by Maggie Hope
There was an opening behind the bush. Quite a large opening with rotting wood lying about; wood that must once have been used to bar the entrance. Of course Merry knew what it was immediately: an ancient drift mine, driven into the side of the hill, perhaps centuries ago. There were one or two about, wherever a coal seam came near the surface.
She peered into the gloomy darkness inside as a dreadful fear began to form in her mind – if Ben was in here then he was dead. She found the box of lucifers she kept in her pocket and lit the storm lantern she carried with her. Looking around she saw broken, rotten pit props lying on the ground, a fall of earth and stone blocking the road a few yards in. It didn’t look as though it had been disturbed at all.
If she had been less weary, if her thought processes had been working properly she would not have attempted to do what she did. There was a gap near the top of the tunnel; she could see the blackness of it above the fall of stone. She began to climb up, awkwardly transferring the lantern from one hand to the other as she needed whichever hand to dip into the stones.
Merry reached the top, lay panting for a minute or two, then slithered on her belly and held the lantern over the other side. All the time she feared she would see Ben’s body lying there.
He wasn’t there, at least not within the radius of her light. Merry relaxed suddenly, feeling as if all the breath had left her body. She closed her eyes tight and lay there while tears forced themselves between her eyelids and ran down her cheeks. After a few more minutes she began to slither back down the stone, not so careful now, simply wanting to get to the bottom and out of the tunnel. She was lucky and reached the ground unhurt but for a few scratches on her hands and legs where her skirt rode up. Shakily she got to her feet then stumbled and fell again, dropping the lantern and saving herself only at the expense of her hands, which thrust into the dirt and gravel and chips of stone.
Her left hand touched cloth and she froze, then scrabbled away at the stone until it was uncovered and she could draw it out. The lantern was still alight and she held the cloth near the flame. It was the patch from Ben’s trousers; she was sure it was. Dear God, was Ben under the fall of stone? She took a step back and pain shot through her ankle – she had twisted it when she fell, she realised. But that was as nothing compared to the fact that she was becoming sure that she had found Ben. She lifted her skirt and tore a strip from her flannel petticoat; with trembling fingers she bound her ankle, cramming her shoe back on afterwards. Then she made her way back to Old Pit and from there on to Winton Colliery. The off-shift men would help her, she knew they would.
At least, that was her plan. Yet in spite of her determination she got no further than Old Pit for there her ankle finally gave out and it was all she could do to slither over the snow to the house where she was born, and crawl in. It was there that Tom Gallagher found her. The snow had stopped and the sun came out, though there was a cutting wind. Tom had finished his visits and had an hour or so to spare. For some reason he couldn’t get Merry out of his mind. He told himself he was just going for a walk before it grew properly dark, to clear a slight headache. When he came across her footsteps in the snow he followed them, telling himself he would go as far as Old Pit then turn back.
The light from the lantern shone through the window of the house on the end of the row. Tom hesitated for only a minute before going to the door and knocking. When there was no reply he went in. The room was cold but dry and Merry was half lying, half sitting against the middle wall, fast asleep.
Tom went over to her and felt her forehead. At least the skin wasn’t hot; for a moment he had thought she was ill but now he realised she was simply sleeping the sleep of the exhausted. Even as he thought it she opened her eyes and tried to scramble to her feet before falling back with a cry of pain.
‘Doctor Gallagher! What are you doing here?’
‘I was just passing, out for a walk,’ he said, un-convincingly. ‘But what are you doing here? It’s far too cold for you and what’s the matter with your leg?’
‘It’s my ankle, Doctor,’ she said, grimacing. ‘I turned it.’
‘Let me see.’
Tom undid the makeshift bandage and felt her ankle, probing gently. It was swollen to twice the size of her right ankle and beginning to show bruising. He rebandaged it carefully before sitting back.
‘You aren’t going to be able to walk on that for a while,’ he said.
‘But I have to, I have to go to work, I’m on night duty,’ Merry said despairingly. ‘And I have to get help. I think I’ve found Ben. I must get help from Winton. He’s buried under a fall of stone in an old drift mine entrance.’
‘You’re sure? I mean how do you know?’
Merry told him about the patch of cloth, then looked out of the window at the darkening sky and made another attempt to stand up. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Tom caught her as she fell. She felt so thin and light, and his arms tightened round her protectively. He looked around. There was nothing in the room, nothing to provide any comfort or anywhere at all to lay her down, so he held her against him for a few minutes.
‘I have to go,’ she said weakly.
‘You can’t. It’s snowing again, I’d never get you along the line or even up the path to Parkin’s farm.’
He couldn’t carry her along the line to Winton, which was where he had left his pony and trap, he thought. She was trembling with the cold and he was not surprised for he could feel it seeping into his bones. In the end he laid her gently down against the wall.
‘Stay here, love, I must find something to cover you while I go for help,’ he said. ‘I’ll light a fire, that will help too.’ Neither of them noticed the endearment.
He took off his overcoat and put it over her then gathered handfuls of dry brown leaves that had collected in the corners and put them in the grate. He went up the rickety stairs and kicked off the door to the bedroom, then broke it into manageable pieces until he was at last able to set the lot alight – heat immediately began to penetrate the damp and bitter cold of the kitchen.
‘Isn’t there anything that might make you a bed or a chair?’ he asked. ‘Nothing at all?’
‘There’s hay next door,’ said Merry. ‘At least there should be some left from the goat.’ She was beginning to feel decidedly light headed with the pain from her ankle and the heat from the fire after the intense cold. As he went out to look for the hay she closed her eyes and slipped off into a sort of half sleep, an escape from the misery of the day.
Tom came in with his arms full of hay and arranged it on the floor by the fire. At least it would provide some comfort, he thought. He picked her up and laid her on the hay. She was still trembling with cold and he held her to him to try to give her some of his warmth. Merry turned to him, snuggled against him and relaxed – only for a moment or two, he told himself. Then he would go and get help in Winton.
‘I found a patch from Ben’s trousers,’ she whispered and clung to him, burying her head in his shoulder.
‘I know, you said.’
‘I have to get him out of there; he must hate it, not being able to move. Oh, Ben, why did you go in there?’
Tom held her close; put his cheek against hers; felt the cold and wetness of her skin. ‘If he’s there,’ he said carefully, ‘he won’t feel it, love.’ He could have bitten out his tongue because she began to sob wildly. He rocked her gently and waited for the storm to subside.
‘What am I going to do? Ben is all I’ve got,’ Merry said brokenly.
‘You’ve got me,’ said Tom.
Merry looked at him with drowned eyes and he kissed her. A kiss that was intended to be comforting, brotherly. Except that it changed as she clung to him, put an arm around his neck and pulled him down upon her.
Their lovemaking was swift, their emotions already heightened so much, their feelings so intense. She cried out once but otherwise didn’t make a sound and when it was over she lay quietly, her eyes closed. Tom lay quietly too, his
ragged breathing gradually returning to normal. Then he got up, straightened her clothing and covered her with the overcoat. He replenished the fire with the remainder of the wood from the door and went out into the night. It had started snowing again and he had to bend into the wind as he walked along the waggon way in the direction of Winton.
Tom was filled with guilt. He was a doctor, who was supposed to look after people, not take advantage of them when they were vulnerable. He welcomed the stinging of the snow against his face as he trudged along, tripping occasionally on railway sleepers hidden under the snow. His jacket and trousers, without the protection of his overcoat, were soon soaked through, his skin icy and turning numb. He stumbled into the pit yard at last and turned into the manager’s office. He had to get men to help him bring Merry in.
‘Doctor!’
Jack Mackay was working late, going over in his mind what he was going to do about the latest orders from the mine agent. This was the wrong time of year to be darting about out among the old workings; why not leave it until spring? He had asked Mr Gallagher but had been told to do as he was told and put some of the maintenance men on the job of tidying up the old workings.
‘It means taking them away from more urgent work on bank and underground, Mr Gallagher,’ Jack had protested.
‘You’ll do as you are damn well told!’ the agent had snarled. So now Jack was trying to work something out. He’d got rid of Gallagher eventually and now here was his son, soaked to the skin an’ all. Daft fool had been out without his overcoat. He stood there, just inside the door and dripped water onto the floor.
‘Is something wrong?’ Jack asked. ‘Come to the fire, man, and thaw out.’
Tom moved to the fireplace where a coal fire was burning with flames climbing up into the chimney, held his hands out to the blaze and spoke over his shoulder to Jack.
‘Miranda Trent is stranded at Old Pit. She’s sprained her ankle or maybe it’s broken, I don’t know. The point is the place is a ruin, she’ll freeze if we don’t manage to get her down to Winton.’
‘Miranda Trent?’
‘That girl who used to live there. She’s an auxiliary nurse at Oaklands. If you give me the names of some men who are off shift I’ll get them to help me bring her down. Otherwise she could die in this weather.’
Trent. That was the lass who was making a fuss because her brother had took off, ran away to sea or something. Jack gazed at Tom wondering how he came to be involved with her. Still, she was a bonny lass; he’d seen her sometimes walking down the waggon way. He had meant to warn her off. The agent had been insistent that they should tighten up the rules on trespassing on company property.
‘You should go home and get into some dry clothes, lad,’ he observed. ‘I’ll send the maintenance cart up for her. A couple of likely lads can see to it. No need for you to go back. If you’re not careful you’ll be getting pneumonia.’ Steam was rising from Tom’s clothes and indeed, he felt decidedly unwell.
‘Oh, but—’ he began then saw the manager’s knowing expression. ‘Yes, of course, you’re right.’ He had to protect Merry’s reputation. He walked to the door, then turned round. ‘You’ll see to it right away?’
Jack Mackay nodded. ‘Aye, of course. I’ll send a lad down to the rows. No, on second thoughts I’ll go myself. It’s on my way home.’
Tom went out and took his pony out of the stable, where it stood beside the manager’s horse. He harnessed it to the cart and they trotted out of the yard. It was against all his instincts to go before he was sure Merry had been rescued but still he knew he had to. Gossip spread as rapidly in a pit village as anywhere else. Besides, in spite of the rug he had had under the seat and now draped over his shoulders, he was cold and shivery, with a burning spot right at the centre of his chest. Tom was well aware what that meant – he needed to get home and into a warm bath, and dose himself up or he would be in a worse state than Merry by morning.
His horse slowed to a walk, struggling in the six inches of snow as the road turned uphill. Tom closed his eyes and his head sunk into the rug. The horse pulled on manfully, making its way not to Tom’s lodging but to his father’s house and the warm stable it knew as home. It nickered softly as it turned into the gate and Tom opened his eyes with a start. He felt so ill he didn’t even think of turning round and making for the town.
Thirteen
Robbie Wright was on fore shift and had been home since midday. He had been to bed for a few hours but now, in the early evening, the snow had stopped and he was sitting in front of the fire, idly teasing his little sister, Mona, by taking her rag dolly and holding it high above her head until Mona cried.
‘Cry baby, cry baby,’ Robbie laughed, and Mona’s face crumpled.
‘Will you stop teasing the bairn and give her her dolly back? I’ll give you a crack about the ear in a minute,’ his mother shouted at him.
Robbie threw the doll in the air so that it landed on Mona’s head then fell to the floor. Mona wailed and picked it up and hugged it to her.
‘Mam!’ she cried.
‘For heaven’s sake, Mona, you’re not hurt and neither is your dolly,’ snapped her mother just as a knock came to the door. She turned to it in some relief and was amazed to find the pit manager standing on the step.
‘Eeh, come in, Mr Mackay, come in do,’ she said, though casting a quick glance round at the untidy kitchen. ‘You’ll catch your death standing out there in this weather.’
‘I will for a minute, Mrs Wright,’ said Jack. ‘I’d like a word with your lad if you don’t mind.’
Robbie had jumped to his stockinged feet when he saw who it was. Something must have happened at the pit, flashed through his mind. Not that he was a safety man, so what could it be?
‘It’s that lass that lost her brother,’ said Jack. ‘She’s hurt and laid up by Old Pit. You know, those broken-down houses. Well, Gallagher wants us to get a few lads together to bring her down.’ He was careful not to say it had been Dr Gallagher and not the agent. That way it might be easier to get lads out in this weather. ‘You can take the maintenance waggon up if you like,’ he added. ‘I don’t think you need a pony, though. A couple of likely lads could push and pull it. It’s not the weather for a pony to be out.’
Jack pulled his hat firmly on to his head and turned for the door, never doubting for a minute that Robbie would do as he was told. ‘Goodnight to you then, Mrs Wright,’ he said. ‘I’ll let myself out.’
‘All right for lads to be out but not ponies, eh?’ Mrs Wright commented.
‘Aw, Mam, I don’t mind. I’ll get Davey to give us a hand,’ said Robbie. He sat down and pulled on his pit boots. ‘Any road, ponies cost money,’ he added as he laced them up.
‘Wrap up well, then,’ said his mother. ‘I don’t want you going down with congestion of the lungs nor nowt.’
Ten minutes later Robbie and Davey were clattering up the line, pushing the cart with Davey’s pit shovel on top and a blanket covered with an oilskin. The going wasn’t too bad for most of the way as the wind was behind them and the waggon way was well maintained for the first mile or so. It was when the line branched off for Old Pit that their progress was slowed considerably. Here the way was not well maintained and the rails were rusty, in places uneven. They had to shovel snow out of the way and manhandle the cart over awkward parts. By the time they reached Old Pit they were both beginning to puff and blow with the effort.
They had to leave the cart where the line ended at the old colliery workings and walk to where the cottages stood in two lines facing each other. A faint beam of light illuminated the snow driving onto the water pump on the end of the rows.
‘Sign of life, any road,’ said Dave. He had been quite keen to come in the first place, but soon got fed up with the bitter cold and wet and had wished himself indoors many a time on the way to Old Pit. Now they took their own safety lamps, which had been hanging from their belts and lifted them high as they approached the house.
‘Wat cheo
r? Are you there, lass?’ Davey shouted before they pushed the door open and went in.
‘Oh thank God you’re here!’ cried Merry. She had pulled herself along until she was almost on top of the dying fire. Tom Gallagher’s overcoat was pulled around her and wisps of hay stuck to her hair. She gazed at the two young miners. ‘Oh it’s you, Robbie,’ she said. ‘And Davey too. Are you on your own?’
‘Do you think we can’t manage to get you down to Winton then?’ Davey asked. ‘Were you expecting someone else?’
‘No, no, I’m ever so grateful to you both for coming to help me.’
‘Well, we can manage you fine. We’ve got the maintenance cart on the end of the waggon way, and a nice blanket to keep you snug.’ Robbie knelt down beside her and looked her over. ‘Your leg, is it? Your ankle, eh? You’ll see, we’ll manage fine.’
They did, of course, wrapping her up in the coat and making a chair with their hands to carry her between them to the cart, where they covered her with the blanket and the oilskin on top.
When they finally reached the pit yard at Winton Colliery the snow had stopped and the sky cleared. The moonlight created an eerily beautiful landscape with the slag heap covered in snow like an Alpine mountain towering by the side and the winding wheel whirring above them. The cage came to bank and decanted the men from the heat of the mine to the icy cold of the north wind blowing through the yard; they stood for a moment shivering as long drags were taken on the first pipes lit after ten hours, and men coughed deeply before heading home.
It was all like a dream to Merry as she lay on the maintenance waggon. But she had to sit up now, shrug off her weariness and decide where she was going to go and how she was going to get there. There was no possible way for her to get back to Oaklands tonight. Robbie was before her, however.
‘You canna go back the night. You’d best come to me mam’s,’ he said. ‘Me and Davey will take you there. You can sleep in our Mona’s bed.’
‘Mona might not like it,’ said Merry.