as Agnes opened the door, then her face relaxed.
‘Oh, Miss Sheridan, it’s you. I thought it might be one of the staff nurses, trying to chase me away again.’
‘How is he?’
‘He woke up a few hours ago, which they said was a good sign. But he’s been sleeping on and off all the time since then.’ Carrie looked up at her. ‘They said it was nothing to worry about, but I’m not so sure … what do you think, Nurse?’
Agnes looked down at James Shepherd. His face had the pale sheen of candle wax against the linen pillowcase.
District Nurse on Call Page 35
