Archibald Cronin - The Stars Look Down

“What do you say?”

“You heard what I said.”

For the first time a look of guilt crept into Barras’s eyes.

“It’s a lie. I absolutely deny it.”

“You may deny it. But I have found the Old Neptune plan.”

Barras’s face became completely congested with blood, the vessels of his neck stood out duskily and thickly. He swayed for a moment and leaned instinctively against the hall table. He stammered:

“You’re mad. You’ve gone out of your mind. I won’t listen to you.”

“You should have destroyed the plan, father.”

All at once Barras lost control of himself. He shouted:

“What do you know about it? Why should I destroy anything? I’m not a criminal. I acted for the best. I won’t be bothered with it. It’s all finished. There’s a war on. I’ve got an appointment at two… a meeting.” He clutched at the banisters, breathing desperately, with that suffused and dusky face, trying to push past Arthur.

Arthur did not move.

“Go to your meeting then. But I know that you killed those men. And I’m going to see that they get justice.”

In that same panting, flushed voice, Barras went on:

“I have to pay the wages. I have to make the pit pay. I have to take chances just as they do. We’re all human. We all make mistakes. I acted for the best. It’s finished and done with. They can’t reopen the inquiry. I’ve got to have my lunch and get to my meeting at two.” He made that hasty, bustling gesture, feeling for his watch; he missed the pocket and forgot about it; he stared at Arthur, crumbling within himself.

Arthur’s soul sickened. This was his father and he had loved him. His voice was impersonal and devoid of feeling.

“In that case I shall forward the plan to the proper quarter. You can’t object to my doing that.”

Barras compressed his forehead with his hands, as though to still the pounding of his blood.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” he groaned with utter incoherence. “You forget that I have a meeting. An important meeting. I have got to wash, to lunch. At two.” He stared at Arthur in a bewildered, childish way. He made a convulsive gesture and found the watch. He considered the watch with that dusky querulous face, then he took a few rapid steps which carried him past Arthur and up the stairs.

Arthur remained standing in the hall, his features contracted, drawn. He felt empty and hopeless. He had come nerved for a fight, a desperate struggle to assert himself, to demand justice. And there had been no fight, no struggle, no justice. Now there would never be justice. He would not send the plan. It was too pitiful, this shell of what had once been a man, his father. Hunched against the banisters he felt crushed by the hypocrisy and ruthlessness of life. He sighed deeply, a sound wrung from his heart. Upstairs, he heard his father moving about: rapid and uneven movements, thumping footsteps. He heard water running. Then, as he turned to leave the house, all at once he heard a heavy fall.

He swung round, listening. No more sounds. Absolute stillness. He ran upstairs, Aunt Carrie was running too. They ran to the bathroom door and hammered on the door. There was no answer. Aunt Carrie let out a terrified shriek. Then Arthur took a rush and burst in the door.

Richard Barras lay on the floor, his face half covered in lather, the soap still clutched in his hand. He was conscious and breathing deeply. It was a stroke.

The twenty-fifth of November 1918 and a bright and sunny day. The headgear of the Neptune lay bathed in a clear brightness, the outlines of the headstocks softened, the pulleys whirling in a sparkling iridescence. Puffs of woolly steam broke from the engine house and hung like little halos above the shaft.

As Arthur Barras walked briskly down Cowpen Street he saw the clear brightness upon the pit and the iridescent pulleys and the puffs of smoke which hung like halos. He felt the radiance of the day flooding the Neptune and the future and himself. He smiled.

Unbelievable that he should be happy again, that the fixed and sinister influence of the pit should be dissolved, changed, transmuted into something wonderful and fine. How he had doubted and feared and suffered during these war years, yes, how he had suffered! He had felt his life ruined. But now the future was before him, clear and shining, the result of all his suffering, the reward.

He walked through open gates and crossed the asphalt yard with an alert step. He was well but quietly dressed in a grey tweed suit, wing collar, blue and white bow tie. Though he looked older than his age of twenty-six his expression held a queer eagerness.

Armstrong and Hudspeth were waiting for him in the office, both standing. He nodded to them, hung up his hat behind the door, smoothed his fine fair hair, already thin on the top, and took his place at the desk.

“It’s all settled, then,” he said. “Bannerman completed the final papers yesterday.”

Armstrong cleared his throat.

“I’m sure I’m very pleased,” he said obsequiously. “And I wish you every success, sir. I don’t see why not. We’ve done pretty well at the Neptune in the past.”

“Nothing to what we’re going to do in the future, Armstrong.”

“Yes, sir.” Armstrong paused, stealing a quick glance at Arthur.

A short silence followed, then Arthur sat back in his chair.

“I want to say one or two things, so that we can start off with everything clearly understood. You’ve been used to my father giving orders down here and now that he’s laid up you’ve got to get used to me. That’s the first change, but it’s only the first. We’ll have other changes and plenty of them. It’s the right time for changes. The war’s over and there’s going to be no more war. Whatever our difference of principles during the war we’re all agreed about the peace. We’ve got peace and we’re going to keep it. We’ve stopped destroying; thank God, we’re going to start reconstructing for a change. That’s exactly what we’re going to do here. We’re going to have a safe pit with no possible chance of another disaster. Do you understand? A safe pit. There’s going to be fair play for everybody. And to show that I mean it—” he broke off. “How much have you been getting, Armstrong? Four hundred, isn’t it?”

Armstrong coloured and let his eyes drop.

“Yes, that’s the figure,” he said. “If you think it’s too much…”

“And you, Hudspeth?” Arthur asked.

Hudspeth gave his short stolid laugh.

“I’ve been standin’ at two-fifty these last three years,” he said. “I never seem to move up, nohow.”

“Well, you’re up now,” Arthur said. “You’ll take five hundred, Armstrong, as from the first of last month, and you three-fifty, Hudspeth, as from the same date.”

Armstrong’s flush deepened. He stammered gratefully:

“That’s uncommon handsome of you, I must say.”

“Ay, it is that,” Hudspeth added, his dull eyes bright at last.

“That’s settled, then.” Arthur got up briskly. “Both of you stand by this morning. I have Mr. Todd of Tynecastle coming at eleven. We shall want to make a complete inspection. You understand?”

“Why certainly, Mr. Barras.” Armstrong nodded effusively and went out with Hudspeth. Arthur remained alone in the office. He crossed to the window and stood there for a moment watching the sunny pit yard: men crossing and recrossing, tubs moving down the track, an engine shunting perkily. His eye dilated, exulting to the emotion within him. He thought, I haven’t suffered for nothing. I’ll show them now. It’s my chance at last.