Free Easterleigh Hall by Margaret Graham

jerks. Jack shovelled the chunks to the rear as they fell to the ground. ‘Putter!’ he yelled. The tub came up as far as it could. Eddie shovelled the coal into the tub. Soon it could be Timmie doing that. Jack thrust his shovel beneath the coal as he thought for the first time, really thought, about a hotel. Well, why not, it was a grand idea, and Evie was a grand lass, as well as a grand cook. Timmie could work there, his da too. Well,
they
could. He couldn’t leave his marra, never could he do that.
    All morning they hacked with their picks and shovels in the light from their oil lamps. Would miracles happen, would the Bastard introduce electrics like some of the other pits? Would he hell. By bait time they’d stripped out of their hoggers and were down to their underwear, with sweat stinging their open cuts and running rivulets through their dust-coated bodies. They were lying on their sides getting at the under-coal.
    Jack called a halt at midday, and they sat against the wall, pulling out their butties and casting great shadows on the walls of coal and shale in the yellow fluttering light. Jack’s butties were stuffed with the remains of the ham, and for a moment he was at the beck again with Evie. She’d probably be serving up the servants’ lunch now, and halfway through preparing the upstairs meal. How many courses would that be? At least she wasn’t sweeping up the family’s detritus or scuttling down the corridor to stay out of sight. What did the nobs think would happen to them if they cast eyes on a servant? That they’d turn to a pillar of salt? Beggars they were, but at least they were paying to aid her escape. He felt his mouth twist. There was a grand justice in it.
    Martin handed him one of his butties. ‘Cheese. Swap?’
    â€˜Aye, just the one.’
    They swigged from their water bottles. ‘How’s your Evie?’
    Jack shrugged. ‘Si will look after her, if she needs it. But you know her, she’s our Evie.’
    Martin laughed, a piece of ham falling to his lap. He picked it up with coal-coated fingers and ate it. Jack could hear the crunch of teeth on dust.
    Jack eased his back on the wall and felt the pain of torn scabs and the blood from the old and new running down into his drawers. All around was the thick smell of coal. It was a strange way to live your life, in the dark and always close to death. It changed you, gave you a different attitude which must be useful for something, but who the hell knew what.
    Martin gulped at his water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I was thinking. There’s talk that the Brampton whelp could be coming in here to peer over Davies’ shoulder. Bet it’ll end in more cutbacks. Someone heard something from the office, so they say.’
    Jack shook his head. ‘They say a lot, but I can’t see it, can you, man? That beggar Brampton’s a businessman and it’s not good business to put in a fool like Auberon. By, I’d give my right arm to go to the university, and for him to chuck it up . . . If he’s a gambler, he’d have done well to put money on my fight. Just shows what a daft beggar he is.’
    They laughed, then Martin coughed and spat. In this light Jack couldn’t see the colour. Martin coughed again. Jack said, ‘Stop smoking so many of those Woodbines would you, you daft beggar? Don’t you reckon your chest has enough to put up with?’
    Martin nudged him with his foot. ‘Are you my mam?’
    â€˜Aye, haven’t you noticed my skirts?’
    Beside him Martin tossed his crust into the dark where there’d be a rat or ten waiting. Jack said, ‘I’ll ask Evie to see what she can find out. It’s bound to be only gossip.’
    Their bait time was over. It was back to work. They crawled to the face, then froze. Something . . . what? Neither moved, both listened. No creaks above, just the usual sighing. Then a