‘Rubbish, you have Home Farm—’
‘Yes, my farm. I work it and I take what little profit comes from it. It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘It’s on my land.’
‘I’ve never paid you any rent.’
Ernst glared. ‘An oversight. My generosity, that’s all – taking pity on you. You’re downright splitting hairs, Quersley.’
‘Mr Barton—’
‘And what about the frogs, eh? What about that?’ Ernest jigged again, pleased with the sharpness of his interrogation. ‘Why do you go on with that if you’re not on the Marlford staff?’
Oscar hoisted the toolbox into his uninjured hand. ‘Over time, by custom, my family has helped yours,’ he replied, calmly. ‘There is history between us – I recognize that, Mr Barton. I can’t fail to recognize it. My father, in particular, was diligent in his duties.’ His face was pale and fixed, weariness sinking his features; his grip on the toolbox was so tight that his arm shook. But his voice came surely enough. ‘Those days have passed. Our obligation was settled, more than settled. You should not now count on me or my loyalty.’
He crossed the puddled yard, shrinking into the gloom of the arched entrance, a workman weighted with tools.
‘Oh, poppycock. What are you doing? You’re not going?’ Ernest flapped the umbrella, making the rain dance around him, unbalancing himself. ‘What on earth…? Quersley, be fair.’
Oscar halted. He let the heavy box fall from his grasp and it thudded onto the cobbles. But he did not turn for a long while, holding Ernest at bay with the stiff set of his shoulders. When he finally spun on his heel, he came quickly back, his eyes narrowed.
‘Would you make a deal?’
Ernest wrinkled his nose. ‘What kind of a deal?’
‘The men suggested you might make a deal. In this situation.’
Ernest shook his head sharply. ‘It goes against the grain to bargain with you, Quersley. You know that. I should just let you go; should have had rid of you years ago. There’s plenty more odd-job men to chase frogs and milk a few cows.’
‘Very well.’ Oscar glanced purposefully towards the arch. ‘Then there’s nothing more to say.’
‘Wait – wait, man.’ Ernest put up a hand. ‘For God’s sake—’
‘I really have to see to the animals, Mr Barton.’
‘But I need your help with this. I can’t have these people at Marlford.’
‘Then you’ll need to bargain.’
Ernest sighed, letting the umbrella drop and the rain fall unhindered. ‘Quersley, I’ve given up everything for this place, everything. And I’ve never quite got it right. I’ve never worked it out. It’s been too much for me – you must have seen that. But now… this is my last chance. I have to save it.’
‘I’m not sure such anxiety is entirely justified, Mr Barton. You said yourself – they are just kids. It doesn’t sound like much of a threat to Marlford – nor, indeed, much of an opportunity for you to redeem yourself.’
‘I need the guns.’
‘If so, then you should listen to my offer.’
‘An offer? Something you’ve concocted with the men? I doubt there’s much for me in it.’ Ernest closed his eyes. ‘Well, then, spit it out, man.’
Oscar worked his lips as though rehearsing the words. His voice would not come at first; then it was squeaky, less impressive than he had intended.
‘If I help you with this, will you give me Ellie?’
The question seemed to stop time, leaving the two men suspended there.
‘Ellie?’ Ernest’s voice was small, almost lost in the noise of the rain.
Oscar nodded, slowly. ‘In return for my assistance.’
Ernest stabbed at the cobbles with his toe. ‘What do you mean, will I give you Ellie? Quersley, it’s balderdash. What do you mean? For goodness’ sake, I just need the guns and someone who knows how to use them.’ He took a long time to fold his umbrella, fidgeting even then with the fastening. ‘Explain yourself, Quersley.’
‘I think you understand perfectly what I propose, Mr Barton. I’m asking you to consent to a marriage.’
‘Against the girl’s wishes?’
‘Not necessarily. I’m sure you could persuade her.’
Ernest poked the umbrella towards him. ‘She has more sense than to fall for you – I’ll give her that, at least.’
Oscar caught the tip neatly, thrusting it back towards Ernest with new force, the handle driving into Ernest’s stomach. Ernest gave a winded grunt, stumbling backwards.
‘You’re not helping your case, Mr Barton,’ Oscar said, calmly. ‘It’s a simple transaction. My assistance – my final act of duty – in return for Ellie’s hand.’
Ernest steadied himself. ‘You won’t sneak any advantage by wedding her, you know – she has nothing now and she’ll have nothing in the future. She has no prospects, you know that?’
‘It would be in the order of things, though, wouldn’t it? You would save Marlford. You say you want to save it, and this way you would. I suppose I would be the son you never had.’
‘Never.’ Ernest was trembling.
‘After all these years you can resolve it, Mr Barton. You can be sure of the future.’
‘No, Quersley. You ask too much.’
‘But think about it. Everything would go on as it should.’
Ernest looked at the man in front of him, wet about the head and shoulders, his threadbare overalls soaked through, his eyes too hard and bright. He saw Quersley’s lithe, fretful strength.
‘And what if she’s not in agreement? What if she doesn’t go along with it?’
Oscar did not reply. He seemed to hear Barton’s words from a distance, spoken elsewhere, his fatigue, his longing, making everything ethereal. He stood stock still, as though the slightest of movements might split the moment, spilling the flaccid guts of his dreams.
‘I think she’ll accept it,’ he answered, finally. ‘She has no birth certificate, she’s never been to school, she’s hardly ever left Marlford except for the work at the library – she’s never existed. Why would she refuse? And there’s not a soul on God’s earth who would bother to intervene.’ The placid light in the yard seemed suddenly dazzling. ‘It will be the right thing. She’ll see that. She’ll do as she’s told.’
Ernest frowned. ‘I want to get on, Quersley,’ he said, weakly. ‘I need to get shot of these damned squatters. Otherwise we’ll all be stymied, Ellie as much as the rest of us.’
Oscar smiled slowly and offered Ernest his hand.
Ernest hesitated. ‘And you say the men have discussed this proposal? It makes sense to them?’
Oscar took a moment to reply. ‘Imagine Ellie outside here. If something were to happen to Marlford, if she were pushed out – by circumstances, by the squatters, perhaps. Imagine how she’d be, Mr Barton, how poor and how lonely. She’d crumble like a handful of dry clay.’
Ernest looked up into the ashen sky. ‘But if she marries you…’
‘Then Marlford will be secure. You’ll be protecting it – keeping all the secrets. You’ll have worked it out at last, the whole thing.’
Ernest’s face hardened.
‘You’re blackmailing me, Quersley.’
‘It’s a simple matter of reputation, Mr Barton.’
‘This is ungentlemanly.’ But he stuck out his hand nonetheless, touching Oscar’s briefly.
Oscar blinked, raising his eyebrows in mockery of his own manoeuvring. That such a thing could be achieved so simply seemed a joke of some kind. He could not think of anything to say.
Ernest let his hand drop quickly. ‘The guns then, Quersley? You’ll fetch the guns?’ His questions came uncertainly; his voice had taken on the tremble of age.
Oscar shook himself. ‘They need stripping and oiling.’ He was matter of fact. ‘I’ll bring them up as soon as I can.’
‘It’ll be for the best, Quersley, won’t it?’
But Oscar did not seem inclined to discuss the squa
t any further. He returned to his toolbox, picking it up and swinging it once or twice, his arm straining. Then he walked away.
Ernest watched him disappear into the mouldy gloom beneath the stable arch. He looked around, lost for a moment. The rain drummed on the roof slates, ironic applause. In the polished leather of his shoes and on the soaked stones of the yard he saw his reflection many times: skewed and stretched, fractional, foreshortened, fairground illusions of a man who could not recognize himself or what he had done.
Oscar returned to the farm. He placed the toolbox in an old stone trough sheltered by the barn, slipped off his overalls, folded them neatly on top and rinsed his hands and face in a spray of cold water from the outside tap. The yard swilled with mud, the animals sulked in their stalls. Only the pigs ran to him, squealing their hunger; he pushed them away, glanced at the sodden cows in the near meadow, shook his head sadly at the slung weight of their full udders and moved on quickly along the edge of the field where the hay was flattened and grey, ruined.
His breath came in short, shallow bursts. He could feel the bounce of his pulse in his swollen fingers and aching brow; around him the familiar landscape of the old farm flickered, his vision blurring, his thoughts mired. He walked quickly, hearing only the occasional croak of the frogs. Something had happened – something marvellous and unconscionable. He could not quite grasp what it might be, only a joy and a regret, a kaleidoscopic longing. It was like rolling down a shorn bank on a hot day, tumbling over and over, faster and faster, glimpses of colour one upon the other, a brief scent of grass, a shard of sky, laughter and shrieks, tears, a pain somewhere hard and unwieldy, losing the sound of everything, knowing only the unstoppable motion itself.
It was the distant creak of the frogs, coming to him faintly from the mere, that finally brought him round. He stopped and listened, letting the noise draw him, a comforting burr recalling him to duty and simplifying everything.
Thirteen
As night fell, a rumbling began, deep in the belly of the exhausted mines, rising slowly into the village. The cobbles began to skew, then to sink, the pavements cracking. After that, events moved quickly. As if anticipating disaster, the streetlights went out; a moment later, the road caved in with a sudden crash. Two buildings opposite the library slumped into the crater, tearing themselves from their neighbours on either side. Roof tiles scattered and window glass smashed; stone and timber gave way with an unpleasant groan; a parked car slid backwards into the hole, disappearing; the half-repaired fissure alongside the Hepworth Barton Bank burst open again, spitting rubble and swallowing the scaffolding posts. A number of dogs began to bark.
Braithwaite Barton, unscathed, oversaw proceedings with an avuncular smile. At the other end of Marlford, the nymph continued to pour clean water with careful precision into the blue basin at her feet.
The following morning, when Dan and Gadiel arrived on an expedition to the general stores, they gawped at the crumbling hole, wary of coming too close: there was still the occasional noise of collapse, the groan of rock deep below.
‘Do you think… do you think it’s safe?’ Dan edged forwards, clinging to one of the makeshift barriers. ‘It smells disgusting – swampy.’ He lifted his boot, gazed forlornly at the smeared leather and wrinkled his nose. A slime of brackish mud oozed around them.
Gadiel looked towards a group of men standing on the library steps. The building seemed to have sunk at one side, its doors were wedged open and a trickle of brine dribbled out, back down the slope of the depression into the worked-out pits that skulked below. ‘Do you think Ellie knows? We should tell her. She’d want to know,’ he said.
‘It’s like the whole world is hollow.’ Dan tapped gingerly with his foot as if to test the theory. ‘As though we could just fall in. It could be a metaphor, couldn’t it, man… about how the world’s been eaten away by the forces of capitalism? Destroyed from within. Yeah, that’s it – eviscerated.’
‘We should help.’
‘Man, this is such a cool place to have the squat. When the others come and they see the village and everything…’
‘No one’s coming, Dan. I mean, you haven’t done anything; you haven’t told anyone—’
‘Yeah, but I will, won’t I?’
‘But why would they come?’
‘Why? I’ve just told you, man – we can make such a cool statement. Even the ground beneath our feet is a statement. The past consuming the present, just like Marx says. Look at it.’ He flung his hand towards the hole.
‘I’m not sure people will want to come,’ Gadiel said. ‘I’m not sure they’ll understand.’
‘Of course they’ll understand.’ Dan pushed his hair from his face and adjusted the balance of his spectacles with some care. ‘Gadiel, I can’t believe you sometimes. You don’t see things, do you? You don’t see the wider picture – the history and the future.’
Gadiel did not answer. He ducked under the barrier and walked slowly around the crater. At the far side, he paused to speak to some of the men. They made slow, wide sweeps with their arms, marking the magnitude of something. The conversation went on, then one of the men laughed and shook Gadiel’s hand.
He came back to Dan and offered him a cigarette. Gadiel smoked in long drags, stubbing the butt on the barrier. Only then did he speak. ‘They’re moving it.’
‘What do you mean – moving it?’
‘The library, the whole thing. They’re pushing it down to the end of the street.’ Gadiel glanced towards the nymph, a distance of a hundred yards or more. ‘The land there’s safer, more stable – not so much over the mine, that’s what they told me. And the buildings were put up that way, apparently, so they could be shifted around.’
Dan frowned. ‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘I’m not being stupid. That’s the plan. They’re moving it. I agreed that we’d help them – well, I said I’d help, anyway. It’s something to do with pushing it onto rollers.’
‘You’ve been taken in, Gadiel, you know that?’
‘I have not been taken in.’ Nonetheless, Gadiel glanced anxiously towards the men still lounging on the library steps. ‘It’s true, apparently.’
Dan laughed briefly, little more than a smirk. ‘Well, then you stay and help them. I’m going back to the squat. It’s only a squat as long as it’s occupied. And this place’ – he gestured towards the hole, the evidences of instability, crevices here and there, lopsided shops – ‘this place isn’t worth any effort, man. It’s not worth saving. Its time has come. They should let it rot and run coach tours here, that’s what they should do, to show the decay of, well, of everything.’ He grimaced and kicked at the deceptive ground.
‘Come on, Dan. It’ll be way better than sitting around. And it won’t take for ever. We’ll just slide the library down.’
‘Gadiel – it’s a distraction, man. We have a purpose here. A new world order.’ Dan turned away. ‘You still don’t see that, do you?’
Fourteen
Dan saw Ellie at a distance, coming into the village along the narrow path by the almshouses. He waited. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’ He took a step or two towards her.
She looked puzzled.
Dan smiled. ‘You know you told us, when we came, about the village and your grandfather constructing it on the broken backs of the poor?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You said it. You just didn’t admit to it.’
Ellie kept on walking. ‘I have a few essentials to collect from the chemist. I’m afraid I can’t dawdle.’
‘I’ll go that way with you.’ He trotted casually alongside her. ‘That’s what I want to show you, anyway.’
‘The chemists? It’s very kind but—’
He took her arm. ‘Come on, Ellie. Don’t be stuffy, man. Let me show you.’
The creaks and groans of the village were subsiding. No new fissures had opened, and the wet mud in the streets was already hardening in places, holding footprints. A plume of steam r
ose almost vertically from the chemical works; behind, a drift of ochre smoke cast a faint tint of sepia on the flayed land.
Ellie only slowly realized what had happened. ‘Oh, my goodness.’ She squinted at the gaunt form of the old library. ‘Someone should tell Mr Quersley. He’ll want to see to the books. He’ll want to check everything’s all right.’
‘There’s no point, man. Apparently they’re moving it.’
She stared at the building, seeing it already off balance. Dan was surprised to see tears falling steadily down her cheeks, her eyes wide and soft with sympathy, as though she was contemplating an injured animal. She could not speak.
‘Ellie, come on, man – this kind of thing was bound to happen sooner or later.’ He spoke kindly enough but with an odd desperation, as though she had talked at some length, challenging him, and he had been forced to take up the argument. ‘It’s a legacy of destruction, from the old mines.’ He rested his fingers on the bridge of his spectacles so that his face was partly obscured. ‘You see – it’s the carelessness of the past catching up with us. Dominant material relationships – that’s what Marx called it – the way the ideas and actions of the ruling class affect everything – in the past, in the present and in the future.’
The sight of the library still held Ellie’s attention.
‘Did all this happen – just with the rain?’ she asked at last.
Her mournful glance irritated him. ‘Oh, come on, man – haven’t you been listening? You knew about the mines.’
She was suddenly fierce in return. ‘Of course I knew about the mines. I’m talking about everything.’ She gestured at the pit. ‘All this.’
‘Yeah, and the mines are only the symptom… Ellie, the disease is something deeper, more… more – what’s the word? – pernicious. That’s it, man, pernicious.’
Ellie rounded on him. ‘I hardly think this is the time for political generalisations. Your, your philosophy, if that’s what it is – it’s completely irrelevant. You don’t understand, do you?’
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