Slated for Death (22 page)

Penny applied the final strokes of top coat and then sat back as Karis held up her hands. “Thank you,” she said. “They look very nice.”

That's high praise coming from you, thought Penny. “You're most welcome,” she said. “We'll see you tonight at the dress rehearsal.”

 

Thirty-eight

“We'll take the musicians and singers down first,” said mine manager Bevan Jones. “And for those who don't want to wait for the train, one of our guides here will walk the rest of you down. But it's steep and there are a lot of stairs—sixty-one in all—so mind how you go.”

Victoria, accompanied by Ifan, helped Karis into the yellow train that would transport them to the carved-out bowels of the mine. Penny chose the stairs and holding on to the wooden handrail followed Rebeccah Roberts step by step into the mine. When they reached the bottom, their guide led them in the direction of voices along the rough passageway until they came to the chamber where the concert would take place. Victoria and Ifan huddled with Karis, referring to bundles of sheet music. As Penny and Rebeccah approached, the conversation stopped.

“Penny, we need your opinion,” Victoria said. “Even though it's so late in the day we haven't agreed on the final song choice for Karis. I think it would be great if we went with something big and dramatic that would give Karis the chance to really show off her range. We're thinking this one. What do you think?” She held up a page.

Penny scanned the title, silently agreeing with Victoria's earlier comment that they'd left it awfully late to be sorting out the playlist. “Oh, that would be perfect. Everyone will love that.”

“Karis insists that if Rebeccah is to be here for the dress rehearsal that she sit in the back row where she can't be seen,” Victoria said. “She says she never allows anyone except the musicians and technicians to be present at a dress rehearsal but she's making an exception for Rebeccah, maybe because it's just so dark down here. So you, I'm afraid, will have to make yourself scarce.”

“That's fine,” said Penny with a puzzled frown. “I'm meeting Florence in the caf
é
to go over the arrangements for the reception and then I'm meeting with Bevan Jones to see what he suggests we do with media. Well, I say media. With a bit of luck there'll be one reporter from the local paper. So I'll leave you to it.”

Before she left, Penny had a word with Rebeccah, who dutifully picked up a chair and took it to the complete blackness at the rear of the seating area.

The lights came up, showing Karis in a bright, white circle. The little group of musicians whose output would be augmented with an instrumental tape, tuned their instruments. Victoria tilted her harp into her lap, placed her ear close to the strings, and plucked them. She adjusted the tension and then plucked again. Satisfied, she nodded at Ifan, who motioned to Karis and the rehearsal began. Penny listened for a moment, then groped her way along the tunnel's cool, damp walls to the steep flight of stairs that led to the light and air of the surface. She reached the stairs, arrived at the top slightly out of breath, and then hurried to the warmth of the caf
é
.

In most Victorian mining operations, because only half an hour was allowed for lunch, the miners did not have enough time to walk up the steep incline to the surface, eat, and return to their caverns, so they ate where they worked. Their meals were usually meagre and poor: bread and dripping with cold tea or buttermilk. They would eat in fifteen minutes and in the remaining fifteen minutes sing, debate politics, or discuss the sermon they had heard at chapel on Sunday.

By the twentieth century, with mechanization and more time allowed for a midday meal, miners often gathered in the caf
é
, or caban as it was called, to study, debate, or engage in programs of self-enrichment.

When Penny entered the caf
é
the tables had been rearranged to accommodate a buffet along one wall. Above them hung large blowups of black-and-white photos possibly taken in the 1920s. The miners' stern, grainy faces, frozen in time, gazed down at her. They wore working-class clothing of frayed cloth caps and rough trousers, with white shirts, vests, and jackets as their work clothes. One man hung perilously high up the slate face, secured only by a rope around his waist, another raised a mallet to strike the chisel that would split the slate that rested against his leg. Penny gazed at their inscrutable faces. She doubted they were happy in their work. They likely loathed and resented every backbreaking, mind-numbing moment of it, as they continued to do it, day after day, year after year, to feed their families, until they were as worn out and worked out by the age of forty as the mine itself was now. But there were no benefits back then, no easy life on the dole for those who chose not to work.

A small noise behind her pulled her away from these thoughts and she turned to see Florence pushing through a swing door marked:

Staff Caffi yn Unig

Café Staff Only

“If you're here to check up on me, everything's under control, Penny,” she said. “You don't have to worry about the food. It'll be all right on the night, as they say, and we're setting up here so the musicians can enjoy some refreshments during their break. There's tea and coffee, sandwiches, and tea cakes. That should keep them going.”

Penny touched Florence lightly on the arm. “I have no worries about you Florence. If there's one person we can count on it's you.” They both turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Oh, good, there's Mrs. Lloyd. She's taking the tickets so I'll just have a word with her about that. Excuse me.”

“She's feeling a little left out tonight, I think,” said Florence in a low voice. “Maybe if you could find a little task for her. She would insist on coming with me even though I told her there wouldn't be much for her to do here, but you know what she's like. She needs careful handling, sometimes.”

Penny gave Florence a grateful nod. “Right, well, thank you Florence. I'll leave you to it.” She turned to Mrs. Lloyd who was looking rather smart in a finely made burgundy wool coat.

“Hello, there,” said Penny. “Everything all right?”

“Yes, I imagine so,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “Fine with me. How about you? Got a lot to pull together at the last minute, have you?”

“Oh, yes,” said Penny. “Everyone's been really helpful and doing their bit, so we'll be all right on the night, as they say. Now, let's have a seat over here and we'll go over the ticket taking.” When they were seated Penny explained to Mrs. Lloyd that they were planning to seat her at the front entrance. Penny herself would be nearby to point the arrivals to the little yellow train that would take them down the mine to the concert level.

“Are you sure you're all right, Penny?” Mrs. Lloyd asked. “You seem distracted. Is there something else you should be doing now? You seem rather worried.”

“It's not the event itself,” said Penny, frowning. “But I've just seen something that's got me wondering.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Lloyd, leaning forward. “What's that?”

“Well, they're rehearsing downstairs, and apparently our guest singer, Karis Edwards, never allows someone to sit in on the rehearsal. Only musicians and stage crew allowed. You know, the people necessary for the performance.”

“That's understandable, I guess,” said Mrs. Lloyd.

“Oh, of course it is,” said Penny. “That's not the problem. The problem is, she just said Rebeccah Roberts could watch. That just seemed such an odd thing. Why would she allow her to sit in? Why would she break the rule for someone she doesn't know?”

“Oh, but she does know her,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “I've seen them myself. Nattering away like old friends, they were, so maybe that would explain it.”

“When was this?” Penny asked sharply.

“A day or two ago. Why? Does it matter? Is it important?”

“It might be,” said Penny, her mind whirling. “Where did you see them?”

“Let me see. I'd been to the chemists and I was on my way to the post office, so I crossed the town square and…” Mrs. Lloyd's eyes wandered over to the black-and-white photographs of the miners as she tried to visualize. “That's right. It would have been Tuesday. Market day. Rebeccah was running her stall and that's where I saw her, talking to that Karis Edwards woman. I recognized her from the photo on the poster.”

“Well, Mrs. Lloyd, if they were talking at the stall, that means nothing. Rebeccah talks to all her customers. She has to. Karis was probably just strolling around the town, saw something that interested her, and they exchanged a few words about it.”

“Oh, no, Penny, it was more than that. Glenda's son Peris was there and Rebeccah said something to him—asked him to keep an eye on things would be my guess because the next thing he's stood behind the stall—and the two women left. They didn't go far, though, just to the caf
é
. You know the one. At the edge of the square, on the corner.” Mrs. Lloyd looked a little sheepish. “It's not that I was spying on them, you understand. I was just waiting for a friend outside the post office.”

“Of course you were. Well, that's very interesting.” Penny checked her watch. “Sorry, Mrs. Lloyd, I've got to go and speak to the mine manager about a few details.” She paused for a moment. “You know, Mrs. Lloyd, the musicians will be ready to break in about half an hour, so it would be really helpful if you'd station yourself just outside the caf
é
and let them know refreshments are waiting for them.

“I'll have to see if Karis needs anything. Rhian was supposed to look after her, but apparently her grandfather doesn't have much time left, so she's gone to be with her family.”

“Yes, I did hear that about Dylan Phillips. Don't worry. I'll make sure the musicians find their way here,” Mrs. Lloyd reassured her.

Penny picked up her hard hat and torch and left the caf
é
. She stepped out onto the gravelled walkway that led to the staging area where she found Bevan Jones. They had a few words about media arrangements and then Penny continued on her way. The train should be waiting now at the deep level to bring the musicians to the surface. She checked her watch. Eight thirty. If she hurried down the stairs, she should just be in time to join them as they began to make their way to the surface during their rehearsal break, keen for a cup of tea, a chance to visit the lavatories, and to discuss the program's progress with their colleagues.

As she groped her way along the dark tunnel that led to the chamber where the concert would be held, someone spoke.

“No, not that way. This way. It's a more direct route to the exit.”

She stopped, pressed herself against the rough, wet walls, and held her breath when she heard footsteps coming toward her.

“You seem to know your way around these tunnels,” a second voice replied.

“I told you not to speak to me in front of other people,” the first voice said in a low, urgent tone. A woman's voice, with a South Wales accent. That's got to be Karis, thought Penny. I wonder who she's talking to. “We've got to be careful so people don't connect us.”

“But I was worried,” said the second voice, which Penny now recognized as belonging to Rebeccah. “When I didn't hear from you I wondered if you were all right.”

“Of course I was all right,” snapped Karis. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Well, it's just that…”

“Look, Rebeccah, this isn't the time to go into all that. I've got to focus on the performance. We'll meet up after the concert and work out where we go from here. But for now, just leave me to get on with my work.
Dyfal donc y dyr y garreg.”

Rebeccah laughed. “‘Steady tapping breaks the stone.' Very good, that, Karis, considering where we are.” The two women stopped. “But listen, we don't have much time. People might ask questions and it's better if they don't know about us,” said Karis.

Penny flattened herself further against the tunnel wall as the two approached her, a jagged piece of slate in the rough-hewn wall digging into her back. She let out a little gasp of pained surprise.

“What was that?” said Karis.

“Who's there?” said Rebeccah.

“Oh, hello,” said Penny, taking a swift step forward that she hoped included enough momentum to indicate she had been walking toward them and had been further away than she really was. “I was just on my way to bring everyone upstairs for some refreshments.”

The look Karis gave her, barely discernible in the dim light of the tunnel, was as hard and black as the slate walls that surrounded them. The moment passed when the rest of the musicians and singers flowed into the tunnel and the excited, chattering group hurried to the train to take them to the surface.

Mrs. Lloyd greeted them at the entrance to the caban and Florence gestured proudly at the table of freshly cut sandwiches, homemade biscuits, cakes, tea, and coffee. Penny and Victoria stood to one side as the musicians, slowly and politely at first and then, as they realized how hungry they were, eagerly helped themselves. They took their plates and cups to the tables and tucked in. Soon the room was filled with the ambient background hum of happy chatter in a partylike atmosphere.

Penny and Victoria were the last to make their way to the buffet table with its cheerful red-and-white gingham cloth.

“Unfortunately all the gingerbread loaf is gone,” said Florence gloomily. “I'll have to remember next time to double the recipe. I hope you're not too disappointed.”

“That's all right, Florence,” said Victoria. “Everything you make is delicious so I'm sure we'll find something here … ooh, look, there's a bit of lemon drizzle cake left.” The two helped themselves and then sat at an empty table near the serving counter. After a moment Florence and Mrs. Lloyd joined them.