Pat McIntosh - The Rough Collier

‘He directs the men,’ offered Joanna. ‘He tells them where they should work, and when there should be a new shaft put in, and how much coal they need on the hill to fill the orders.’

‘He’s been a disappointment to me, I’ll admit,’ observed Arbella sadly. ‘I thought him knowledgeable, but he’s made a few mistakes since I put him in place.’

Gil caught a quirk of a smile crossing Beatrice’s face at this, but she said nothing.

‘And he deals with the customers,’ he prompted. ‘Does he deliver the coal — take the string of ponies out with the coal in baskets? I mind the collier coming to Thinacre when I was a boy, but that was from a nearer coal-heugh, down by the Avon.’

‘That would be Will Russell at Laigh Quarter,’ agreed Joanna. ‘Their round touches ours at Dalserf, but they hold to that side of the Clyde.’

‘That was one of Matthew’s agreements,’ said Arbella, and covered her eyes with a small plump hand. Joanna nodded, and crossed herself.

‘Matthew?’ asked Gil.

‘Matthew is dead,’ said Beatrice flatly. After a moment she went on, ‘He was my good-brother, and Joanna’s first man. He died near two year since, Christ assoil him, for aught I could do.’ Joanna turned her face away, and Gil thought he saw tears glittering on her eyelashes. ‘Then Joanna wedded Murray, and Arbella set him in Matthew’s place.’

‘You have not had to seek for trouble,’ said Alys in sympathy.

‘It’s a hard trade, winning coal,’ said Arbella, still behind her hand. ‘We get our livelihood from under the earth, and the earth takes lives in return.’

Beatrice and Joanna crossed themselves at this, but neither spoke.

‘So it’s you that directs matters overall, madam,’ Gil said. Arbella lowered the hand, and he felt the impact of her blue gaze as she turned it on him.

‘I was reared here, maister. It was my father cut the first pit,’ she expanded, in gentle pride of possession, ‘more than forty year ago, and brought in Adam Crombie as his grieve. I was sole heir to my father, and Adam wedded me, and he and our sons have worked the Pow Burn coal-heugh ever since.’

‘Till they died,’ said Beatrice, still in that flat tone.

‘And have you sons yourself, mistress?’ Alys asked her.

Beatrice’s expression softened. ‘Just the one living. He’s eighteen. His name’s Adam and all, though he aye gets called Raffie. He’s away at the college in Glasgow.’

‘And we’ve met Phemie, and this is Bel,’ Alys prompted. Bright colour washed over the girl’s plump face, and she bobbed a curtsy where she stood by her mother, but did not speak.

‘Bel’s a spinner,’ Joanna offered. ‘None better for her age in Lanarkshire, I dare say.’

‘I’m right fortunate in my grandchildren,’ said Arbella, with that same gentle pride in her voice. ‘My grandson is the boast of the college, and my lassies are kent for their skill for miles about.’

‘Hmf!’ said Bel’s mother, but did not contradict this.

‘So Murray has charge here under you,’ Gil persisted, ‘and he’s been gone for five weeks wi’ two of the men, and yet you never sent after him?’

Joanna opened her mouth as if to speak, but Arbella said, ‘No. I see no need for it.’

‘But are you not concerned for him?’ asked Alys.

‘No yet,’ said Arbella. ‘Time enough to worry when eight or ten weeks are past. I can direct the colliers, and oversee the hill and the tallies.’

‘Considering what happened to your own man, Mother — ’ said Joanna in her soft voice. Arbella covered her eyes again, and held up the other hand to stop the words. ‘No, I’m sorry, I ken it hurts you to mind it, but think on me, Mother! It’s my man that’s missing now, and never came home for Pace-tide!’

Gil met Alys’s eye, and she asked, ‘Was that Maister Adam Crombie? Forgive my asking — what happened to him?’

‘That was Auld Adam,’ agreed Joanna, in spite of Beatrice’s tight-lipped stare. ‘He must ha’ took ill on the road, and died and was buried afore it was known here.’

‘Oh, how sad,’ said Alys involuntarily. ‘When was that? Where did it happen?’

‘Afore I came here,’ Joanna admitted. Arbella remained silent, though her lips moved as if in prayer.

‘That would be in ’ 77,’ said Beatrice harshly, ‘for my laddie was just walking when the word came back, his grandsire never saw him on his feet, and Phemie was born that summer.’

‘I hope at least you have seen his grave,’ said Alys. Arbella shook her head, without lowering her hand.

‘It must have been a great shock,’ Gil remarked.

‘Aye,’ said Beatrice. Gil waited, but she added nothing.

‘So you tell me Murray and two others left here on the eighteenth of March,’ he said at length. ‘Afoot, or on horseback? Did he seem just as usual when he left? Nothing was out of the ordinary?’

‘No,’ said Joanna blankly. ‘They rode on three of the ponies as they aye do, and they left at first light, just as they aye do. Why would it be different?’

Beatrice’s mouth quirked. Observing this, Gil suggested, ‘Was he happy to go out on the road? Did he enjoy the change in his work? Or was it something he disliked doing?’

‘I think he liked getting away,’ said Joanna reluctantly.

‘Men aye like getting away,’ said Beatrice. ‘Mind that, lassie,’ she added to Alys, who smiled.

Gil decided not to comment, but said, ‘The two men that went with Murray — the man Meikle said they were sinkers. What does a sinker do?’

‘Sinks shafts,’ explained Joanna. ‘By cutting down through the rock, you see.’

‘That must be difficult,’ said Alys immediately. ‘And dangerous. What do they use to break the stone?’

‘A great spike and a hammer,’ said Joanna, taking this understanding for granted, ‘and the stook and feathers.’

‘Wedges of iron,’ Beatrice translated. ‘You drive them in wi’ the hammer, see, and the rock splits. Sometimes it’ll fly up in splinters. It’s a rare sinker that lives to be an auld man.’

Alys nodded, pulling a face, and Gil said, ‘So there’s no shaft being cut just now.’

‘We put in a new one no that long afore Yule,’ said Arbella, raising her head. ‘It serves well. So I allowed Thomas to take the two men along wi’ him, since there was no work for them the now.’

‘It was the same two lads he always took,’ supplied Joanna in her soft voice.

‘I should like to see inside the mine,’ Alys remarked thoughtfully, ‘though not in these clothes.’

‘Nor in any clothes, my dear,’ said Arbella, with her sweet smile. ‘We’d have the entire shift out for the rest of the day.’

‘My good-mother willny have a woman in the mine,’ said Beatrice, ‘and the men willny cross her.’ Her daughter Bel turned to look intently at her, but said nothing. ‘Where I’m from,’ she added, ‘on the shores of the Forth, the women work as bearers, to drag the creels of coal from the face to the stair, and then up to the hill, but here in Lanarkshire it’s all done different.’

‘So I should hope, Beattie my dear,’ said Arbella, raising those delicate eyebrows. ‘Where should the women be but seeing to the men’s dinner? I pay my colliers enough to live by, they’ve no need to set their women to work as well.’

‘Women working in the mine,’ repeated Alys in astonishment.

‘So is there,’ said Gil, still trying to keep control of the conversation, ‘any record of where Murray was going? What houses he was to call at? Is there a list, a way-sheet, a book of accounts?’

Their hostesses looked at one another.

‘I’ve no doubt of it,’ said Arbella.

‘He’d have a way-sheet,’ agreed Beatrice. ‘My man aye kept a list, and so did Matthew.’ Joanna nodded. ‘Did Thomas? Would you ken where it is?’