Thunder and Roses (45 page)

“Of course not,” Nicholas assured him. “I’ll take all the men on at the same salaries. They can work at the slate quarry and start building the tramway. No one will lose by this.”

Owen gave a nod of approval, then dropped down and crawled from the voog. Nicholas followed automatically, his mind busy with plans. They made their way back to the main passage and began retracing their steps.

As they passed the tunnel that led to the new face, they heard men moving toward them. Owen said, “I’ve always had a knack for detecting gas, and it’s heavier now than it was earlier. If it were any worse, we’d have to put out our candles and find our way back in the dark. One of the lads must have noticed and persuaded the others to leave, t
hank
heaven.”

“Either that, or one of the lads sent the others out so he could try the old technique of lying down, igniting the gas, and letting it race over him.”

“It’s done sometimes, but I hope they won’t try it here.” In the flickering candlelight, Owen’s expression was concerned. “Because of Madoc’s skinflint ways, the shoring here is the worst in the pit—most of the timber has been removed and reused in newer tunnels. Wouldn’t take much to cause a collapse. There’s also a danger of triggering dust explosions.” He grimaced. “Even dusty air can explode under the right—or wrong—conditions.”

Nicholas told himself that experienced miners would not do anything that was clearly dangerous, but he found himself walking faster. In his experience, every group had its share of fools. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when they reached the open area where the bucket waited.

An explosion boomed from the passages behind them. As they both froze, a distant man screamed in agony and a hideous rumble thundered through the tunnels. Another explosion shook the earth, this one closer. Face ashen, Owen exclaimed, “God help us, the whole place is coming down!”

Nicholas stared at the waiting bucket, his mind racing as he tried to imagine a way that it could lift both of them at once. It took only an instant to realize that was impossible. He grabbed Owen’s arm and shoved him toward the bucket. “You first, you’ve got a family.”

Owen hesitated for an instant, then jerked away. “No!”

Nicholas started to say that the explosion probably wouldn’t reach this far, but he never had a chance. Rather than waste time talking, Owen drew back a work-hardened fist and smashed it into Nicholas’s jaw.

The unexpected blow caught him completely unprepared. Though Nicholas didn’t quite lose consciousness, his vision faded and his knees began to buckle. He tried to protest as Owen shoved him into the bucket and wrapped his hands around one of the lift lines, but to no avail.

When he was safely stowed, Owen yanked on the signal rope. The bell rang faintly above and Nicholas began rising toward the surface, swearing furiously at his helplessness. Below him the sounds of disaster were drawing nearer. Wind sucked through the shaft, making the bucket rock wildly against the walls.

As soon as he reached the surface, Nicholas dived out, shouting, “Send this damned thing down again! There’s been an explosion and we have to get Owen out!”

Jamie Harkin obeyed instantly. Frantic to speed the process up, Nicholas went to the horse’s head and used every bit of Romany magic he knew to persuade the beast to go faster.

But it was already too late. Beneath them the earth roared and clouds of suffocating smoke spewed upward, black against the pale fog.

The force of the blast blew the bucket up the shaft and into the air like a rocket. After ripping loose from its supporting ropes, the bucket crashed to the ground fifty feet away. As Nicholas watched in horror, the shaft collapsed inward, cutting off the billowing of smoke.

The catastrophe everyone had predicted had finally struck the Penreith mine.

25

 
The explosion was heard throughout the valley, and able-bodied men for miles around converged on the mine to help with rescue operations. Since the Bychan shaft was irrevocably closed, Nicholas ran to the main premises and joined the first group of rescuers to go below ground. Though a couple of men recognized him with surprised glances, no one questioned his right to be there. In the pit, he was not an earl but another pair of needed hands.

In a rage of energy, he shifted broken stones for hours, until his hands were raw and his muscles trembled with exhaustion. Once he crawled into a precariously balanced tumble of debris and managed to free a youth who was still alive. More often, the men uncovered were beyond help.

After uncounted hours of labor, a new man coming on took his arm and led him back to the lift, saying that he needed rest or he’d be more harm than help. When Nicholas reached the surface, he found that the fog had burned off and the sun was setting, flooding the valley with a blaze of blood-red light. Somewhere nearby an authoritative voice was barking orders, but he was too tired to pay attention to the words.

As he squinted against the glare, another good Samaritan pointed him toward a table where sandwiches and hot tea were being served. The thought of food turned his stomach, but he accepted a mug of steaming tea that someone pressed into his hand. It was heavily sugared, and the heat and sweetness cleared his head a little. Though he had numerous scrapes and bruises, he felt no pain. He felt nothing at all.

The premises teemed with people. Though some moved purposefully, more were family members hoping for news of the missing miners. Some wept while others waited fatalistically. Nicholas would never forget their faces for as long as he lived.

He was unsurprised to see Clare. An island of calm strength in the midst of chaos, she seemed to be in charge of providing food for the workers. Though she was fifty yards away, she must have sensed his glance, for she looked up. For a moment their gazes held as a complex current of grief and compassion flowed between them. Abruptly he turned away, knowing that in his present state she might slide through his barriers. If that happened, he would break down entirely.

Reluctant but unable to stop himself, he walked over to the results of carnage—two rows of bodies that had been laid on the ground and covered with empty coal sacks. He counted twenty-eight. As he watched, another victim was laid to rest at the end of a row. The body was badly burned, but a frantic woman knelt and looked at a ring, then burst into wails of grief. As the body was covered, an older man led her away, tears streaming down his own face.

Sickened, he turned away, and found himself face to face with Marged Morris. At sixteen she had been the prettiest girl in the valley, and she had grown up to be a lovely woman. Now her face was haggard and she looked twice her age. She whispered, “Owen is missing. Is … is there any chance for him?”

Nicholas would rather have died in the mine than have to answer her question. Yet answer he must, for only he knew where Owen had been at the time of the explosion. “I don’t think so, Marged,” he said painfully. “The Bychan shaft is blocked and the tunnels beneath it must have collapsed at the same time.” His throat closed. After swallowing hard, he finished, “The engineer doesn’t expect any survivors from that part of the mine.”

For a moment she simply stared at him, and he wondered if she understood. Then he saw that she was shaking all over, as if she had a violent chill.

Unable to bear the expression in her eyes, he drew her into his arms, as much to comfort himself as her. She clung to him like a drowning woman, sobs racking her slim body.

Anguished tears in his eyes, he said hoarsely, “You and the children will never lack for anything, Marged. I swear it.” Even as he spoke, he knew how paltry a substitute money would be for a missing husband and father.

Face bleak, Clare was approaching. He sent her a glance of desperate appeal over Marged’s head. Understanding, she went to her friend and said gently, “If there is good news, you’ll be notified immediately. But now I’ll take you home. The children need you.”

Slowly Marged straightened and dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. “Of course, I must go to the children. And I must that-tell Owen’s mother,” she said dully. For a moment rage flashed across her face. “I’ll never let my sons work here. Never!” With Clare holding her arm, she turned and walked away.

Nicholas watched the two women until they disappeared into the milling crowd. It was almost dark and torches were being lit. The flickering light made the mine premises look like a lurid medieval painting of hell.

Heart like lead, he crossed to the main shaft and joined a group of other men who were returning to the pit after a break. Covered with black coal dust, they were almost indistinguishable from each other. Nicholas knew he must look the same.

As he waited to descend, a familiar voice snapped, “What the devil are you doing here, Aberdare? Get off my property!”

Nicholas turned and saw Michael Kenyon bearing down on him. Vaguely he realized that it had been Michael’s voice he had heard giving orders, organizing the rescue work with the efficiency and coolness he had learned under fire.

“Save your tantrums until this is over,” Nicholas said wearily. “Until then, you need all the help you can get.”

When the other man’s mouth opened for a retort, Nicholas forestalled him with a raised hand. “Michael—shut the hell up.”

Spots of angry color showed on Michael’s cheeks, but he argued no more. Lips compressed to a thin line, he pivoted and walked away.

And Nicholas returned to the mine.

 
After taking Marged home, Clare didn’t see Nicholas again until two days after the explosion. That was when Lewis the Cart, who did most of the delivery work around Penreith, delivered the unconscious earl. When Rhys Williams summoned Clare outside, she was shocked to see Nicholas’s condition. Not only was he ragged and filthy, but streaks of blood marked his hands and clothing.

Seeing her concern, Lewis said reassuringly, “He’s not hurt, Miss Morgan, only fagged out.” He gave an approving nod. “The earl may be a Gypsy, but he’s a right ‘un, he is. Not afraid to get his hands dirty. Didn’t sleep for two days, they say, but mortal flesh has to rest eventually.”

Williams and a footman lifted Nicholas from the straw-filled cart. Seeing Clare’s expression, the butler said, “Don’t worry, miss. We’ll take good care of him.”

Knowing she would only be in the way, she turned back to the carter. “Do they have final casualty figures, Mr. Lewis?”

He grimaced. “Thirty-two dead, dozens injured, five still missing. Hardly a family in the village that hasn’t been affected. They don’t expect to find anyone else alive. A crew will keep looking for bodies, but tomorrow regular work will start again in the parts of the pit that weren’t affected.”
                   

Life had to go on, Clare supposed sourly; no doubt Madoc and Lord Michael didn’t want to lose any more of their precious profits by delaying. “T
hank
you for bringing Lord Aberdare home.” She hesitated, wondering whether he was expecting a more tangible reward.

Guessing her thoughts, Lewis said, “No need, Miss Morgan. Lord Michael Kenyon took care of me. He’s another tough one, he is, but fair. Went down pit himself several times.” His voice dropped confidentially. “The men are hoping he’ll manage the mine himself now. George Madoc would never have spent so much time on rescue work.”

So perhaps Lord Michael did have some redeeming qualities. After bidding the carter farewell, Clare went indoors and hovered indecisively in the hall, wondering what to do. She had also worked long hours since the explosion. Besides making the arrangements to feed the rescue workers and performing basic nursing chores, she had gone to the homes of bereaved friends to offer both comfort and practical aid.

Exhaustion had overcome her earlier in the day. After three hours of sleep, she had been preparing to return to the village, but from what Mr. Lewis said, the immediate crisis was over. Though there were certainly things she could do, her help was no longer vital, especially since she was so groggy that she couldn’t think straight.

With a sigh, she climbed the stairs and went back to bed.

 
 
When Clare woke again, it was dark. Though she felt drained, her mind was clear as she faced the painful knowledge that she would never see Owen again. Her own sense of loss increased the heartache she felt for Marged and the children.