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Guy sat atone of the long tables in the hall of the coaching inn, keeping his head down as he ate his breakfast. He had just posted a note to Corbyn, detailing the progress of his mission, which wasn’t much. Yes, he had been able to find some of the conspirators of this trade union, but that was only part of the assignment. He had no doubt that Corbyn would be displeased with his limited findings, but it couldn’t be helped.
He may have infiltrated the trade union, but they didn’t trust him to reveal anything more than they previously had. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure if they had met again. No invitation had come his way in that regard.
As much as he hated to admit it, he was just going to have to wait until they confided in him. He needed to find out how they were communicating with the other trade unions. Someone had to be traveling to London and the surrounding areas.
Mr. Croke walked up to him and asked, “How is yer breakfast?”
“It is delicious.”
A proud look came to Mr. Croke’s face. “My wife is the best cook in town,” he bragged. “She has been cooking since she was a little girl.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, her father used to own a tavern in town, and she would help her mother cook.” Mr. Croke’s eyes strayed towards Henry, who was wiping down the tables. “Teresa is now teaching Henry how to cook. With any luck, he will be able to take over for her one day.”
“That is an admirable profession.”
“It is,” Mr. Croke agreed. “Ye should have seen Henry when he first came to live with us. He was so thin, and his cheeks were sunken in. I’m afraid he hadn’t been treated very well at the colliery.”
“That is my understanding as well.”
“We have taken a real liking to the boy,” Mr. Croke said. “He is a hard worker, and he never complains about his chores.”
“I wish I could say the same thing,” he joked.
Mr. Croke chuckled. “As would I.”
Before Guy could reply, the door was thrown open and a disheveled man ran in with a panicked look on his face. “There has been a collapse at the colliery!” he exclaimed. “If you are willing, they need all the help they can get to dig out the survivors!”
Guy rose from the bench. “I can help.”
“Good,” the man replied. “Get to the colliery as fast as you can.”
Guy raced towards the stables for his horse, then rode towards the colliery at breakneck speed. He was pleased to see that other men had responded to the call to action as well.
Guy was not prepared for what he found at the colliery. Women wailed as they stood near the entrance to the coal mine, and two small bodies were being carried out.
Guy secured his horse and ran towards a man who was barking orders at everyone. He removed his jacket, tossing it to the side, and waited until the man looked at him. “What can I do to help?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves.
The man perused him for a brief moment, then said, “You are too big to go down and dig, but you can get rid of the dirt they cart out.”
“I can do that.”
“Good.” The man pointed towards a pile of dirt that sat back from the pit. “Dump the dirt over there and return the wheelbarrow to the men.”
Guy tipped his head in acknowledgement before he raced to relieve a man of a wheelbarrow. For the next few hours, he disposed of the dirt as soon as it came out of the mine. His muscles ached and he was sweating profusely, but it compared little to what the workers were facing down in the pit.
So far, there had only been a few survivors, but they were holding out hope that would change. More bodies of women and children had been brought up, bringing the death toll to eight.
A cheer went around as a man carried out a young boy in his arms. The boy was covered in dirt and coughing, but the most important thing was that he was alive.
A woman cried out in joy as she raced towards the boy and scooped him up in her arms. She hugged him tightly as the doctor approached them.
Guy felt tears prick at the back of his eyes at the scene. The mother smiled as she looked at her son’s face, but it was a direct counterpoint to the crestfallen expressions of the people standing near the deceased. It was heartbreaking to witness the fragility of life.
Burke came to stand next to him, a shovel in his hand. “I’m not sure if I should clap or weep at the sight.”
“Me either,” Guy admitted.
