A Place Called Freedom (9 page)

Lizzie said: “Is there really no other way to deal with firedamp?”

“No,” said Jay.

“Of course there is,” Mack gasped.

“Really?” Lizzie said. “What?”

Mack caught his breath. “You sink ventilation shafts, which let the gas escape before ever it can accumulate.” He took another deep breath. “The Jamissons have been told time and time again.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the miners standing around.

Lizzie turned to Jay. “Then why don’t you do it?”

“You don’t understand business—why should you?” Jay said. “No man of business can pay for an expensive procedure when a cheaper one will achieve the same result. His rivals would undercut his price. It’s political economy.”

“Give it a fancy name if you like,” Mack panted. “Ordinary folk call it wicked greed.”

One or two of the miners shouted: “Aye! That’s right!”

“Now, McAsh,” Jay remonstrated. “Don’t spoil everything by getting above your station again. You’ll get into real trouble.”

“I’m in no trouble,” Mack said. “Today is my twenty-second birthday.” He had not meant to say this, but now he could not stop himself. “I haven’t worked here the full year-and-a-day, not quite—and I’m not going to.” The crowd was suddenly quiet, and Mack was filled with an exhilarating sense of freedom. “I’m leaving, Mr. Jamisson,” he said. “I quit. Good-bye.” He turned his back on Jay and, in total silence, he walked away.

9

B
Y THE TIME
J
AY AND
L
IZZIE GOT BACK TO THE
castle, eight or ten servants were about, lighting fires and sweeping floors by candlelight. Lizzie, black with coal dust and almost helpless with fatigue, thanked Jay in a whisper and staggered upstairs. Jay ordered a tub and hot water to be brought to his room then took a bath, scrubbing the coal dust off his skin with a pumice stone.

In the last forty-eight hours, momentous events had happened in his life: his father had given him a derisory patrimony, his mother had cursed his father, and he had tried to murder his brother—but none of these things occupied his mind. As he lay there he thought about Lizzie. Her impish face appeared before him in the steam from his bath, smiling mischievously, the eyes crinkling in the corners, mocking him, tempting him, daring him. He recalled how she had felt in his arms as he had carried her up the mine shan: she was son and light, and he had pressed her small frame to himself as he climbed the stairs. He wondered if she was thinking about him. She must have called for hot water too: she could hardly go to bed as dirty as she was. He pictured her standing naked in front of her bedroom fire, soaping her body. He wished he could be with her, and take the sponge from her hand, and gently wipe the coal dust from the slopes of her breasts. The thought aroused him, and he sprang out of the bath and rubbed himself dry with a rough towel.

He did not feel sleepy. He wanted to talk to someone about the night’s adventure, but Lizzie would probably sleep for hours. He thought about his mother. He could trust her. She sometimes pushed him into doing things against his inclination, but she was always on his side.

He shaved and put on fresh clothes then went along to her room. As he expected she was up, sipping chocolate at her dressing-table while her maid did her hair. She smiled at him. He kissed her and dropped onto a chair. She was pretty, even first thing in the morning, but there was steel in her soul.

She dismissed her maid. “Why are you up so early?” she asked Jay.

“I haven’t been to bed. I went down the pit.”

“With Lizzie Hallim?”

She was so clever, he thought fondly. She always knew what he was up to. But he did not mind, for she never condemned him. “How did you guess?”

“It wasn’t difficult. She was itching to go, and she’s the kind of girl who won’t take no for an answer.”

“We chose a bad day to go down. There was an explosion.”

“Dear God, are you all right?”

“Yes—”

“I’ll send for Dr. Stevenson anyway—”

“Mother, stop worrying! I was out of the pit by the time it blew. So was Lizzie. I’m just a bit weak in the knees from carrying her all the way up the shaft.”

Mother calmed down. “What did Lizzie think of it?”

“She swore she would never allow mining on the Hallim estate.”

Alicia laughed. “And your father is greedy for her coal. Well, I look forward to witnessing the battle. When Robert is her husband he will have the power to go against her wishes … in theory. We shall see. But how do you think the courtship is progressing?”

“Flirting isn’t Robert’s strong point, to say the least,” Jay said scornfully.

“It’s yours, though, isn’t it?” she said indulgently. Jay shrugged.

“He’s doing his clumsy best.”

“Perhaps she won’t marry him after all.”

“I think she will have to.”

Mother looked shrewdly at him. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Lady Hallim is having trouble renewing her mortgages—Father has made sure of it.”

“Has he! How sly he is.”

Jay sighed. “She’s a wonderful girl. She’ll be wasted on Robert.”

Mother put a hand on his knee. “Jay, my sweet boy, she’s not Robert’s yet.”

“I suppose she might marry someone else.”

“She might marry you.”

“Good God, Mother!” Although he had kissed Lizzie he had not got as far as thinking of marriage.

“You’re in love with her. I can tell.”

“Love? Is that what this is?”

“Of course—your eyes light up at the mention of her name, and when she’s in the room you can’t see anyone else.”

She had described Jay’s feelings exactly. He had no secrets from his mother. “But marry her?”

“If you’re in love with her, ask her! You’d be the laird of High Glen.”

“That would be one in the eye for Robert,” Jay said with a grin. His heart was racing at the thought of having Lizzie as his wife, but he tried to concentrate on the practicalities. “I’d be penniless.”

“You’re penniless now. But you’d manage the estate better than Lady Hallim—she’s no businesswoman. It’s a big place—High Glen must be ten miles long, and she owns Craigie and Crook Glen too. You’d clear land for grazing, sell more venison, build a watermill.… You could make it produce a decent income, even without mining for coal.”

“What about the mortgages?”

“You’re a much more attractive borrower than she is—you’re young and vigorous and you come from a wealthy family. You would find it easy enough to renew the loans. And then, in time …”

“What?”

“Well, Lizzie is an impulsive girl. Today she vows she will never allow mining on the Hallim estate. Tomorrow, God knows, she may decide that deer have feelings, and ban hunting. Next week she may have forgotten both edicts. If ever you do allow coal mining, you’ll be able to pay off all your debts.”

Jay grimaced. “I don’t relish the prospect of going against Lizzie’s wishes on something like that.” He was also thinking that he wanted to be a Barbadian sugar grower, not a Scottish coal owner. But he wanted Lizzie, too.

With disconcerting suddenness Mother changed the subject. “What happened yesterday, when you were hunting?”

Jay was taken by surprise, and he found himself unable to tell a smooth lie. He flushed and stammered, and finally said: “I had another set-to with Father.”

“I know that much,” she said. “I could tell by your faces when you returned. But it wasn’t just an argument. You did something that shook him. What was it?”

Jay had never been able to deceive her. “I tried to shoot Robert,” he confessed miserably.

“Oh, Jay, that’s dreadful,” she said.

He bowed his head. It was all the worse that he had failed. If he had killed his brother, the guilt would have been appalling, but there would have been a certain savage sense of triumph. This way he had the guilt on its own.

Mother stood beside his chair and pulled his head to her bosom. “My poor boy,” she said. “There was no need for that. We’ll find another way, don’t worry.” And she rocked back and forth, stroking his hair and saying: “There, there.”

“How could you do such a thing?” Lady Hallim wailed as she scrubbed Lizzie’s back.

“I had to see for myself,” Lizzie replied. “Not so hard!”

“I have to do it hard—the coal dust won’t shift.”

“Mack McAsh riled me when he said I didn’t know what I was talking about,” Lizzie went on.

“And why should you?” said her mother. “What business has a young lady to know about coal mining, may I ask?”

“I hate it when people dismiss me by saying that women don’t understand about politics, or farming, or mining, or trade—it lets them get away with all kinds of nonsense.”

Lady Hallim groaned. “I hope Robert doesn’t mind your being so masculine.”

“He’ll have to take me as I am, or not at all.”

Her mother gave an exasperated sigh. “My dear, this won’t do. You must give him more encouragement. Of course a girl doesn’t want to appear
eager
, but you go too far the other way. Now promise me you’ll be nice to Robert today.”

“Mother, what do you think of Jay?”

Mother smiled. “A charming boy, of course—” She stopped suddenly and stared hard at Lizzie. “Why do you ask?”

“He kissed me in the coal mine.”

“No!” Lady Hallim stood upright and hurled the pumice stone across the room. “No, Elizabeth, I will not have this!” Lizzie was taken aback by her mother’s sudden fury. “I have not lived twenty years in penury to see you grow up and marry a handsome pauper!”

“He’s not a pauper—”

“Yes he is, you saw that awful scene with his father—his patrimony is a horse—Lizzie, you cannot do this!”

Mother was possessed by rage. Lizzie had never seen her like this and she could not understand it. “Mother, calm down, won’t you?” she pleaded. She stood up and got out of the tub. “Pass me a towel, please?”

To her astonishment her mother put her hands to her face and began to cry. Lizzie put her arms around her and said: “Mother, dear, what is it?”

“Cover yourself, you wicked child,” she said between sobs.

Lizzie wrapped a blanket around her wet body. “Sit down, Mother.” She guided her to a chair.

After a while Mother spoke. “Your father was just like Jay, just like him,” she said, and there was a bitter twist to the set of her mouth. “Tall, handsome, charming, and very keen on kissing in dark places—and weak, so weak. I gave in to my lower nature, and married him against my better judgment, even though I knew he was a will-o’-the-wisp. Within three years he had wasted my fortune, and a year after that he fell off his horse when drunk and broke his beautiful head and died.”

“Oh, Mama.” Lizzie was shocked by the hatred in her mother’s voice. She normally spoke of Father in neutral tones: she had always told Lizzie that he was unlucky in business, that he had died tragically young, and that lawyers had made a mess of the estate’s finances. Lizzie herself could hardly remember him, for she had been three years old when he died.

“And he scorned me for not giving him a son,” Mother went on. “A son who would have been like him, faithless and feckless, and would have broken some girl’s heart. But I knew how to prevent that.”

Lizzie was shocked again. Was it true that women could prevent pregnancy? Could it be that her own mother had done such a thing in defiance of her husband’s wishes?

Mother seized her hand. “Promise me you won’t marry him, Lizzie. Promise me!”

Lizzie pulled her hand away. She felt disloyal, but she had to tell the truth. “I can’t,” she said. “I love him.”

When Jay left his mother’s room, his feelings of guilt and shame seemed to dissipate, and suddenly he was hungry. He went down to the dining room. His father and Robert were there, eating thick slices of grilled ham with stewed apples and sugar, talking to Harry Ratchett. Ratchett, as manager of the pits, had come to report the firedamp blast. Father looked sternly at Jay and said: “I hear you went down Heugh pit last night.”

Jay’s appetite began to fade. “I did,” he said. “There was an explosion.” He poured a glass of ale from a jug.

“I know all about the explosion,” Father said. “Who was your companion?”

Jay swallowed some beer. “Lizzie Hallim,” he confessed.

Robert colored. “Damn you,” he said. “You know Father did not wish her to be taken down the pit.”

Jay was stung into a defiant response. “Well, Father, how will you punish me? Cut me off without a penny? You’ve already done that.”

Father wagged a threatening finger. “I warn you not to disregard my orders.”

“You should be worrying about McAsh, not me,” Jay said, trying to turn his father’s wrath onto another object. “He told everyone he was leaving today.”

Robert said: “Insubordinate damned tyke.” It was not clear whether he was referring to McAsh or Jay.

Harry Ratchett coughed. “You might just let McAsh go, Sir George,” he said. “The man’s a good worker, but he’s a troublemaker, and we’d be well rid of him.”

“I can’t do that,” Father replied. “McAsh has taken a public stand against me. If he gets away with it, every young miner will think he can leave too.”

Robert put in: “It’s not just us, either. This lawyer, Gordonson, could write to every pit in Scotland. If young miners are allowed to leave at the age of twenty-one, the entire industry could collapse.”

“Exactly,” Father agreed. “And then what would the British nation do for coal? I tell you, if I ever get Caspar Gordonson in front of me on a treason charge, I’ll hang him quicker than you can say ‘unconstitutional,’ so help me.”

Robert said: “In fact it’s our patriotic duty to do something about McAsh.”

They had forgotten about Jay’s offense, to his relief. Keeping the conversation focused on McAsh he asked: “But what can be done?”

“I could jail him,” said Sir George.

“No,” Robert said. “When he came out he would still claim to be a free man.”

There was a thoughtful silence.

“He could be flogged,” Robert suggested.

“That might be the answer,” said Sir George. “I have the right to whip them, in law.”

Ratchett looked uneasy. “It’s many years since that right was exercised by a coal owner, Sir George. And who would wield the lash?”

Robert said impatiently: “Well, what
do
we do with troublemakers?”

Sir George smiled. “We make them go the round,” he said.