The Emerald Valley (78 page)

‘I saw him at teatime, missus. We went out to Withywood to pick up some stick and he was wandering about out there.'

Withywood was half a mile out into the country, one of the old mines in and around Hillsbridge which had not been worked for a generation. Surrounded now by the woods which had given it its name, it was a favourite summer haunt with some of the local lads; however, Amy had always told Huw to keep away from it, as she had heard that the company which had owned it had gone bankrupt rather suddenly and closed the place down without even covering the shafts properly.

‘What was he doing out there?' she asked now.

The boy shrugged. ‘Dunno. All I know is I saw him …'

‘Thank you.'

The boys walked away, leaving Amy wondering what to do next. Surely Huw was not still out at Withywood, alone in the dark? Should she go home and wait for him to decide to do the same? Or should she go and look for him? The knot of anxiety inside her was growing, fuelled by the sharp memory of last night's horror, and she decided on the latter course.

Her mind made up, Amy went home, told Rita what she intended to do and collected her strongest torch. Then she set out again, along the lonely lane that led to Withywood. With the mist closing in around her, her footsteps echoed eerily and several times she stopped, looking around with the uncomfortable feeling that she was being followed. But she saw no one. Once a loud noise close by made her jump and scream, but it was only a lone cow sticking its nose over the hedge and Amy gathered herself together and walked on.

There were two cottages at the corner of Withywood Lane; their lighted windows made small warm patches in the mist, but when Amy had passed them the darkness closed in around her once more. Somewhere, far away, she heard the whistle of a railway engine, a mournful wail in the night; then there was nothing but the deep shrouded silence.

At the end of the lane she paused. Ahead of her the dense woodland formed a thick girdle which she knew stretched to the top of the railway embankment; to her right was the site of the old workings, overgrown now as the woodland had encroached onto them. As she shone her torch, a slight break in the mist showed her the tumbled piles of brick and stone, tumbledown remains of the derelict buildings which had once housed winding engine and screens, and the gaunt finger of the pit chimney, still pointing drunkenly towards the sky.

At one time someone had made an attempt to fence in the old workings; now the barbed wire had been broken down in many places. Shining her torch, Amy found a gap and climbed through. Underfoot the ground was rough – stony in places, and soggy with drifts of dead leaves in others. Brambles snared at her slacks and she was glad her legs were covered, though she wished she had stopped to change her shoes for stouter boots before coming out. For a few moments she picked her way tentatively, then stopped and called Huw's name. But the mist tossed her voice back at her and there was no answering sound.

Still calling, Amy stumbled on deeper into the old workings. Beside the ruined engine-house she stopped, shining her torch through a gap in the tumbledown walls, but the light only glanced eerily around the uneven hunks of stone.

She went on across the old yard, cracked now, and heaving. Then quite suddenly her feet encountered something different and she stopped dead, shining the torch at her feet. Wood planks … and rotten by the feel of them. Was this the old shaft? The skin prickled at the nape of her neck and she backed off hastily, terrified by the thought of the sheer nothingness which might be beneath her feet, then kicking tentatively at the rotting timber with her heel. She felt it splinter and in one place her heel sank right in, almost throwing her off balance.

It wasn't safe … it shouldn't be allowed. Suppose she had stepped onto it? She could have gone through, fallen to her death like the out-of-work miner who had thrown himself down another uncovered pit-shaft somewhere out beyond Purldown just a few weeks ago. And not only would the main shaft be hidden somewhere here beneath brambles and wild grasses, but probably ventilation shafts too – smaller, but just as deep. The nape of her neck prickled again; she had no idea where any of those shafts might be.

And what about Huw – suppose he was here in the dark? Would he be as careful as she was being, or would he blunder along blindly? She opened her mouth to call his name again, then closed it. If he was frightened of the consequences of being found, he might run, heedless of the hidden dangers in the undergrowth. Perhaps he had done so already. She closed her eyes, pressing her hands against her mouth as she imagined the ground giving way beneath his feet, seeming to hear his scream echoing as he plunged into the depths of the earth. Then, with a conscious effort she pushed the image from her mind. No such thing had happened. It couldn't have. If Huw had been meant to die, surely he would have died last night in the fire? But she couldn't shake off the cold premonition of impending doom.

Shining her torch on the ground in front of her, she moved on, skirting the workings. Strange to think men had once earned their living here, mining the black mineral from beneath the earth, bringing it to the surface, sorting it, grading it. Once the now silent air would have echoed with the clang and thud of machinery, the feet of men and horses would have trodden where she now stumbled, carts would have queued for some of the good coal while the rest went down the incline to the railway sidings, while the waste would have been taken away in tubs for dumping on the batch – the man-made mountain of black dust built up behind the workings.

With the torchlight illuminating the ground at her feet, Amy failed to see the barbed-wire fence until she collided with it. She jumped back, crying out, pressing her scagged hand to her mouth and tasting blood. She had not realised how close she was to the steep railway embankment, but now the beam of her torch showed the ground falling away beneath her on the other side of the barbed wire, black and loose with spilled coal-dust between the odd scrubby sapling that somehow had taken root. Across the valley an owl hooted – another living thing here in the night – but the mournful sound only accentuated the loneliness, and sick despair came rushing in to fill the empty place inside her.

It was useless. Huw wasn't here – and if he was, she could never have found him.

I will try just once more, Amy thought, and cupping her gashed hand to her mouth she called, ‘Huw! Huw – are you here?'

The mist seemed to absorb the sound of her voice and she was about to turn away when she heard it – a small, thin cry, seeming to come from below her. Hope flared, then died. An animal, perhaps? A mouse squealing in the talons of that marauding owl? But no, a mouse could not make a sound as loud as that had been, not even in the extremities of terror. She froze, listening. And the cry came again, not animal but distinctly human. A small, frightened cry for help.

Again Amy cupped her hands to her mouth. ‘Huw! Is that you? Where are you?'

‘Here! Down here!'

‘Down here?'
Down the embankment? Surely not! With the mist playing tricks, it was almost impossible to tell.

‘Down where?'

‘Here – here! I fell! My leg …'

Following his thin, echoing voice she felt her way along the fence. The light of her torch picked up more piles of stone and ruined walls as she edged her way around a waist-high buttress and stopped, appalled to find herself teetering on the edge of nothingness.

‘Auntie Amy!' His voice seemed to be coming almost from beneath her feet. ‘Here! I'm here!'

She inched forward, crouching down. ‘What are you doing down there?'

‘I fell. I was running … I didn't see it …'

‘Can't you climb up?'

‘No! I hurt my leg. I think it's broke …'

Amy shone the torch and its beam picked up his small white face.

‘Auntie Amy, I'm ever so cold too …'

She shifted the beam of the torch so as to take a look at the trap into which Huw had fallen. What the ruined walls had once housed, Amy did not know. A sump of some kind, perhaps? An inspection chamber? It hardly mattered. The drop into it was ten feet at least and sheer.

She leaned over looking for footholds, handholds, anything, but could see none. But even if she could climb down, there was no way she could lift Huw to get him up – or take him home, if his leg was injured. She would have to leave him and go for help, and she didn't like that idea at all. It was unlikely that she would find either telephone or car in the cottages at the end of the lane, and it would take at least another half an hour to get home, then perhaps as long again to contact someone who could drive back to Withywood. An hour in all … and it would seem a lifetime to a boy who was frightened, cold and in pain. If only there was someone with her – if only her car wasn't laid up for repair – if only …

But wishful thinking was wasted time and energy. She was on her own.

‘Now listen, Huw, I'm going to find someone to get you out of there,' she said.

‘Oh, Auntie Amy, don't go …'

‘I have to, Huw. We can't stay here all night.'

‘But I'm so cold …' She could hear his teeth chattering and she took off her coat and held it down to him. ‘Here you are. Put this on. I'm going now, but I'll come back as quickly as I can.'

‘But Auntie Amy …'

‘Be sensible, Huw!' she snapped.

She straightened up, still unwilling to leave him though there seemed to be no alternative, and stood for a moment shivering herself in the cold, clammy night air. Perhaps if she gave him the torch it would be some comfort for him? But in that case she would never find her way back out of the workings. And the lane was so dark …

She turned, looking into the blackness … It was complete, enveloping. And then suddenly she was aware of a path of brightness spreading yellow in the mist, and heard the sound of a motor engine.

A car – out here? She could hardly believe it. Who would drive out here at night? A courting couple, perhaps? But few men young enough to be courting in the woods would own a car. Someone who had missed their way, then? Would they turn round and go away when they realised they were in a cul-de-sac? On no, they mustn't go, whoever it was …

Almost heedless of the hidden dangers which had worried her just now, she began to run. Her foot caught in a tree root and she tripped and fell, sprawling for a moment in the undergrowth, then picked herself up again and hurried on towards the lights, calling as she went even though she knew she would never be heard.

‘Wait – wait – don't go …'

The lights were still there, thank God! Her breath came fast and uneven. Then suddenly she was aware of another sound – someone coming towards her through the undergrowth? She checked, then ran on … and cannoned into a body. Hands caught at her arms, steadying her, and she smelled the unmistakable aroma of leather.

‘Amy! Steady on!'

‘Ralph?' She couldn't believe it.

‘Yes. What's going on?'

‘It's Huw. He's fallen and he's in some kind of pit. I can't get him out and I was going for help …' He steadied her, still holding her by the arms. ‘Where is he?'

‘Over here. I didn't know what to do. I think he's broken his leg and the hole's so deep. Thank goodness you're here! But … why
are
you here?'

‘I went to your house. Rita told me where you'd gone and why, so I thought I'd better come to look for you. And a good thing I did! Amy – you're shivering. Where's your coat?'

‘I gave it to Huw. He was so cold …'

‘Here, you'd better have mine.' He took off the leather jacket and gratefully she let him put it round her shoulders.

‘Come on, now. Show me where he is.'

She led the way back through the undergrowth. At the wall she stopped.

‘He's down there – see? Huw – I'm here. Ralph is too. We shall soon have you out of there.'

How Ralph was going to achieve this when she could not, she did not stop to think. She only knew that somehow he would.

‘All right, let's have a look. Lend me your torch a minute, Amy.' Ralph was skirting the pit. A moment later he called, ‘It's not so deep on this side. Hang on, Huw, I'm coming down.'

She stood, nestling into the sheepskin collar of his jacket.

‘Round here, Amy. Careful, now. Can you hold the torch for me?'

‘Yes …' She shone the beam for him and watched him climb over the edge and drop into the pit. As he picked Huw up she heard the boy's cry of pain and winced.

‘Take hold of him, can you?'

She did as he said, crouching down and sobbing softly at Huw's moans, then closing her arms around him and holding him fast.

‘Oh Huw, Huw, you silly boy! What will you do next?'

Ralph was climbing up now, pulling by his arms and rolling over on to the damp but firm, ground. Then he took Huw from her, lifting him easily. The boy moaned again, then was quiet.

‘Come on. I left the car on the road.'

‘Be careful! There are shafts …'

‘Shine the torch, then.'

She preceded them, picking out a path with the beam of the torch. The car, pulled in close to the perimeter of the old workings, was a large shape against the darkness. Not the Morgan – another vehicle.

‘My car is being repaired, so I've hired this one,' Ralph explained.

He opened the rear door and lifted Huw in carefully. Amy slipped in beside him, cradling the boy against her.

‘Mr Porter …' he muttered fearfully.

‘It's all right,' Amy said. It was useless to be angry with him now. More to the point, she ought to be angry with herself for not reassuring him more effectively. She was convinced now that when he behaved stupidly, it was just his way of reacting to what he saw as a threat. This was a sorry end to a couple of disastrous days.

From the driver's seat, Ralph said, ‘We'd better take him to the hospital.'