Page 13 of A Tenuous Betrothal
“Is that light?” He leaned toward a lighter gray color in front of them. The glow filled him with such a feeling of hope that he walked faster.
“The lanterns. We can use them in the wider portions of the mine.” Mr. Harman stepped in time with him. He seemed to take it upon himself to care for him. Mr. Gilson walked beside Miss Davies. “Their fumes are dangerous in narrow passages. That is why we walk in darkness.”
Mr. Gilson whistled and the noise from up ahead stopped. Mr. Harman stopped walking too and waited. Then a responding whistle sounded. They continued toward the light in complete silence, and it seemed the whole mine was waiting for them.
When they rounded a corner, Marc had to shield his face from the brightness of one single lantern. He squinted past the immediate illumination to what had opened up into a rather large cavern filled with miners, the whites of their eyes blinking at him. They sat up above him in rafters. They lined the walls. They peered out from additional tunnels. Marc couldn’t comprehend a life in such darkness. Blinking madly, he became more used to the light, and the group approached the man Marc assumed to be Mr. Thomas.
Mr. Gilson made the introductions, and Marc gave a smart half bow. “Thank you for seeing us.”
The foreman returned the bow and wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. “It’s a pleasure. Is something amiss?” He looked between Marc and Miss Davies.
“I’m afraid there is something amiss. Could we have a word?”
“Certainly.” He gestured to all the miners. “Sound carries in the mines. Is it a conversation you wish to share, or should we exit?”
“I would be more than happy for everyone to hear what I’m about to say.” Miss Davies stood taller.
Marc braced himself, almost unwittingly. He didn’t know her well enough to predict what she would say, but he somehow knew she was capable of the bold and unexpected.
“I understand there are children working in these mines—young children.” Her voice was deceptively bland.
Young pairs of eyes, as well as old, surrounded her.
The foreman frowned. “There are. Your uncle gave his permission to the families who wanted to send their younger sons.”
“And do you approve of this decision?” She stood shorter than the foreman, but his stance showed great respect, even deference, to her.
Marc liked him all the more because of it.
“I do not.”
Some grumbling followed that response.
“I know some of the families rely on the income,” Mr. Thomas explained. “And they feel as though their sons are on their way to this life at any rate. They may as well begin now, as they get into trouble at home, with their mothers also in the mines.”
Marc could see how this made sense for these families, though he thought the life of a miner was a rather difficult one, no matter how early one began. Were it his mine, he would not want the children there. He cleared his throat. “Is there, perhaps, a task the younger ones could do outside the mines?”
“Must they work at all?” Miss Davies cut in. “I see how there is no one at home to tend to them, but perhaps the village school? I know Father did not wish the younger children to be in the mines.”
More grumbling followed, but many others nodded.
“They’ve no use for school. They’re bound for the mines when they’re older anyway, aren’t they?” one called out.
Another said, “We’reworried that soon the young ones will beforcedto work.”
A greater number of people added their voices to that comment.
“They should be able to work if they want to work!” someone from the back of the mine called out.
There was more grumbling, and the general ruckus that ensued echoed in the cavernous space. Miss Davies turned a nervous expression Marc’s way, her face mostly in the shadows.
He held up his hands. When people quieted, he dipped his head. “Thank you for sharing your opinions. You know Miss Davies. Just as her father did, she wants more than anything to do good by all of you. She was willing to live in the hunting cottage by herself. She couldn’t leave Wales without knowing you are protected, cared for. She asks that you consider your children, find ways for them to delay working in the mines until they are older, only out of interest in your well-being.”
Grumbling sounded amongst the miners. The ones closest held expressions of great concern.
“So you’re leaving us, then?” a miner from the back called forward.
“I have no choice. Uncle has forced me from my home. And father arranged a marriage for me. But believe me when I tell you that I would have stayed until my last breath to do my duty as a Davies.” She clutched at her heart, her face full of caring and sincerity. “Please. I shall miss you dearly, and I know mining isn’t easy—I know it’s always a risk—but I cannot bear to leave you with such a dire situation for your children.”
