The Stars Look Down (61 page)

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.

END OF BOOK TWO

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.

He returned to his desk, sat down and took a file of bills and invoices from the top left drawer. These invoices were not new to him, he had most of them by heart, but they had not ceased to shock him. Bad timber, cheap bricks, weak props, dud roofing bars, odd lots and job-lots bought anywhere so long as it was cheap. Material on costs cut to the vanishing point. A subtle skating behind the regulations at every turn—even the spare winding cable was ten years old and had been bought second hand at a bankrupt sale. His father’s work; all his father’s work; all work which he must rectify.

He was still sitting at his desk, working and figuring, when Saul Pickings, seventy-four, and still going strong, poked his head round the door and announced Adam Todd. Arthur jumped up at once and shook hands with Todd, genuinely glad to see him. Todd had changed very little, still taciturn and vaguely seedy and yellow about the eyes, still smelling of cloves. He sat down beside the desk in answer to Arthur’s invitation; he had no personality or presence; he was just there.

A short silence; then Arthur slid the file across to Todd.

“Take a look at these.”

Todd took a look at them, wetting his forefinger, slow and exact.

“There’s been a few bargains,” he said at length.

“Bargains,” Arthur said. “It isn’t a case of bargains. That stuff is junk.”

Old man Todd did not speak, but Arthur saw that he agreed and, lowering his voice carefully, Arthur said:

“Look here, Mr. Todd, I’m going to be quite frank with you. After all you know everything. You warned my father. But you don’t have to warn me. I’m out to put things right at last. I’m going to make the Neptune
safe
!”

“Yes, Arthur,” said old man Todd with his yellow eyes fixed on the desk. “You’re empowered, I suppose?”

“Bannerman has seen to everything. I’ve sworn the affidavit, I’m in control,” Arthur said, his voice low and burning. “You’re coming round with me this morning. And you’re coming inbye. You’re going to make suggestions to me as
you did to my father. The difference Is that I’m going to take them.”

“Yes, Arthur.”

“I’m going to replace this junk. I’m going to take out every rotten prop in this rotten pit, burn the timber, strip the brickwork. I’m going to steel girder the new road, cement the roof, put in new haulage.”

“That’ll cost you a lot of money.”

“Money!” Arthur gave a short laugh. “Money has been pouring into this pit during the war… like the water that poured into it at the disaster. I’m going to spend some of that money, all of it if need be. I’m going to make a new Neptune. I’m not just stopping at safety. I’m going to show how to get real good out of the men. I’m putting in pit-head baths, drying rooms, locker rooms, everything.”

“Yes, Arthur,” said Todd, “I see.”

Arthur rose abruptly:

“Come on,” he said. “We’ll go.”

They went round the pit bank, engine house and pump room. Then they went inbye. Accompanied by Armstrong and Hudspeth they made a complete inspection above surface and below. They talked and discussed and tested. Arthur had his way every time and his way was the best way.

It was one o’clock when they came back to the office and Todd looked a little tired. At his own suggestion he had a slight refreshment and after the refreshment he looked less tired. Chewing a clove, he figured for a long time with his pencil on a pad. At last he looked up.

“Do you know round about what this is going to cost?” he inquired slowly.

“No,” Arthur spoke indifferently.

“Something in the neighbourhood of one hundred thousand pounds,” Todd said.

“That shows how rotten we were!” Arthur clenched his fist in a sudden access of feeling. “We can stand that outlay. I don’t care if it was double. I’ve got to do it.”

“Yes, Arthur,” old man Todd said again. “Mind you, we’ll have a bit of difficulty in getting the stuff. All the plant works have been out of production during the war and it’s only the wise ones that have converted back already.” He hesitated. “I did hear they’d restarted in Platt Lane though.”

“At Millington’s?”

“Millington’s that was,” Todd sighed. “You know Stanley
has sold out to Mawson and Gowlan.” He placed the papers in his bag and closed it gently, without acrimony.

Arthur took Todd’s arm. “You’re tired.” He smiled, his sensitive, charming smile. “You need some lunch. We’re expecting you at the Law. Hilda’s home. And Grace and Dan are staying for a day or two. You must come.”

They drove up to the Law through the warm sunshine and Todd, reflecting in the warm sunshine, felt less his usual pessimism: it was a fine thing Arthur was doing, a very fine thing, the like of which his father would not have done. This made him meditate:

“It’s odd, you know, not seeing your father at the Neptune, Arthur.”

Arthur shook his head decisively. “He’ll never be there again, I’m afraid.” Then quickly: “Mind you, he’s better really, a great deal better. He may go on for years, Dr. Lewis says. But the right side is quite paralysed. And the speech, that has suffered. Something has severed, a line of nerve fibres in the brain. To be quite frank, Todd, he’s not quite… not quite right in his head.” There was a silence, then Arthur added in a low voice: “My only hope is that he may go on long enough to see the end of what I’m doing at the Neptune.”

A sudden warmth came over Todd: the day, the whisky and a real admiration for Arthur’s purpose.

“By God, Arthur,” he said, “I hope he does see it.”

They entered the Law with this spirit of cheerfulness and enthusiasm between them. It was half-past one and lunch-time. They went straight into the dining-room, where they all sat in together: Arthur at the head of the table, Aunt Carrie at the foot, Todd and Hilda on one side, Grace and Dan on the other.

Everyone was cheerful, a note of optimism vibrated in the air, the ecstasy, the miracle of this new enduring peace. Todd reflected that he had never in all his life seen such a cheerful table at the Law. There was, of course, the sense of something missing. The real presence was not there, the presence was hidden upstairs, speechless and paralysed, yet, even in absence, strangely significant.

Todd wondered for a moment. He turned to Hilda:

“You’re looking after your father, I suppose, Hilda? Your nursing experience will be useful.”

Hilda shook her head.

“Aunt Carrie is the nurse.”

Arthur’s new buoyant laugh rang out.

“You’ll never guess what Hilda’s up to. She’s going in for medicine. She goes up to London next month.”

“Medicine!” Todd echoed. He concealed his amazement under a preoccupation with his mutton.

“Hilda’s very pleased,” Arthur said. He was in extraordinary spirits. He darted a smile towards Dan, “That’s what makes her so agreeable to us all.”

Dan reddened, conscious of Hilda’s chilly tolerance, and of his own rather awkward position at the Law. He had come only to please Grace; even now he felt Grace’s hand seeking his hand under the table. He gave a warm and reassuring pressure to Grace’s hand, thinking of Grace and the baby upstairs and the future and not minding a bit that Hilda should snub him. He glanced up, still rather red, to find Todd’s eye upon him.

“You’ll be starting in at the Neptune again now the war’s over?” Todd said.

Dan swallowed a piece of potato the wrong way.

“No,” he said. “I’m going farming.”

Grace spoke up, squeezing Dan’s hand under the table:

“I won’t let Dan go back to the pit, Mr. Todd. We’re going down to Sussex. We’ve bought a little place there at Winrush. We bought it with Dan’s gratuity,” she added swiftly.