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“Coming.” She positioned an empty tub next to Greenley and took hold of the full one he had waiting for her.
“I got one what’s ready for ye, too,” Henderson barked, a few feet away.
Rachel acknowledged this with a weary nod before starting off. She pushed her tub across a dead level, followed by a slight rise, another short level, and then an abrupt fall. As usual, she fought to keep the heavy tub from getting away from her on the downhill. Every muscle felt pulled out, and her strength seemed to be running like sweat from her limbs.
When she reached the shaft bottom, where the coal was being loaded onto wagons, she grabbed her flask and swallowed a mouthful of tea, lukewarm but refreshing. Then she started dragging an empty tub back to Number 14.
A broad-shouldered fellow with Herculean biceps dipped his head when he saw her. They were both putters and had passed each other several times but had never spoken. Now he said, “After my first few days on this job, I thought I was dead.”
At the moment, Rachel wished she were. If not for Geordie, she would have given up.
Or maybe not. Wythe wanted to break her. He was trying to punish her for rejecting him, or hitting him, or both. But he deserved a good knock to the head, and Rachel couldn’t regret having delivered one. Maybe she was at his mercy now, but her body would grow accustomed to the labor. Somehow she would withstand it.
Sparing a grateful smile for her fellow putter, she summoned what energy she had left. “I suppose one gets used to it.”
“Aye, but it takes time.” He followed her partway back, pausing where the tunnel forked. “Look, if ye get behind, I’ll catch ye up if I can.”
“Thank you.” That simple kindness, amid all the hours of crude language and jibes she had suffered so far, gave Rachel the emotional lift she needed. But as soon as he saw her, Greenley started in on her again, complaining about her slowness. Doing her best to bear his tirade in silence, she wrestled another tub around to get it moving.
“Yer placin’ yer floor supports too far apart,” Collingood charged Greenley. “If ye don’t take care, yer goin’ ter cause a cave-in!”
“Bugger you. I know what I’m doin’,” Greenley mumbled.
Shaking his head in disgust, Collingood went back to using his shovel, but the exchange was enough to make Rachel glance uncertainly above her. Tommy had died in a cave-in. The thought of being buried beneath a thousand pounds of dirt and rock was enough to make the darkness seem more palpable, the passage narrower. Especially because she had no confidence in Greenley. Was he really setting the roof supports too far apart? He hadn’t been a hewer more than a few months and had less experience than the seasoned Collingood—or Thornick and Henderson, for that matter. Even worse, he struck Rachel as a man who was long on confidence and short on brains.
“My father always used ter say pit work’s more than ’ewing. Ye’ve got ter coax the coal along,” Thornick shouted over the thwack of their picks.
“Ye ’ave ter know yer place like a mother knows ’er young ’uns,” Henderson agreed, but neither man took up Collingood’s argument.
Rachel opened her mouth to say something just as Greenley maneuvered his mammoth-size body around to glare her down. Even in the dimness, she could see the scowl etched on his flat face.
“Any reason yer standin’ around like ye got all day?” he demanded.
“No, it’s just that I… that I—” She noticed a pile of dirt and rock had tumbled down from the ceiling not five yards away and swallowed against the sudden dryness of her throat. “I agree with Collingood,” she finished. “You might be setting the roof supports too far apart.”
“Ye do, do ye?” He threw his pick to the ground and got to his feet, but the ceiling wouldn’t allow him to rise much higher than a crouch. “Now why didn’t I think ter ask ye before?”
Rachel wanted to fold her arms in front of her but, realizing it was a defensive posture, kept them at her sides. “I don’t have much experience,” she allowed, “but even I can see—”
“Oh, ye’ve got experience, all right,” he broke in. “Ye spread yer legs for the earl quick enough, but if ye knew what ye were doin’ even there ye wouldn’t be down in this ’ell ’ole.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but he wasn’t listening.
“Still, I’m not opposed ter teachin’ ye a thing or two about workin’ on yer back—since ye already know everythin’ about coal minin’. What do ye say, ’Enderson, Thornick? Should we teach this bitch a lesson?”
Rachel tried to retreat, but two steps backed her up against the wall. “I am not the earl’s whore,” she said, trying to keep the fear twisting her insides from revealing itself in her voice. “My brother died in a cave-in. I am merely trying to prevent a similar accident. We wouldn’t want something like that to ever happen again.”
“I’ll tell ye what’s goin’ ter ’appen,” he said. “I’m gonna throw up yer skirts. Then I’m gonna give my friend ’Enderson a turn.”
“Leave ’er be,” Collingood admonished. “You know what Cutberth said. We’re not ter touch ’er. Go to Elspeth’s tonight if ye want.”
“Why spend my hard-earned money on those tired whores?” Greenley countered. “They aren’t anythin’ like the educated Miss McTavish, always so prim and proper and too good for a simple miner. Or even a besotted blacksmith’s apprentice. I bet she’s tighter than a drum. Besides, I’m not goin’ ter ’urt ’er. I’m just gonna enjoy her as the earl did. ’E’s no better’n us!”
“What about Cutberth?” Collingood asked, but he was glancing around as though sizing up the possibilities.
“We don’t ’ave ter tell ’im, do we? If we all take a turn, we’ll be in it together. What do ye say, ’Enderson, Thornick?”
Greenley’s eager smile caused Rachel’s panic to rise to a new level. “I’ll scream,” she threatened.
Henderson tossed his pick aside and crawled over to cut off her exit. “So what? Ye won’t be heard above the shouts and shovels an’ ’orses an’ machinery. An’ even if ye are, do ye really think someone’s goin’ to lose time comin’ all the way out to Number 14 Stall ter investigate somethin’ that could mean nothin’ more than some scraped knuckles?”
