She wondered nervously whether Jay would keep his word. Something might have happened to prevent him, or he could even have fallen asleep waiting. How disappointing that would be! But she found the kitchen door unlocked, as he had promised; and when she emerged into the stable yard he was waiting there, holding two ponies, murmuring softly to them to keep them quiet. She felt a glow of pleasure when he smiled at her in the moonlight. Without speaking, he handed her the reins of the smaller horse, then led the way out of the yard by the back path, avoiding the front drive which was overlooked by the principal bedrooms.
When they reached the road Jay unshrouded a lantern. They mounted their ponies and trotted away. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” Jay said.
“I was afraid you might fall asleep waiting,” she replied, and they both laughed.
They rode up the glen toward the coal pits. “Did you have another row with your father this afternoon?” Lizzie asked him directly.
“Yes.”
He did not offer details, but Lizzie’s curiosity did not require encouragement. “What about?” she said.
She could not see his face but she sensed that he disliked her questioning. However, he answered mildly enough. “The same old thing, I’m afraid—my brother, Robert.”
“I think you’ve been very badly treated, if that’s any consolation.”
“It is—thank you.” He seemed to relax a bit.
As they approached the pits Lizzie’s eagerness and curiosity heightened, and she began to speculate about what the mine would be like and why McAsh had implied it was some kind of hellhole. Would it be dreadfully hot or freezing cold? Did the men snarl at one another and fight, like caged wildcats? Would the pit be evil smelling, or infested with mice, or silent and ghostly? She began to feel apprehensive. But whatever happens, she thought, I’ll know what it’s like—and McAsh will no longer be able to taunt me with my ignorance.
After half an hour or so they passed a small mountain of coal for sale. “Who’s there?” a voice barked, and a keeper with a deerhound straining at a leash entered the circle of Jay’s lantern. The keepers traditionally looked after the deer and tried to catch poachers, but nowadays many of them enforced discipline at the pits and guarded against theft of coal.
Jay lifted his lantern to show his face.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Jamisson, sir,” the keeper said.
They rode on. The pithead itself was marked only by a horse trotting in a circle, turning a drum. As they got closer Lizzie saw that the drum wound a rope that pulled buckets of water out of the pit. “There’s always water in a mine,” Jay explained. “It seeps from the earth.” The old wooden buckets leaked, making the ground around the pithead a treacherous mixture of mud and ice.
They tied up their horses and went to the edge of the pit. It was a shaft about six feet square with a steep wooden staircase descending its sides in a zigzag. Lizzie could not see the bottom.
There was no handrail.
Lizzie suffered a moment of panic. “How deep is it?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“If I remember rightly, this pit is two hundred and ten feet,” Jay said.
Lizzie swallowed hard. If she called the whole thing off, Sir George and Robert might get to hear of it, then they would say: “I told you it was no place for a lady.” She could not bear that—she would rather go down a two- hundred-foot staircase without a handrail.
Gritting her teeth, she said: “What are we waiting for?”
If Jay sensed her fear he made no comment. He went ahead, lighting the steps for her, and she followed with her heart in her mouth. However, after a few steps he said: “Why don’t you put your hands on my shoulders, to steady yourself.” She did so gratefully.
As they descended, the wooden buckets of water waltzed up the well in the middle of the shaft, banging against the empty ones going down, frequently splashing icy water on Lizzie. She had a scary vision of herself slipping off the stairs and tumbling crazily down the shaft, crashing into the buckets, overturning dozens of them before she hit the bottom of the shaft and died.
After a while Jay stopped to let her rest for a few moments. Although she thought of herself as fit and active, her legs ached and she was breathing hard. Wanting to give him the impression she was not tired, she made conversation. “You seem to know a lot about the mines—where the water comes from and how deep the pit is and so on.”
“Coal is a constant topic of conversation in our family—it’s where most of our money comes from. But I spent one summer with Harry Ratchett, the viewer, about six years ago. Mother had decided she wanted me to learn all about the business, in the hope that one day Father would want me to run it. Foolish aspiration.”
Lizzie felt sorry for him.
They went on. A few minutes later the stairs ended in a deck that gave access to two tunnels. Below the level of the tunnels, the shaft was full of water. The pool was emptied by the buckets but constantly replenished by ditches that drained the tunnels. Lizzie stared into the darkness of the tunnels, her heart filled with mingled curiosity and fear.
Jay stepped off the deck into a tunnel, turned, and gave his hand to Lizzie. His grasp was firm and dry. As she entered the tunnel he drew her hand to his lips and kissed it. She was pleased by this little piece of gallantry.
As he turned to lead her on he kept hold of her hand. She was not sure what to make of this but she had no time to think about it. She had to concentrate on keeping her feet. She plowed through thick coal dust and she could taste it in the air. The roof was low in places and she had to stoop much of the time. She realized that she had a very unpleasant night ahead of her.
She tried to ignore her discomfort. On either side candlelight flickered in the gaps between broad columns, and she was reminded of a midnight service in a great cathedral. Jay said: “Each miner works a twelve-foot section of the coal face, called a ‘room.’ Between one room and another they leave a pillar of coal, sixteen feet square, to support the roof.”
Lizzie suddenly realized that above her head there was two hundred and ten feet of earth and rock that could collapse on her if the miners had not done their work carefully; and she had to fight to suppress a feeling of panic. Involuntarily she gave Jay’s hand a squeeze, and he squeezed back. From then on she was very conscious that they were holding hands. She found that she liked it.
The first rooms they passed were empty, presumably worked out, but after a while Jay stopped beside a room where a man was digging. To Lizzie’s surprise the miner was not standing up: he lay on his side, attacking the coal face at floor level. A candle in a wooden holder near his head threw its inconstant light on his work. Despite his awkward position he swung his pick powerfully. With each swing he dug the point into the coal and prized out lumps. He was making an indentation two or three feet deep across the width of his room. Lizzie was shocked to realize that he was lying in running water, which seeped out of the coal face, flowed across the floor of his room, and drained into the ditch that ran along the tunnel. Lizzie dipped her fingers into the ditch. The water was freezing cold. She shivered. Yet the miner had taken off his coat and shirt and was working in his breeches and bare feet; and she could see the gleam of perspiration on his blackened shoulders.
The tunnel was not level, but rose and fell—with the seam of coal, Lizzie presumed. Now it began to go up more steeply. Jay stopped and pointed ahead to where a miner was doing something with a candle. “He’s testing for firedamp,” Jay said.
Lizzie let go of his hand and sat on a rock, to relieve her back from stooping.
“Are you all right?” Jay said.
“Fine. What’s firedamp?”
“An inflammable gas.”
“Inflammable?”
“Yes—it’s what causes most explosions in coal mines.”
This sounded mad. “If it’s explosive, why is he using that candle?”
“It’s the only way to detect the gas—you can’t see it or smell it.”
The miner was raising the candle slowly toward the roof, and seemed to be staring hard at the flame.
“The gas is lighter than air, so it concentrates at roof level,” Jay went on. “A small amount will give a blue tinge to the candle flame.”
“And what will a large amount do?”
“Blow us all to kingdom come.”
