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"The explosion of firedamp set light to the coal dust, and that's what's burning. The fire trapped many of the men in their workplaces, and some suffocated. My brother and the others couldn't rescue them because they had no breathing apparatus. "
"That's not so," Jones said.
"I think it is," Gus Dewar contradicted him. As always, the American was a bit diffident in his manner, but he made an effort to speak insistently. "I spoke to some of the men coming up. They said the lockers marked 'Breathing Apparatus' turned out to be empty. " He seemed to be suppressing anger.
Ethel Williams said: "And they couldn't put out the flames because there was insufficient water kept underground. " Her eyes flashed with fury in a way that Fitz found alluring, and his heart skipped a beat.
"There's a fire engine!" Jones protested.
Gus Dewar spoke again. "A coal dram filled with water, and a hand pump. "
Ethel Williams went on: "They should have been able to reverse the flow of ventilation, but Mr. Jones has not modified the machinery in accordance with the law. "
Jones looked indignant. "It wasn't possible-"
Fitz interrupted. "All right, Jones, this isn't a public inquiry, His Majesty just wants to get people's impressions. "
"Quite so," said the king. "But there is one subject on which you might be able to advise me, Jones. "
"I should be honored-"
"I was planning to visit Aberowen and some of the surrounding villages tomorrow morning, and indeed to call upon your good self at the town hall. But in these circumstances a parade seems inappropriate. "
Sir Alan, sitting behind the king's left shoulder, shook his head and murmured: "Quite impossible. "
"On the other hand," the king went on, "it seems wrong to go away without any acknowledgment of the disaster. People might think us indifferent. "
Fitz guessed there was a clash between the king and his staff. They probably wanted to cancel the visit, imagining that was the least risky course; whereas the king felt the need to make some gesture.
There was a silence while Perceval considered the question. When he spoke, he said only: "It's a difficult choice. "
Ethel Williams said: "May I make a suggestion?"
Peel was aghast. "Williams!" he hissed. "Speak only when spoken to!"
Fitz was startled by her impertinence in the presence of the king. He tried to keep his voice calm as he said: "Perhaps later, Williams. "
But the king smiled. To Fitz's relief, he seemed quite taken with Ethel. "We might as well hear what this young person has to propose," he said.
That was all Ethel needed. Without further ado she said: "You and the queen should visit the bereaved families. No parade, just one carriage with black horses. It would mean a lot to them. And everybody would think you were wonderful. " She bit her lip and subsided into silence.
That last sentence was a breach of etiquette, Fitz thought anxiously; the king did not need to make people think he was wonderful.
Sir Alan was horrified. "Never been done before," he said in alarm.
But the king seemed intrigued by the idea. "Visit the bereaved. . . ," he said musingly. He turned to his equerry. "By Jove, I think that's capital, Alan. Commiserate with my people in their suffering. No cavalcade, just one carriage. " He turned back to the maid. "Very good, Williams," he said. "Thank you for speaking up. "
Fitz breathed a sigh of relief.
{VII}
In the end there was more than one carriage, of course. The king and queen went in the first with Sir Alan and a lady-in-waiting; Fitz and Bea followed in a second with the bishop; and a pony-and-trap with assorted servants brought up the rear. Perceval Jones had wanted to be one of the party, but Fitz had squashed that idea. As Ethel had pointed out, the bereaved might have tried to take him by the throat.
It was a windy day, and a cold rain lashed the horses as they trotted down the long drive of Ty Gwyn. Ethel was in the third vehicle. Because of her father's job she was familiar with every mining family in Aberowen. She was the only person at Ty Gwyn who knew the names of all the dead and injured. She had given directions to the drivers, and it would be her job to remind the equerry who was who. She had her fingers crossed. This was her idea, and if it went wrong she would be blamed.
As they drove out of the grand iron gates she was struck, as always, by the sudden transition. Inside the grounds all was order, charm, and beauty; outside was the ugliness of the real world. A row of agricultural laborers' cottages stood beside the road, tiny houses of two rooms, with odd bits of lumber and junk in front and a couple of dirty children playing in the ditch. Soon afterward the miners' terraces began, superior to the farm cottages but still ungainly and monotonous to an eye such as Ethel's, spoiled by the perfect proportions of Ty Gwyn's windows and doorways and roofs. The people out here had cheap clothes that quickly became shapeless and worn, and were colored with dyes that faded, so that all the men were in grayish suits and all the women brownish dresses. Ethel's maid's outfit was envied for its warm wool skirt and crisp cotton blouse, for all that some of the girls liked to say they would never lower themselves to be servants. But the biggest difference was in the people themselves. Out here they had blemished skin, dirty hair, and black fingernails. The men coughed, the women sniffed, and the children all had runny noses. The poor shambled and limped along roads where the rich strode confidently.
The carriages drove down the mountainside to Mafeking Terrace. Most of the inhabitants were lining the pav
