Copper Kingdom (14 page)

He took her as far as the corner of Market Street and when he said goodbye, the softness and beauty was still between them.

She ran then as though her feet had wings and joy flowed through her like sweet wine. Copperman's Row appeared to be a fairyland of white snow lit by shooting sparks and Mali felt she wanted to stay awake all night so that she might not lose the memory of the hours she had spent with Sterling.

It was a brisk morning, the sun weak and wintry but none the less pleasant, slanting through the bare branches of the trees. Sterling stepped out of the arched doorway of the Mackworth Arms and stared across the cobbled street towards the harbour, breathing in the familiar scents of tar and salt. He listened for a moment to the small tugs issuing warning to the larger vessels, ships with billowing sails that creaked and groaned in the wind and the less beautiful steam packets that could cut the time of a journey by almost half.

The air was like wine with no sign of the pall of smoke that normally hung shroudlike over the valley. Sterling took a deep breath, staring down the snaking line of the main street as it meandered along the curve of the bay. The tall posts of the gas lamps stood like markers against grey stone houses and he reflected that it was an ugly, shapeless town and yet the rising folds of the hills that flanked it and the soft swell of the sea somehow beautified it.

He strode round the back of the hotel and stared in satisfaction at the gleaming Austin Ascot he had just acquired. It had cost him four hundred pounds, the windsheets and headlights coming as extras, but it was worth it. It seemed to stamp his own individuality, mark the change in ownership of the copper company, a flag to wave at the world as a warning that Sterling Richardson intended to do things his own way.

It was pleasant if cold driving the Ascot along the road towards the works; he found the car amazingly easy to steer and far less temperamental than Foxy, though nothing would ever replace the feeling of a good horse beneath him.

His thoughts turned to the ticketing that was to take place later on that morning; with him Ben would attend the auctioning of the ore as he had always done even though now the old man's eyes were not as sharp as they used to be. He turned the Ascot into Stryd Fawr, the high street which was crowded even at such an early hour. Among the crowd he saw cockle women wrapped in heavy Welsh shawls, distinctive tall hats upon their heads, baskets of shellfish on their arms. None of the people thronging the pavements seemed aware of the cold breeze coming in off the sea.

Sterling slowed the Ascot, breathing in the smell of hot fresh bread that emanated from a van pulled up before the baker's shop. The horse was moving impatiently between the shafts, drawing the van almost onto the pavement. A stream of urine came from the animal in sudden gushes, running in yellow rivulets between the cobbles. Sterling pressed the horn, impatient to pass, and after a moment the driver came out of the shop and climbed aboard the van, calling raucously to the horse to get a move on along the crowded road.

The main street was soon left behind him as Sterling drove up the hill towards the works. Green Hill was the Catholic area of the town and could not have been given a more blatant misnomer. Dingy courts were entwined together in a maze of dark alleyways leading to cottages that defied all efforts by the occupants to preserve a state of cleanliness.

A great deal of the dust and grime came from the works spread along the river and there seemed no cure for it except perhaps closure of the very works that gave the inhabitants of Green Hill their livelihood.

‘Morning Ben.' Sterling strode into the office a few minutes later after parking his Ascot in the end stable cleaned out and modified for the purpose. ‘Good day for the ticketing wouldn't you say?'

‘Aye, not bad sir.' Ben took his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his whiskers. ‘Good load in from Chile for the auction, so I've heard,' he continued, his voice slightly muffled by the folds of linen. ‘Course you can't beat the Cornish ore but nowadays we must take what we can get.'

Sterling took off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. ‘Let's go and have a look at the sheds, then, see how the new furnaces are shaping up.'

‘The workmen have not finished installing them yet sir.' Ben spoke almost reprovingly as though Sterling was expecting miracles.

‘Let's get over there anyway,' Sterling said a trife impatiently. ‘You know I like to check everything over at least once a day.'

As always the sheds were a steaming cauldron, the remaining calcinating furnaces roaring full blast. Each one of them was capable of devouring over three tons of ore, reducing the rock-like substance to a shimmering, molten mass, glazing over with dross that must continually be skimmed away, ‘fishing' as the workers called it. This was the first stage of refining and would take anything up to twenty-four hours to complete.

Sterling nodded in satisfaction, the ore was not clotting but flowing freely. He folded his arms over his chest, watching as the copper was granulated with water after the first roasting; he found it curiously satisfying to see the product begin to take shape.

Ben was mopping his face, rubbing the steam from his glasses, coughing to draw Sterling's attention to himself, it was clear he did not find it fascinating to stand and stare as Sterling did.

‘How's the tough pitch coming along?' Sterling had to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the bubbling metal. Ben nodded his head.

‘It's good, sir.' His dour face almost broke into a smile. ‘You know I have a knack of picking out the best ore even though I'm not a chemist.'

‘Right enough,' Sterling conceded, ‘let's go look at the 'finery work and then we'll return to the office.' He supposed it wasn't fair to drag Ben around the works and yet shaking him off was like trying to free himself from a limpet, he thought ruefully.

Ben followed close in his footsteps, still mopping his brow. He was game enough, Sterling had to admit; perhaps it was time he reassured the old man that he would not be pensioned off – at least not yet a while.

‘I don't know what I'd do without you, Ben,' he said. ‘I hope you're not thinking of retiring?'

Ben removed his spectacles and polished them vigorously, trying hard to conceal his pleasure.

‘Don't worry sir,' he said, almost puffing up his chest with pride, ‘I'll be here for some time yet, I know you need me.'

The refinery where the last part of the smelting process was carried out was no less hot than the calcinating sheds and Sterling felt the sweat trickling down his back, running like water along his shoulders. How the 'finery workers survived in such conditions he did not know. Indeed, they were forced to take a rest and step away from the furnace mouth every ten minutes or so. Also the men drank huge draughts of water or even thick brown ale when they could afford it, for they sweated profusely and needed to replace lost moisture. He saw one furnace man take off his boot and pour a stream of liquid from it as though he had been walking in a river. But these coppermen were the topnotchers, the highest paid workers in the company, young strong men with muscles like steel and nerves that were even keener.

Sterling watched as a green oak sapling was fed into the steaming liquid that by now was gleaming like gold. Bubbles appeared on the surface of the molten metal and huge bursts of steam gushed forth, eliminating the remaining oxygen from the copper.

Sterling became aware that he was being watched. He turned sharply and saw a youth, ladle in hand, standing with feet apart, head back in an air of defiance. He could not have put into words more clearly his obvious disregard for the presence of the company owner.

‘Who's that?' Sterling jerked his head in the youth's direction and Ben, following his glance, coughed into his handkerchief.

‘That's young William Owens, sir,' he said. ‘His father worked here once, rest his soul. Good family they are, the Owens.' He paused. ‘Haven't had much to do with that one though, looks a bit uppity if you ask me.'

Sterling watched as the boy turned his back and ladled a scoop of molten copper from the furnace, tipping it swiftly into the waiting mould. His actions were careless and some of the gleaming liquid spilled onto the dampness of the floor. Immediately, the metal spat in all directions, cooling fast, becoming lethal weapons. Once touching flesh the metal would harden and set and would need to be prised out with a knife.

‘That was not very clever.' Sterling approached Will Owens and spoke mildly. ‘If you can't do the job then I suggest you get out of the sheds, there's a place for boys in the washroom.'

Will Owens smiled, he was a goodlooking youth with deep dimples in his swarthy skin. His hair was dark and his eyes implacably cold. He rubbed his sweating hands on the front of his red flannel shirt.

‘Sorry, sir,' he said amiably. ‘It won't happen again.'

‘Make sure it doesn't.' Sterling was aware of the aggressive note in his voice and tried to moderate his tone a little. ‘It's not only your safety that concerns me but that of the men working around you.' He turned to the manager hovering anxiously in the background. ‘Come on, Ben, let's get out of here.'

It was cold in the yard yet even the biting wind seemed welcome after the searing heat of the sheds. ‘He's a cocky young sod, that Will Owen,' Sterling said. ‘I must keep my eye on him.' He wondered if he had ever been as young and immature as Owens or had he always known that the responsibility for the company would one day be his? Perhaps he envied the boy his freedom? Ludicrous, he thought wryly. Doubtless Owens would have given his right arm to change places with Sterling Richardson.

‘'Scuse me, sir but it's high time we were leaving for the ticketing.' Ben was consulting the heavy fob watch hanging on his waistcoat with a studious expression on his cold-reddened face. ‘If we don't get a move on they'll start the bidding without us.'

‘I'll get my coat.' Sterling glanced at Ben. ‘I hope you'll enjoy riding in my Ascot.' He spoke dryly. ‘I'm not bothering to take the horse and trap today.' Ben's expression was one of comic dismay.

‘Me ride in that contraption, sir, you're not serious are you?'

Sterling laughed. ‘Come along, get your overcoat from the office and button it up well; oh, and you'll have to hold onto your hat. Don't worry, you'll enjoy the experience once you get used to it.'

Ben was funny in his mistrust of the automobile; he stood staring at the Ascot as though it was the instrument of the devil.

‘Get in, it won't bite.' Sterling concealed his amusement. ‘I'll drive slowly, I promise, you'll be quite safe.'

‘Yes, sir, right away.' Ben moved with more alacrity than usual, anxious to dispel the impression that he was afraid of the motor car. He sat awkwardly in the high seat, staring down at the cobbles as though wishing himself anywhere but in this newfangled invention that aspired to replace the horse.

‘Quite a nice-looking machine, sir.' He spoke heartily as though not at all awed by the gleaming metal body and the powerful engine that sprang alarmingly into life as Sterling swung the starting handle.

‘Not bad, is it?' Sterling smiled as he jumped into the seat beside Ben.

Once out onto the road, Sterling gave the car a little more thrust, increasing the speed, overtaking the flow of horse-drawn vehicles on the busy roadway leading to the centre of town. Ben clung fiercely to the seat, his face growing even redder than usual and regretfully, Sterling slowed the Ascot to a more moderate pace.

The cobbled street followed the curving line of the River Swan upon which was a ship, sails unfurled, gliding gracefully along high in the water. At her stern was a flotilla of flat-faced barges, piled high with green ore that glinted in the sunlight and Ben, forgetting his fear of motoring, pointed eagerly.

‘The ore is going to auction now by the looks of it,' he said. ‘I 'spects they'll take only the best samples to the Mackworth Arms as usual. Cunning devils these middle men, paying the foreigners a pittance and charging the smelters top rates.'

Sterling glanced at the manager quickly. ‘This is the main reason for the decline of the copper trade, you know, Ben,' he said mildly. ‘Perhaps now you'll understand my wish to make changes in the works.'

Sterling drew the Ascot into a small side road leading to the back of the hotel. ‘Home sweet home.' He pulled up the handbrake and the car shuddered to a halt.

Ben climbed down from his seat stiffly, lifting his legs one by one as if to reassure himself he had sustained no injuries during the drive.

‘Are you staying here then?' He jerked his head towards the rather dingy back of the Mackworth Arms. ‘Quite handy, I suppose, after the ticketings you'll be able to go straight to your room.'

‘It's all right as a temporary measure but I'll be glad when my own house is refurbished all the same.'

The bar of the hotel was crowded with buyers, smelters from all over South Wales. Most were well-clad businessmen wearing expensive overcoats and neat starched collars above well-filled waistcoats, but some were the small men, those who ran one or at the most two furnaces with the help of a handful of workers.

Glancing round, Sterling saw James Cardigan among the throng of people but before he could look away, James was raising his hand in acknowledgement.

‘Morning Sterling, my boy.' He spoke cordially. ‘Good turnout for the auction, we shall have to be on our toes today.'

Sterling concealed his irritation. ‘Indeed we shall,' he agreed. ‘But really James, there was no need for you to come along.' Although aware of the brusqueness in his voice, Sterling was powerless to alter his tone. James half turned away, exasperation and something else that Sterling could not read in the darkening of his eyes.