Copper Kingdom (27 page)

‘I have to foreclose on that mortgage, don't you understand?' His hands fell to his sides.

‘Oh, what's the use?' He moved towards the door and without another word let himself out into the starlit night. All around him were the scents of the gardens he had known ever since childhood and he breathed in deeply, wondering how it was that everything changed so drastically and suddenly.

He was no longer the beloved son, safe and secure in the shadow of his father but was now the breadwinner and being balked all along the line by the very ones who should be putting their faith in him. He sighed softly. The time was come to leave childish things behind, he was a man and would shape his own destiny.

In the morning, the sun was bright and warm as he set off from the Mackworth Arms and drove away from the town, bypassing the copper company and crossing the river towards Foxhole. Taking the winding road towards the Kilvey Deep, he reflected on the fact that it would not be pleasant facing Alwyn Travers, but since there had been no reply to the letter his solicitors had sent out, the only possible course Sterling could take was to speak to the man face to face.

The winding-wheel of the mine stood out against the sky as Sterling drew the Ascot to a halt on the dirt track that served as a roadway. There was a shed near the gate and a man holding a large hound on a chain poked his head through the door.

‘If you've come to see the boss he's not here.' His voice was harsh and from the broken nose to the battered ear, the man looked every inch the pugilist he undoubtedly was.

‘If you mean Alwyn Travers he's certainly the one I want to see,' Sterling replied in a hard voice. ‘Where is he?'

The man's bulk filled the doorway of the shed. ‘What's that to you, who are you, anyway?'

‘I'm Sterling Richardson, owner of the copper company. Tell Mr Travers that I must speak to him,' he said smoothly.

The man gave a short laugh. ‘That's rich that is, you're the very one the guv don't want to see. Clear off before I set the dog on you.'

Sterling climbed down from the Ascot and moved closer to the man, who seemed taken aback by his persistence.

‘I want a civil answer to a civil question.' Sterling spoke evenly. ‘If Mr Travers is not here, then where is he?'

The dog growled low, baring ferocious-looking teeth, and Sterling allowed his hand to move slowly and carefully towards the animal's muzzle. The hound sniffed suspiciously but after a moment sat back on its haunches as though satisfied that Sterling posed no threat.

‘Don't you start no trouble here.' The man was less certain of himself now. ‘'Cos gent or no gent, I'll bust your nose for you.'

‘I shouldn't try it if I were you,' Sterling smiled and brought his fist upwards, catching the man a clip on the point of his jaw. At the same time he raised his knee sharply, right into his opponent's groin. The dog began to bark, leaping around the small shed as though anxious to escape, and as the man fell writhing to the floor he howled loudly, adding to the confusion.

‘Alwyn's up there, in his house, now for Gawd's sake clear out of here will you?'

Sterling drove the Ascot away from the mine and up the track that led to a tall house settled between the hills. The last thing he wanted was a scene with Alwyn Travers on his home ground, but there was nothing else for it, he could not be allowed to get away with his foolish defiance.

The green hills were scarred with the black of coal dust and great slag heaps rose towards the sky, man-made mountains of waste from the rich coal seams, dark and brooding against the morning sky.

Sterling approached the house and lifted the knocker and shortly afterwards the door was opened by a small spare woman with tired lines around her pale eyes.

‘May I come inside?' Sterling was already in the small hallway. ‘If you would tell Alwyn that I'm here?' He moved into the parlour and though resentment of his action was clear in the woman's face, she obeyed him. Sterling stared around, noting the heavy brass ornaments and the fine carpeting. Travers might be up to his neck in debt but he did not believe in going without his creature comforts.

‘What do you want here?' Alwyn was a taller man than his brother Glanmor but his face bore the same ferrety look. His eyebrows straggled untidily across his broad nose so that he appeared to be permanently frowning. ‘I don't want the likes of you on my property so why don't you just clear off?'

Sterling shook his head. ‘Your man tried violence. It doesn't work, so do yourself a good turn and just listen to me and that way no one will be hurt, all right?'

Mrs Travers came to stand beside her husband, her hand resting on his arm in a cautionary gesture.

‘Get on with it then.' Alwyn Travers rubbed at his thin moustache nervously. ‘Say your piece and then go.'

Sterling allowed himself a small smile. ‘That's fine by me. All I have to say to you is that I am foreclosing on the loan my father made you. You can keep this house and I shall make you a grant of compensation so that you will not be entirely without means. I can't say fairer than that.'

‘You can't take the mine away from me,' Travers blustered, his face red and angry. ‘It's been in the family for generations, it's always belonged to the eldest son, you can't do it, do you hear me?'

Sterling moved towards the door. ‘You've been given ample time to repay me or even make a start on bringing down the balance and this you have not done so I've every right to take the mine and I intend to do just that.' At the door he paused. ‘If I were you, I'd sell this house, buy something smaller, move away from the area, right away.'

‘Is that a threat?' Travers moved forward, raising a fist angrily, and Sterling put out his hand and held the man at arm's length.

‘Now don't go making things any worse,' he said evenly. ‘Just think, you are not coming out of this too badly, are you? It's quite obvious you couldn't run a Sunday school outing let alone a business. Eventually you'd have had to get rid of the mine to pay your debts anyway.'

As Sterling left the house and walked towards the Ascot, Alwyn Travers stood in the doorway shouting abuse at him.

‘I'll get even with you for this, however long it takes me.' His face was mottled, his eyes bulging from his head, but Sterling ignored him, he was a bag of wind, nothing more. And yet there was a nasty taste in his mouth. He wondered if there had been some other way he could have handled the affair but then, Alwyn Travers owed him the money which Sterling needed if his own business was to survive.

There was no point in having a conscience about it, he told himself bitterly, that luxury was reserved for people like his brother Rickie who thought that championing the cause of the workers was his role in life. And so it was, Sterling thought ruefully, just so long as there was something in it for Rickie Richardson.

‘Hell and damnation,' he said to himself, but his words were carried away by the soft breeze sweeping down from the hills.

The public bar of the Cape Horner was smoky, the air fetid with the smell of stale tobacco. The hubbub of voices was deafening for it was a warm day and the sailors, coming from the ships in the dock, were thirsty.

At a table in the corner, Rickie sat with Glanmor Travers on one side of him and Will Owens on the other. Facing him was a motley assortment of men, men with stained shirts on their backs, some of them wearing no boots. They were the dregs of Sweyn's Eye, beggars and thieves and villains, each and every one prepared to do murder for a few shillings.

Rickie leaned forward. ‘All you need to do is speak to the coppermen,' he said slowly, anxious to impress. ‘Tell them that the changes being made will put some of them out of a job, for new labour will be brought into the town, men who know all about steel. And it will be cheaper labour too, the Irish poor who will take low wages and be glad of them.'

‘And what's in this for you?' A man with a thick body and huge arms poked his head forward. His eyes were glittering and Rickie felt he would not trust him in an alleyway on a dark night.

‘Well, Cullen,' Rickie paused, knowing that the interest of the men seated around him could quickly turn to scorn. They would not swallow any tale about his concern for the workers, they would laugh in his face. He decided to tell them the truth, or at least some of it.

‘It's like this. I want to bring Sterling Richardson down and for reasons of my own which I intend keeping to myself.'

‘I suppose that means you want a bigger share of the sheckels.' Cullen smiled thinly, leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his big chest, and Rickie sighed with relief, it was obvious he'd said the right thing.

‘Pay us something on account and we'll be on our way,' Cullen said in his harsh voice. He watched carefully as Rickie counted out the shillings and then lumbered to his feet, sweeping up the coins with one huge hand.

Rickie felt more at ease when they had gone; he turned to Travers, who had a doubtful look.

‘Not sure we should have brought the likes of Cullen into this.' Travers kept his voice quiet as though fearful of being overheard.

Rickie shrugged. ‘It will be all right, you'll see. The man will do anything so long as he's paid.'

He turned to look at Will Owens out of the corner of his eye. This was the one he was not sure of, he was more cunning, more subtle than Cullen, and Rickie felt instinctively that Owens was not to be trusted.

‘What do you think of Cullen, Will?' Rickie asked affably and watched the expression on the youth's face, carefully trying to read something from his eyes and the set of his mouth. Will Owens shrugged his shoulders, toying with his mug of beer, swirling the dark liquid round and round, deliberating before giving his reply.

‘I agree with Glanmor,' he said at last, ‘Cullen is not the sort of man I'd like to pin my hopes on, there's too much of the villain in him for the man to be trusted with anything.'

Unaccountably, Rickie was irritated with the answer Owens gave him. ‘And do you think you could do better?' he demanded, his voice rising. Owens faced him squarely, his eyes dark and unreadable, but his knuckles were white as they gripped his beer mug.

‘You asked for my opinion and I gave it,' he said shortly. ‘Do you want me to lick your boots as well?'

Travers thumped the table before him with his glass. ‘Let's drink up and get some more beer in, I've got a thirst like a camel.' He looked from Will to Rickie and back again and some of the tension eased.

‘Well, I just like to know where I stand.' Rickie spoke truculently and leaned back in his chair. Inside he was burning with anger, this young guttersnipe was daring to square up to his betters and that was something that stung. He would need watching, Rickie thought moodily, he was the sort who would smile as he stuck a knife into his own mother.

‘Well, have you found out anything of use yet?' He spoke to Will Owens without looking at him and the youth's eyes flickered with interest.

‘As a matter of fact I have,' he said quietly and he looked carefully toward Glanmor Travers. ‘This concerns you too and you're not going to be pleased.' He moved his chair forward and placed his elbows on the table, bending his head, wanting to be heard above the noise without raising his voice.

‘Mr Richardson is going to cause trouble over a loan given to your brother some time back, Glanmor,' Will said. ‘Heard him talking about it to Ben the works manager. It seems the mine will belong to your brother once the legal rubbish has been dealt with.'

He looked at Rickie, who carefully kept his feelings to himself. He was taken aback that Owens had learned something that he himself had only known since yesterday.

‘He's supposed to be going out to the mine today,' Will Owens continued. ‘Going to offer your brother some sort of compensation, a sop to his own conscience if you ask me, Travers.'

Will Owens was enjoying the effect his words were having upon the two men, especially Glanmor Travers who had turned quite pale.

‘Mr Richardson needs that mine,' Will continued. ‘Have his own supply of coal then won't he? He'll be independent, he's not soft.' There was a grudging admiration in Owens' voice that grated on Rickie.

Glanmor took a deep hissing breath. ‘The bastard!' he said. His eyes were narrowed and his face white and angry. ‘Well that's it then, he deserves everything he gets.'

Rickie felt a glow of triumph, trouble was brewing and about to boil over and all he'd had to do was to lay out a few shillings.

‘Right then, let's get down to some serious talking, shall we?'

It was pleasant in the small office, the sun shone through the open window and a soft breeze drifted in bringing the scent of roses from the bush outside. Mali sat at the old carved wooden desk, the account book open in front of her, not thinking of her work but about Sterling and his vow that he loved her. He must have been teasing her, she decided, for she had not set eyes on him for almost a week.

She looked down at the neat columns, trying to concentrate on her work, and thankfully the figures were all properly balanced. Only one thing spoiled the pleasure Mali found in her work and that was the fact that the laundry was losing money.

‘Good morning, my dear.' Mr Waddington came into the room, taking off his silk scarf and placing it on the coat stand near the door. ‘I'm not feeling very well today so forgive me for arriving late.' He sat down in his own chair and leaned back against the hard leather, and as Mali looked at him in concern, she saw that his cheeks were pale, his mouth drawn down at the corners.