by Mary Wood
‘Tell her it’s the only choice as you are about to offer her. Tell her you’d rather folk thought of you as a rat than marry her. I know – it goes against your nature – but there’s a lot at stake here, Will. Your whole life could be ruined by this.’
‘You’re reet there. Look, I’ll do it, but are you sure? What if you get saddled with her and you can’t stand her?’
‘Well then, I’ll get rid of her once the situation is sorted. But you say she is a nice lass, just one as everyone wipes their boots on, so I should jog along with her all right. Besides, I’m not here a great deal. I doubt if owt will change much for me by having her here. She can have the big room upstairs as hers and I’ll take the back room. The kitchen is big enough to put an armchair in for her, so she can use that as her living room. Which will mean we don’t even have to sit together if we don’t want to.’
Suddenly it was as if all his worries had lifted. It all sounded so right. Will didn’t even have to feel bad about his uncle making a sacrifice for him, as it sounded like it was just what he needed: a woman to take care of his home. He felt he could jump for joy . . . But, he remembered, he had to convince Florrie first. He had to go against all his instincts and take a hard line with her if she refused.
He didn’t need to seek Florrie out. She stood on the corner of the road leading from the station and waylaid him as he tried to pass. He didn’t feel ready to deal with it all at the moment, but knew his hand had been forced when a couple of lads from the pit went by and asked, ‘When’s wedding then, Will?’
Ignoring them, he said, ‘Reet, Florrie, I have to talk to you. I have a proposition as will help you out of your predicament . . .’
‘Oh, Will, I knew you’d do the right thing by me.’ ‘There is no right thing for me to have to do! Florrie, how can you put me through this – me as has always been a good friend to you? It beggars belief. I didn’t know as you could be so devious.’ He stopped as the light from the gas lamp caught a tear running down her face. ‘Look, it’s alreet. I know as you have no other alternative. At least I have to believe that’s why you’re doing this, as thinking on other motives makes me hate you.’
‘I’m sorry, Will.’
‘Stop your crying, now, and listen to me . . .’
At the end of the telling of his plan he looked at her, hoping to see agreement in her, but all he saw was horror. For a moment it nearly undid his resolve, but then he remembered what his uncle had told him: this was his life that he was fighting for – at least the quality of it, and what he wanted to do with it.
‘It’s all I’m offering, Florrie. I’m not prepared to do owt else for you. I’ve no obligation to do even this.’
‘But me ma . . .’
‘What’s your ma ever done for you as you have to repay her, eh? She’s used you as a slave; she stood by whilst your da beat the life out of yer, and now I hear tell she’s desperate to get you out working the streets again. And we all know why, don’t we? So she can spend any money as you earn on drink and baccy.’
‘Oh, Will, I know. I know what she’s like, but she had no life with me da. He beat her just as much as he beat me and—’
‘And nothing. She were the adult and should have stopped it, or took you out of it. But she didn’t; she didn’t even lift her finger to attend to what got your da down. She never put a meal on the table for him; she didn’t clean up. The place was like a hovel, and then . . . well, it’s well known she put you on the game to bring in more money instead of into service or sommat, so you could make a life of your own.’
Florrie didn’t answer him. Her face paled to the colour of the white lilies his ma had put on his da’s coffin. The tears brimmed in her eyes, and he pulled her close. Her hair smelt unwashed and she had a musty tang to her. His stomach lurched.
‘I’m offering you an escape, Florrie. I’ve sorted something so you can get away, and you can keep your babby if you want to. But even if you don’t want to, his plan is a good one. A safe one. What you propose is dangerous. Me uncle says as he’s heard of lasses dying.’
‘Alreet, I’ll do it. I know I don’t have a choice. I’m sorry to the heart of me as to what I’ve put you through, but I—’
‘Forget that. Let’s just look to the future. You should go soon. Me uncle has a sailing at the end of next week and says as he’ll look out for you coming afore then. I have money for your fare. I’ll give you directions to his house. So get what you’ll need together, without your ma knowing, and meet me here tomorrow night. Is that possible?’
‘It is. I can’t get out with a bag, but then I’ve only one change of clothing anyroad. I’ll put them on underneath these. Ma’s having a bit of a thing with the bloke as owns butcher’s shop, and she’s meeting him tomorrow night and going to his house, so the coast will be clear. I’ll do it, Will, even though I’m scared and it ain’t what I want. You’ve made me see it is a way out for me. You’re reet an’ all about me ma. She’ll only miss me for what I could bring in.’
‘I’m sorry, lass. I’m sorry there was no way I could take you on. You’re a bonny lass, but you’re just a friend and I couldn’t . . . well, you know. I couldn’t think on you in the way I should if I were to marry you.’
She turned away, and on a sob she said, ‘See you tomorrow night, Will.’
As Will watched her walk away from him it felt like someone had put a pile of bricks in place of his heart. He should feel free – saved even – but all he felt was like he’d committed some crime towards Florrie.
‘You’re here at last, lad? Train hooted some thirty minutes since. I’d come to think you’d missed it and wouldn’t make your shift tomorrow.’
‘Oh, I got waylaid.’
‘Who by? Not that—’
‘Drop it, Ma, I want some peace.’
She huffed at this, and went about her way, getting a hot meal on the table for him. Will hated upsetting her, but no matter what Florrie had done to him, he still couldn’t have her bad-mouthed.
He thought to change the subject. ‘I had a good couple of days, Ma. I tell you, sea-fishing, even in the rough Irish sea of January, is grand. I reet enjoyed it. Uncle Fred were convinced he’d be swilling me vomit off the deck, but I had sea-legs just like him, as it turned out.’
‘Don’t even think of taking his offer, Will. I’d not move to Liverpool if it were the last thing I had to do to save me life. I’d sooner exhale me final breath.’
‘I’m not going to. I’m just telling you what fun I had. By, I needed some, Ma.’
‘Aye, and it looks like you’ve been after having some, an’ all, but that’s the end to it.’
For a moment he thought she was referring to Florrie, but she’d not have left it there if she had. His biggest fear was of her getting wind of what folk were saying. Well, once he had Florrie on that train, he’d tell her himself and there would be nothing she could do about it. To all and sundry it would look as though Florrie had run away. Oh, some might think it his fault, but most knew of Florrie’s situation, so would be glad for her.
All he wanted now was to get a good night’s sleep and to conjure up the image of the beautiful Bridie O’Hara.
12
Andrew
Breckton, March 1876
Good news turns to bad
‘You look tired this morning, dear. Am I making too many demands on you?’
‘No, darling, of course not. Though I think those demands are the cause: I have all the symptoms of pregnancy.’
‘Dvina, darling, that’s wonderful. But are you all right? Have you seen the doctor? When—’ Her horsey laugh, the only thing about her he still did not like, stopped Andrew in his tracks.
He hadn’t quite taken to her large nose, either, he thought as he waited for her to stop the hideous sound, but it seemed to grow smaller the more he loved every other part of her. Even her well-padded body pleased his eye now, because of the pleasure it gave him. If his friends, who still derided him and showed pity towards him, only
knew what delights she gave up, they would envy him. As it was, their disdain had begun to wear thin even to them, and they knew not to upset him by making derogatory comments about her. In fact, Guy had said the other day, ‘Don’t tell me you are falling in love with her!’ And when Andrew hadn’t answered, he’d said, ‘Good God! Well, she must have something others can’t see.’ Then he had looked in astonishment at the wry smile on Andrew’s face and added, ‘Andrew, do tell . . .’
‘My wife and I do very nicely, thanks,’ he’d said. ‘Now, let us leave it there. And you, sir, please have the good manners not to broach the subject of my personal life again.’
In trying to glean further information, Guy had come back with, ‘So you are not restarting our Friday-night trips into Leeds any day soon, then? Come on, you know you miss the wiles of the impish Miss Lilly . . .’
‘I don’t, actually. She is nothing to me. I have all I want at home.’
To this there was another ‘Good God!’, and that had been the last time he’d had trouble with any of them.
‘Don’t look so worried, darling.’ Dvina brought him out of his thoughts. She was no longer laughing. ‘Really, there is nothing to be concerned over. I’m like my mares – I’ll take this in my stride. Nothing to it. And nothing for you to concern yourself with. I’m already three months gone and will deliver you a healthy heir in September.’
‘Don’t compare yourself to your horses, dear. You are not like them. You are a woman – and a lovely one at that.’ He still could not say beautiful. He wished he could, because she had an inner beauty and she loved him with every part of her. Inside, he knew he loved her in the same way, so why did he hold something back? What was the something that he knew he was missing? He brushed the thought away. ‘And, my dear, you must look after yourself. See the doctor and take his advice. Make sure your maid knows, too. We don’t want her forcing you into those corsets, much as they suit you. You have a reason now to—’ The look on her face stopped him. ‘Darling, I meant . . . I meant to not have to wear them. I . . .’
She stared at him for a moment longer and then her face creased up into a smile. Relief filled him, and he took a step towards her. The movement froze into the dreadful sound of the pit alarm. Its wail took up the space around them. Dvina stared at him with horror.
He couldn’t react. His legs wobbled. He found the back of the chair and clung onto it. ‘Oh, my God . . . Don’t let it be the west seam. I knew I should have closed it until the work we had discussed is done, but it was so rich in—’
‘Andrew! You didn’t leave it working, not after what you told me about it? Oh God, how many men are down there?’
‘I don’t know. The early shift is the largest. They will have been down around nine hours now. I have to get over there. Maybe it isn’t . . .’
‘I’m coming.’
‘No, dear. If it’s bad, then I don’t want you seeing it. I will . . .’
‘The women will need me. I am the boss’s wife. They will expect me to be there, and I want to be. I can help. I can organize whatever needs doing and reassure them. Keep them from panicking. Please, Andrew.’
‘All right. It will comfort me to have you there. Oh, God! That awful droning noise . . . Let’s ride over, it will be quicker.’
A crowd of blackened faces met them as they pulled up outside the main entrance. His foreman came forward, saying, ‘It’s bad, Mr Harvey. An explosion in the south seam caused a fall of huge boulders and earth and water. It’s blocked off the south, east and west seams. There’s near on fifty men missing, I reckon, including the shift supervisor Mick Harman . . .’
‘Oh, no. Oh, no! Isabella’s father! What of Denny?’
‘The rescue team have evacuated all of those they could reach, and I’m afraid Denny isn’t among them.’
Oh God! Isabella and Denny’s wedding is only weeks away. Feeling the weight of this and of the other men still trapped, Andrew asked what operations had been put into place so far.
‘The screen boys have been put to work with the men, barrowing stuff coming up in the cage, sir, and we posted Aiden Jackson on the gate to stop any of the women getting through. The blankets from the store are already with him to help keep them and any casualties warm. Someone sent for the doc, and we’ve carts ready to hook to those horses not turning the winding gear, should we need to ferry anyone to the hospital.’
‘Good man, good work. Thank God the cage is still in operation.’
‘Yes, the shaft is clear and we can lower the cage right to the bottom.’
As he said this a crowd of men came over the hill, followed by just as many women.
‘That’s good. The other shift workers have got out of their beds and come to help, just as I expected. I’ll go down with them to assess what needs doing. Get the clerks working on identifying exactly who has come up and who is still down there. Tell them I want the names, and how many, as soon as possible.’
Dvina leaned over and squeezed his arm, trying to convey some kind of reassurance to him, and in a calm voice he wondered at said, ‘I’ll ride over and be outside the gates to address the women, Andrew.’
‘Thank you, Dvina, but be careful. Don’t do too much, dear.’ As he watched her go, a heavy fear clogged his chest. From what he’d heard so far, things didn’t sound hopeful. Once the tunnels below were blocked off and no air circulated, poisonous gases could kill anyone trapped there. That’s if the water deluge didn’t drown them, or debris hadn’t buried them. How would he cope with such a disaster? How would he face the women and the families, and deal with their grief? It would all lie on his shoulders. And why now? Just when at last he had the money he needed to repair, modernize and put in steam winding gear? Oh, God, those poor buggers trapped in the bowels of the earth beneath his feet. Please let them reach them, please God . . .
Three days had passed. Andrew had hardly slept, or even left the mine to go home to change. The rescue teams were working in rotation trying to get through, but had made little progress. Further falls had occurred. Desperate to make a breakthrough, Andrew had joined the men, working alongside them. Together they had shifted cartload after cartload of coal, slack and rubble, but they had only cleared a few feet into each tunnel, and still a wall of the same material stood in front of them. Every now and then they stopped. They stood in silence and listened, but no sound came from beyond.
They now knew the names of all the missing men. Fifty-one in total. The road outside the gate had become like a gypsy encampment as the women and families set up makeshift shelters to await news of their men. Dvina had a kitchen of sorts working just outside the gate, with a huge open fire from which she and a rotation of groups of women produced hot soup, nourishing stews and copious amounts of tea in tin mugs. Andrew’s pride in her actions, and in the courage she showed and gave to the women, deepened his feelings for her, though he worried about her condition and insisted she went home to rest every few hours.
Issy sat on the bank near the fence, where she’d been since Jane had fetched her from Hartington House. Her ma sat with her. Issy’s eyes remained fixed on the entrance to the mine. Every time someone came up in the cage, she prayed they would have news of her da and Denny. She tried to keep her mind off what they might be going through, if they were alive. They had to be alive! Her brain wouldn’t give her any prayers – she was prayed out – and a dead weight of despair had now replaced the trickle of hope she’d clung onto for the last three days. Her face stung with dried tears. She leaned on her ma’s shoulder.
‘Ma, I know inside me they—’
‘Don’t say it, lass. Don’t give it sound, as it will make it the truth and I can’t bear that, I can’t.’
Issy turned. On her other side sat Mrs Leighton, Denny’s ma. Her cold, don’t-touch-me face was set as if in stone. Issy wanted to comfort her, but knew she couldn’t. As she looked back towards the mine the moment of doom resounded in her ears as a bell tolled. A gasp like the wave of a crashing sea swept through th
e crowd, and she knew the men were lost forever . . . The announcement hit her with a searing pain.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is with regret that the rescue team, in consultation with Mr Harvey, have decided that it’s futile to carry on. No one could have survived. It will take weeks to bring up their remains, but we will not give up. May God rest their souls.’
The bell clanged again. Issy took the full weight of her ma’s body as it slumped onto her. And then another weight hit her other side as Mrs Leighton fainted, too. A terrible moan heaved from every woman, then there was a moment’s silence before someone screamed. The scream escalated till it seemed everyone present had joined in with it. Agonizing cries of ‘No, no, don’t give up! No, please!’ blocked out all her thoughts. Her body would not respond to her bidding it to rise; she clung onto her ma, and then knew a moment when the earth shook beneath her as a rush of people surged towards the gates.
A fear stuck the breath in her lungs. ‘Oh, God, Miss Dvina . . .’ Pushing her ma to one side, Issy rose and ran towards the makeshift kitchen. At the moment she arrived, so did the crowd. Grasping Dvina’s arm, she urged her, ‘Quick, this way, Ma’am, hurry!’ But the crowd were upon them and crushed them against the wire fence. Issy struggled to fill her lungs with air and could see that Miss Dvina’s face was turning blue.
The fence gave way. With everything in her, Issy forced her body to the left. When they hit the ground, Miss Dvina lay beneath her.
Feet dug into her back, but with a strength she never knew she possessed she kept it arched over Dvina’s body. But then a boot hit the side of her head and her senses left her in a swirling downward twirl, taking her into a black hole of nothingness.
Issy opened her eyes. Confusion, stirred by the hazy world of nuns gliding around her, made her think she had passed on to the next world, but a voice – of this world – called her name. She lifted her head. Ma sat next to the bed, the only dark figure in the room of white: whitewashed walls, white bedding and white-clad nuns.
