The Rector's Daughter

by Jean Fullerton

  ‘And your mother believed him?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘She did,’ Emma replied. ‘When he stupidly gave her his word as a gentleman that not only would he never mention the incident to anyone, but would also never darken our doorstep again.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Truman,’ said Charlotte, feeling oddly lightheaded.

  ‘Oh, indeed.’ Taking her handkerchief from her reticule, Emma dabbed her eyes. ‘I tell you, Miss Hatton, I’m quite done with him.’

  Charlotte heart did a little double step. ‘You are?’

  ‘I most certainly am,’ Emma replied firmly. ‘Papa was forever telling everyone how very clever Mr Martyn is but, as far as I’m concerned, he is the stupidest creature on God’s earth for throwing away the only way for us to marry. And tell me this if you can, my wisest of confidants? Does he sound like a man wildly in love and desperate to marry?’

  The warm glow the thought of Josiah always sparked in her heart started to spread through Charlotte.

  ‘No,’ she replied, smiling widely. ‘No, he doesn’t at all.’

  Chapter fifteen

  Josiah and Isambard Brunel, Mr Brunel’s much-talked-about engineering prodigy and son – who had been drafted in to help his over-worked father – stood in the echoing chasm of the shaft and surveyed the shield. Droplets from the river above plopped on their fantail hats like the beat of a metronome, slid down their oilskin jackets, and joined the water around their boots. Josiah shifted his gaze from the shield and onto the man beside him.

  Standing at just over six foot, Josiah towered over Isambard, a man ten years his junior, but even taking those things into consideration, it was clear that Isambard Kingdom Brunel had the same broad streak of engineering genius that ran through his father. Isambard stood chewing the inside of his mouth as his eyes travelled over the cast-iron monstrosity.

  ‘Where’s Armstrong?’ Josiah asked as Isambard shoved his hands deep into his pockets and studied the end of the tunnel.

  ‘Just seeing off Lady Raffle’s party,’ the young man replied. ‘He should be here soon.’

  Josiah nodded. ‘I bet he breathed a sigh of relief as their carriage rolled away.’

  ‘Now they’re gone maybe we can make good the time lost over the past few weeks,’ Isambard said, raising his voice as a labourer trundled a full skip of earth past them. ‘Poor father’s been summoned again to account for the problems with the workers. I swear he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep since Easter.’

  The labourers working on the tunnel earned more in a week than most men in the area earned in a month but although they were provided with work clothes, free meals and medical attention if they were injured, when the shareholders cut their wages due to a poor capital return the month before, they had downed tools. That was two weeks ago, at the end of June. It had only lasted five days but, in that time, Josiah and the few men who had refused to strike had had to work double shifts, with Isambard and George working alongside them at the tunnel shield.

  ‘I know how he feels,’ Josiah said,

  Truthfully though, after escaping Emma’s plans to entrap him in marriage, perhaps it was just as well he spent most of his waking hours below ground. For all his bluff manner Josiah didn’t think Mr Truman would take well to hearing of his daughter’s romantic disappointment.

  However, although it kept him out of harm’s way as far as Emma Truman was concerned, it also meant he hadn’t seen Charlotte either.

  It was utterly stupid, of course, because for all her beauty, kindness and wonderful smile, she was socially so far above him that there was no hope for him at all. But what could he do? He loved her. It was as simple as that.

  Behind them, the stairs creaked as someone descended from the platform above. Both men looked around to see George step off the bottom rung and stomp towards them.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he said, inclining his head.

  Josiah and Isambard acknowledged his greeting.

  ‘Anything?’ he asked, glancing up at the bricked arch surrounding them.

  ‘The old girl groaning a bit with the rising tide,’ Josiah told him. ‘And the Irish pump men had the jitters a while back, but settled down after a bit.’

  Armstrong frowned. ‘It did the same last night but, thankfully, nothing came of it.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to leave you two gentlemen to do the night round, if you don’t mind,’ Isambard said, as the men in the tunnel started to clear away at the end of the day.

  Josiah and George bade him farewell and then sloshed through the putrid water to the shield. Josiah placed his hand on the metalwork and felt the familiar tremor of the tide wash over their heads. It was faint now but would increase as they moved under the river itself. Soon the men would feel it as they worked.

  ‘God, it stinks,’ George said.

  Josiah sniffed in the noxious stench in an exaggerated fashion. ‘I can’t say I can smell anything.’

  The tremor from the metal under Josiah’s hand changed its resonance as the ground beneath his feet slid away. He spread his feet and threw his arms wide to steady himself. The rumbling stopped.

  ‘Mr Martyn, sir,’ a voice called from above.

  Josiah looked up to see Nelson, one of his most reliable men, beckoning him upwards.

  He swung on the lower beams and hoisted himself into number eleven cell. George handed him up an oil lamp. The yellowy light revealed a jet of water sprouting from behind the plank.

  ‘Leak!’ bellowed Josiah and the miner in the next cell swung over to lend a hand.

  Just as Josiah put his hand up to brace the board, an almighty crack rent the air and water gushed into the tunnel.

  All around him labourers threw down their tools and dashed for the tunnel shaft, their hobnailed boots adding to the general noise of water and groaning metal echoing in the cavernous chamber.

  The icy water soaked Josiah in seconds and sucked at his feet. He yelled for oakum but his voice was lost in the crashing of boxes and crates as the water swept them away as if they were made of paper.

  There was a roar as a grey torrent of raging water swept Josiah off his feet and he only just managed to avoid being washed away by grabbing the edge of the shield.

  Spitting out foul water, Josiah struggled upright. Bracing himself against the force of the flood, he clung on until the wave passed.

  ‘Get down, man!’ George bellowed, the water soaking his trousers as it swirled around him.

  Josiah leapt down and then sloshed through the knee-high water to catch up with his friend who was already at the bottom of the shaft ladder. Catching his breath, Josiah paused and looked back at the fountains of water bursting through the ironwork of the tunnelling shield.

  He’d earned his living in the bowels of the earth since the age of ten but as he saw the buckling shield straining to hold back the mud and water, for the first time in his life, he felt his nerve waver.

  ‘Get out!’ shouted George again as crates, mortar measures and broken poling boards crashed around them.

  He didn’t need telling twice.

  With his heart crashing in his chest, Josiah forced his legs through the weight of the water and groped his way forwards as the water rose from knee to hip height in a matter of seconds.

  Mercifully, after what seemed like hours, in the fading light from the few high lamps still flickering, Josiah saw the bottom of the shaft just ahead.

  The air was cloying now and, despite his thorough soaking in the chilly water, sweat broke out on his forehead. The water around him was now up to his waist but he was almost at the ladder and a quick climb would see him up at the top and breathing in the cool spring air.

  ‘Look lively, Martyn!’ George yelled from above.

  An ear-splitting boom vibrated in Josiah’s ears. By the unearthly jaundiced glow of the remaining gas lamps, Josiah watched in horror as the earth exploded through the shield’s central cells and a rolling wave of the river Thames roared towards him.

  Josiah gra
bbed the ladder and managed to get his foot on the first rung when the wave of freezing water enveloped him. He tried to hook his arm around the rung to anchor himself, but the force of the surge was too strong and his grip gave way.

  Charlotte! was his last thought as the current sucked him under.

  ***

  Charlotte sat bolt upright, her heart galloping in her chest as the tunnel alarm bell brought her abruptly awake. There was one thought on her mind. Josiah!

  She scrambled out of bed and shrugged on her dressing gown. Ignoring her slippers, she dragged her walking boots from the bottom of her wardrobe and shoved her feet into them. Her fingers shook as she laced them. All the while, the warning bell sounded out its call to action.

  With her nightdress and dressing gown streaming behind her, she dashed out of her room, her long plait bouncing back and forth as she ran down the stairs.

  Sarah had come up from the kitchen in her outer coat but her cotton nightcap still covered her rag-tied hair. Mrs Norris and Longman, also in their night attire, stood above her on the stairs, rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they looked down at her.

  ‘There must have been an accident, miss,’ Sarah said as she reached Charlotte.

  ‘I know. We must go and help,’ Charlotte replied. ‘Fetch blankets and a handful of the tin cups we use for the soup and I’ll fetch the brandy from my father’s study.’

  Sarah shot off towards the kitchen while Charlotte snatched the bottle from her father’s sideboard. She was just buttoning up her coat in the hall when Sarah returned, carrying the contents of the blanket box.

  The cool night air chilled Charlotte’s cheeks as she and Sarah stepped out into Church Road and joined the stream of people, carrying ropes and lamps, all heading for Cow Yard.

  As they got to the gates, a burly man blocked her path.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Charlotte asked, trying to look past him to where men scrambled out of the shaft coughing and gasping for air.

  ‘There’s been a flood. Now, if you would move along—’

  ‘No!’ screamed Charlotte, pushing past him and dashing into the yard.

  All around her men wrapped those caught in the accident in coats while others carried the injured away on stretchers.

  In the middle of the pandemonium Charlotte spotted Mr Brunel’s son, Isambard, plastered in mud and waving frantically as he directed men to the pumps.

  ‘Mr Brunel!’ Charlotte called as she hurried across the yard. ‘I’ve brought blankets and brandy for the men.’

  ‘Thank God. Follow me,’ he replied, ushering them past the watchman and into the yard.

  Dodging between the men shouting at each other as they gathered ropes, Charlotte and Sarah made their way to where several men were slumped against the rough brickwork of the main shaft, their faces grey and haggard. Sarah set about draping blankets around their shoulders while Charlotte forced spirit through their chattering teeth.

  ‘Sarah!’

  Charlotte looked up as Josiah’s brother, Ezra, reached them and Sarah flung herself into his arms. He hugged her for a moment then spotted Charlotte and put her from him.

  ‘Miss Hatton,’ he said, touching his forehead respectfully.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The river broke in and the tunnel started filling with water—’

  ‘Did everyone make it back to the surface?’

  He shook his head. ‘Jos and Mr Armstrong are still down there.’

  The ground beneath Charlotte’s feet shifted as her head spun.

  She glanced over to where Isambard was bellowing instructions at the men working the winch. An image of the work area at the bottom of the shaft, not as it had been that day Josiah had shown her around but as it was now, dark and flooded, flashed through her mind.

  She covered her mouth with her hands.

  ‘Now, miss,’ Ezra’s voice cut in, ‘don’t you worry about our Jos,’ he told her with forced jollity. ‘Why, he was trapped for two days under a ton of coal in Wheal Neven and still came up with a grin on his ugly face.’

  Isambard shouted something and the men heaved on the pulley. Charlotte, Sarah, Ezra and the other volunteers joined the men waiting at the top of the shaft. With her heart thumping in her chest, Charlotte’s eyes fixed on the rope as it strained under the weight.

  Any moment now he would appear over the top of the wall. He would smile at her with that crooked smile of his and all would be well.

  Someone scrambled up the inside of the shaft and Charlotte held her breath.

  George suddenly appeared above the brickwork and fell over onto the ground.

  ‘Where’s Martyn?’ Isambard asked.

  ‘I don’t know, said George. ‘We were the last ones out and he was just behind me when the wave struck so he’s still down there.’

  ***

  Just as blackness stole over Josiah’s mind, his head crashed on the cold brick roof of the tunnel. With his lungs fit to burst and his soul on the point of departure, Josiah twisted and his mouth broke the surface. He gulped air into his burning lungs and opened his eyes to utter blackness.

  Panic gripped his chest, but he shoved it away and steeled his nerve. He was alive but wouldn’t be for long if he didn’t get control of himself.

  Treading water, Josiah traced the outline of the bricks above him with his fingertips. Picturing in his mind’s eye the sweep of the arched ceiling, he orientated his shoulders then floated for a second to feel the movement of the water around him. The current pressed against his back so he knew he was facing the shaft and away from the shield. Fixing the image of the flooded chamber in his mind, and with his heart thundering in his chest, he kicked his legs and propelled himself forward. Relief swept over him as, after only a few yards, the gap between the surface of the water and the roof grew.

  Somewhere at the far end of the tunnel a faint light still shone on the rippling water. Josiah swam towards it but the weight of his studded boots and clothes made his muscles ache with every movement.

  As his head cleared, an image of Charlotte in her apricot day dress and straw bonnet hovered at the edge of his consciousness.

  Marshalling his failing strength, he forced his limbs to propel him the fifty yards to the bottom of the shaft. The tainted mix of water and effluent stung his eyes and the stench made him gag, but he focused on the pale glow ahead of him and pushed on.

  After what seemed like hours, Josiah finally reached the wall at the end of the tunnel but, to his dismay, the entrance into the shaft from the tunnel was beneath the water. Grabbing hold of an empty light fitting, Josiah tapped his boot along the submerged wall until he located the top of the exit. He judged he would have to dive under at least five feet before he could pass under the top of the arch.

  Panic rose again. What if he lost orientation and missed the opening? Closing his eyes, he conjured up the image of Charlotte again to steady his wild thoughts.

  Taking three deep breaths, Josiah pressed his lips together, closed his eyes and plunged under the water. Kicking hard to force himself towards the floor and running his hand over the rough bricks, he descended.

  Something swirled around his foot and caught him. Josiah shook his leg and, mercifully, his movement dislodged it. He plunged further down into the icy dark.

  Kicking his legs, his fumbling hand searched for the fanned brickwork that capped the arch. Finally, just as his air was all but finished, his fingers slipped under a jagged edge. Josiah wrenched himself down and then beneath the arch. As his feet scraped under, he lifted his head, pumped his tortured legs again and strove upwards.

  He burst through the surface, dragging in air.

  My God, I’m alive.

  A laugh started from nowhere as he enjoyed the icy water soaking his clothes to his skin. The hair plastered across his forehead irritated his brows and the river water lapping around his face made him splutter, but he enjoyed every last sensation of it.

  As the fresh air in the shaft dispelled the stale a
ir in his lungs and cleared his head, Josiah reached for the ladder bolted to the side. He hooked his arm through and then wedged his feet on the rungs.

  ‘Ho, there,’ he bellowed, looking skyward to where lights were flashing across the shaft’s opening.

  ‘Martyn?’ Isambard’s frantic voice echoed down.

  ‘Here.’

  There was a clattering above and, within moments, Isambard swung down on the rung beside him.

  Josiah tried to grin but his face wouldn’t move. A rope dangled only inches from him but he couldn’t catch it; his hands were like dead flesh at the end of his arms.

  ‘Come on, man,’ Isambard urged, tucking his hand under Josiah’s arms and hoisting him up as best he could.

  Josiah forced his body to respond. This time he captured the rope and wound it around his waist and Isambard secured it.

  ‘Heave to!’ he shouted, and Josiah was jerked upwards.

  Halfway up he started to shiver and, as he crested the wall, weariness almost sent him into unconsciousness, but he forced it away.

  ‘Jos!’ Ezra said, running over and clasping Josiah in a hug that almost squeezed the breath from him.

  Josiah choked something in reply.

  His brother took off his jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders. Others gathered around and he smiled vaguely at the familiar faces but then a small arm encircled his shoulders.

  He looked up into the lovely face that had saved him.

  Heedless of the dirt, Charlotte Hatton was knelt beside him, her long plait over her shoulder.

  ‘Charlotte,’ he whispered, enjoying the sound of her name on his lips.

  She smiled and handed him a beaker. ‘It’s all right, Josiah, you’re safe now.’

  Their eyes locked for a timeless moment before the world started again.

  Ezra came forward with another blanket as Isambard yelled for someone to fetch a stretcher. Charlotte stood up to allow others to tend to him, but her eyes never left his face.