Forever Yours (38 page)

Apart from George there was one other man injured; Reg had been behind Matt in the roadway and one of his legs was pinned beneath a large slab of rock. Matt and the other two, Stan and Monty Griffiths who were brothers, had attempted to lift it off him but they couldn’t budge it and had had to admit defeat. The three of them, panting with their efforts, sank down to the floor; the Griffiths brothers either side of Reg, and Matt next to George who was still silent. Fearfully Matt felt inside his brother’s coat and under his shirt for the beat of his heart. It was there but faint and when he patted his face, saying, ‘George? George, come on, man, wake up,’ there was no answer.

‘How is he, Matt?’ one of the brothers asked.

‘Not good.’ He couldn’t say any more, he didn’t want to start blubbing like a big lassie.

‘Don’t worry, man. He’s a tough old bird, is George. He’ll be all right. They’ll be coming for us soon.’

Aye, but how long would it take the rescue team to work through the who-knew-how-thick wall of stone and coal and pit-props separating them from life-giving air? And what about the rest of them? Andrew and his sons, George’s lads and the others? Had they been burned alive or crushed and suffocated under tons of rock? Sacriston Colliery was like many others in the Durham coalfield. So much coal had been taken out of it and so many long roadways cut, that subsidence was an ever-present danger along with everything else. They all knew it and lived with it.

As he sat in the darkness listening to Stan and Monty’s low voices chivying Reg along now and again, Matt wondered why the fear which had been with him at the back of his mind since the last fall wasn’t paramount. He’d had nightmares about this happening for years, but maybe that was it. It had happened, the thing he’d been waiting for, and the sixth sense or premonition, call it what you will, had been fulfilled. And he really wouldn’t have minded so much if it hadn’t been for Constance’s return to Sacriston.

He breathed deeply before reminding himself he was using up precious oxygen that way.

For years he’d thought there was no chance of seeing her again. She had risen so high – why would she bother to come home now her grandma had gone? And if she did, he’d expected it to be a flying visit to see Molly and her other relatives.

But Constance
had
come back. The impossible had happened. He sat up straighter, his heart beating faster as a sick sort of panic filled him. And what had he done? Gone out of his way to hurt her and avoid her. He must have been mad. He
was
mad.

‘No, not mad,’ a little voice in his head stated relentlessly. There would have been some excuse if that was the case. He wasn’t mad, just a coward like she’d said. He had been furious with her that day for forcing him to look at himself, but she’d been right. He
was
egotistical and bigoted and all those other things she’d accused him of. He’d known it that day on the walk home but he still hadn’t had the guts to do anything about it. All his life he’d tried to act the big fellow, to be what the men around him expected him to be. You did that. It was necessary. From a bairn he’d had it mirrored in his own home. The husband and father was the man, the breadwinner, the boss. He was entitled to absolute respect. His da’s position in the house had been sacrosanct.

His mouth was paining him. When he raised a probing finger he found he’d lost a couple of teeth, not that he was going to need teeth where he was going, he thought with black humour.

Did he care so much about what his pals and family thought of him that it was more important than his love for Constance? he asked himself as his hand came from his mouth. Because that was what it boiled down to. Did he? If he was honest, the answer was yes – or had been, up until he was buried alive. Now, as he looked back, it was farcical. What the hell did other people matter? All that mattered was Constance, and he would swear to it she wouldn’t think any the less of him. Oh, he’d told himself she might think he was after her for her money, but that had been a get-out. He’d seen her grow up, he
knew
her and she couldn’t think that way, not his Constance. Only she wasn’t his Constance.

Maybe she wouldn’t have wanted him anyway if he had asked her to marry him. There had been some man after her in Italy. His mam had told him that one night when he’d popped in to see how his da was. Well set up, his mam had said, with a big house and servants, and likely Constance would go back there some day soon if she wasn’t happy. He had told his mam he thought that was a good idea, that she should go back, that it sounded like this man would suit the person she’d become very well, but he hadn’t meant it and he hadn’t slept that night. But he still hadn’t gone to Appleby Cottage.

Fool
. Matt nodded to the thought. Aye, he was a fool. Eighteen years ago he’d made up his mind to marry Tilly when he’d been caught in a life and death situation just like this, and it had been the wrong decision. As wrong as marrying Constance would be right. He had been given a second chance at life that day and what a mess he’d made of it. It would be too much to hope that the Almighty would give him a third chance. Why would He? If he was God he’d save the third chances for men who deserved them, men with happy marriages and wives who loved them.

But if,
if
, he got out of here, he’d go and see her. He’d crawl every inch of the way if he had to. He wouldn’t expect anything, not after the way he’d treated her, but he’d go and see her nonetheless. Just so . . . she knew.

 

Vincent McKenzie stood quietly in the pit manager’s office. There were two deputies talking to a doctor, and a priest and a vicar and several other men crammed into the small space. Outside in the yard one of the rescue teams had recently come up. Exhausted and filthy, the whites of their eyes luminous in their black faces, they’d stood aside as the next squad had gone down. They’d said little, but it was generally acknowledged that heavy casualties could be expected, although the news relayed to the gathering of friends and family outside the pit gates did not reflect this. A large portion of the crowd had been waiting for hours in the atrocious weather, some from four o’clock the previous day. It was now seven o’clock in the morning, and as some individuals left their vigil to go home for a hot meal and to see to children and other domestic matters, other folk took their place.

Vincent listened as the captain of the rescue party which had recently surfaced gave a report of what they’d found to the pit manager. A good few of the afternoon shift in question had been lucky and hadn’t reached the area where the roof had fallen. When they had felt the current change they’d turned and run back towards the mothergate, and although a couple of stragglers had been burned by the ball of flames which had travelled down the roadway, they weren’t seriously injured. That having been said, there were still a good number of men missing and it was these the captain spoke of. They’d heard knocking, he said, beyond the fall. A sign that someone was still alive – and with luck, a lot more than one. A fresh-air base had been established and the rescue squads were working as hard as they could, but he wouldn’t like to say how long it would be before they got through to the trapped miners. He hoped it would be in the next few hours, but it was difficult to tell.

Vincent’s face was deadpan but behind his closed expression his mind was racing.When the accident had happened and they’d established which miners were still underground, he’d looked down the list of names and only years of training had enabled him to remain impassive.
Matt Heath.
At last. There were a couple of other Heaths on the list but they didn’t concern him, only inasmuch as he relished a certain satisfaction that the family which had interfered with his life all those years ago by saving a baby who should have died with her parents were getting their comeuppance.

He’d felt like going straight to Appleby Cottage and throwing the news in that one’s face, but his duties at the pit had prevented this. The manager expected him to stay around until the rescue operation was complete; it looked bad otherwise. But once he was sure of his facts he’d take the greatest pleasure in seeing the look on her face when he told her her fancy man was no more.

 

It was a full twenty-four hours from when the explosion had first occurred that the rescue team reached some of the trapped men, but by five o’clock that night most of the miners who had been working the shift were accounted for. Five more were cut off from the main party in a second fall and there had been no sound from them. Three men had lost their lives but Andrew and his sons, along with George’s lads, were not among them, although one of Andrew’s sons had been badly hurt by a large section of the roof falling on to his back. Four other men had minor injuries. In view of the severity of the explosion and the amount of roof which had come crashing down, everyone agreed the death toll could have been much higher, but with five more men to reach there was no let-up in the rescue work. Many there feared that this last stage of the rescue was a hopeless cause, but no one would voice such negative thoughts.

At nine o’clock the pit manager told Vincent he might as well go home. The under-manager and an area surveyor were hanging on, as one of the owners was expected to arrive shortly, and normally Vincent – conscious of the fact it was good to be noted by the owners at times like this – would have stayed too. Although the manager had made the suggestion, he knew the man hadn’t expected him to take it up, but for once he pretended to take the words at face value. He had more important fish to fry tonight than being seen by one of the owners.

He left, ignoring the manager’s disapproving stare. Every thought, every cell in his body was concentrated on Constance.

There were only a few folk outside the pit gates now. He saw the Griffiths brothers’ wives and a couple of the older children and Reg Havelock’s family, along with Heath’s mother and daughter, but he barely spared them a glance as he passed. They were unimportant. Village scum.

The night was clear and bitterly cold, the snowstorm of the last couple of days having blown itself out, and he breathed in the crisp icy air as he walked. He knew exactly what he was going to do. After he had changed his clothes and had a bite to eat, he was going to Appleby Cottage for the final reckoning. Matt Heath was as good as dead, which was a pity in one way; he would have enjoyed watching the man’s torment as he dealt with Constance, but it would be sweet to see her face when he told her what had occurred at the pit. And he’d see to it that she never had another man.

All good things come to those who wait. And he had waited. Hell, how he’d waited for this moment. All his life had been the same.

When he reached his cottage and opened the front door, Polly shot through from the sitting room where she’d obviously been taking her ease, looking scared to death as she always did.

‘I – I’ve kept some sheep’s-head broth warm in case you came back tonight,’ she stuttered, nearly falling over her own feet in her haste. ‘And there’s fresh bread and a jam roll I made today.’

‘I’m going to change and then I’ll eat.’ He looked down at her head as she knelt before him and pulled off his boots. For a good while now he’d been tired of her skinny little body; even the new ways of taking his pleasure that had nearly done for her once or twice had ceased to satisfy him. It was time to be rid of her. He’d known it for a couple of years but hadn’t bothered to do anything about it, but once this other had been seen to he’d deal with Polly. No one would notice if she disappeared, and there were plenty of places to bury a body where it would never be found.

It was rare she instigated any conversation, but now she said, ‘The men? Are they all up safely?’

‘Three dead and several injured,’ he answered shortly, ‘and five more still down. And I’ll be going out after I’ve eaten.’

Polly said nothing more, but once she had taken up the hot water for his wash – he’d said he’d do without his normal bath – she stood stirring the broth in the kitchen. There were still men down and he’d come home? That was a first. And there had been a particular note in his voice when he’d said he was going out after his meal. She couldn’t explain it but she recognised it from the early days when he’d first violated her – a sort of trembling excitement was the best description, but it was more chilling than that. It had been faint but it had been there. Was he going to see Constance Shelton when he left here? And if so, why tonight when he’d been up nearly forty-eight hours on the trot? He was planning something. She hadn’t lived with him all these years without getting a gut feeling about how his mind worked. And whatever he was planning didn’t bode well for the lass whose grandma had been so kind to her.

His meal was ready when he came downstairs. Polly made herself as unobtrusive as she could while he ate, silently placing a large helping of baked jam roll in front of him when he had finished the broth. He normally took his time over his food but tonight he practically gobbled it. Of course, that could be due to the fact he hadn’t had much in the last day or so. She knew the pit manager’s cook saw to it food was delivered to his office at times such as these, but Vincent had said in the past that the amount he received was meagre. But she felt it was more than hunger that had made him bolt it down. He wasn’t going back to the pit, she’d stake her life on it. He was going to Appleby Cottage.

It was close to eleven o’clock when Vincent left the house. Polly watched him go and waited a full five minutes before she followed him; it would be more than her life was worth if he caught her spying on him. She slipped through the startlingly white night like a black shadow, her thick, dark-brown coat and hat and big stout boots showing up clearly against the snow. But she couldn’t help that, she told herself. She’d just have to be careful. And the sedative she’d mixed in his broth would take the edge off his alertness, she hoped. There’d been about a third of the bottle of medicine left, but it was old now; the doctor had prescribed it well over a year ago after Vincent had had two teeth extracted because of an abscess in his gum, but it had been strong stuff at the time. A couple of good spoonfuls had knocked him out then.