The Sweeping Saga Collection: Poppy’s Dilemma, The Dressmaker’s Daughter, The Factory Girl. Nancy Carson

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СКАЧАТЬ box and settled himself on a remote pile of bricks. He had no wish to air his private problems with the rest of the encampment. If they wanted to discuss their amorous adventures that was up to them, but he didn’t want to share his.

      Buttercup came over to him and sat beside him.

      ‘What’s up wi’ thee, Lightning?’ he asked quietly. ‘Thou hasn’t been theeself for a week or two. Bist thee upset about summat? That Jenny Sparrow, for instance? I never realised th’ was a-pining for her?’

      ‘The only one I’m a-pining for is my Sheba,’ Lightning confessed sullenly.

      ‘For Sheba? Then that’s easy remedied. Collect your money tonight and go off on tramp, back to Dudley and the – what? The Blowers Green workings, did’st thou say?’

      ‘Aye, Buttercup,’ Lightning said with scorn. ‘But that’s easier said than done.’

      ‘Why? What’s to stop thee?’

      ‘Listen, Buttercup,’ Lightning said, and his tone was morbid. ‘You’ve been a good mate to me in the weeks we’ve been together, and I’ve appreciated it – more’n you realise, very like. I want you to promise me summat …’

      ‘Anything, me old mucker. Just name it.’

      ‘Well … if anything was to happen to me, an accident like, would you be good enough to go and let my Sheba know? It’d mean going off on tramp for a few days, but it’d mean a lot to me if you’d undertake to do it.’

      ‘Don’t be so damned gloomy,’ Buttercup said. ‘Tell her theeself. Take theeself home and tell her how much you’ve missed her. All right, so yo’n had a little diversion with that Jenny Sparrow along the way. So what? Sheba ain’t to know that, is she? And any road, yo’ll have gone back to her. She’ll welcome thee with open arms … and open thighs, I’d venture to say.’

      Lightning threw a piece of bread down on the ground in frustration. ‘That’s just it, Buttercup … I can’t go back. Not for anything. Not now.’

      ‘Why not, dammit?’ He looked at his friend, puzzled.

      ‘Well, Frying Pan’s right. Jenny Sparrow has had plenty experience. Too much of it. She’s gi’d me a dose o’ the rap-tap-tap, and Lord knows what else. I’m even afeared to have a piddle any more, ’cause it’s like pissing broken glass. I ’spect I got a dose o’ the Durham ox as well, just to round it off nice, like. How the hell can I go back to Sheba when I’m afflicted wi’ that? What sort of bloke would knowingly pass on the pox to his woman?’

      ‘Christ! Well, they reckon there’s plenty of it about.’

      ‘Aye, but you never think it’s gunna get you, do yer, eh, Buttercup?’

      ‘I thought you seemed miserable lately,’ Buttercup sympathised.

      ‘Miserable? I tell you, Buttercup, I’m at me wits’ end. I never felt so bloody wretched in me whole life. I’ve messed things up good and bloody proper. I’ve ruined a perfectly good life wi’ Sheba and me kids. I should be hanged for being so bloody stupid.’

      ‘So what yer gunna do, me old china plate?’

      Lightning shrugged. ‘What the hell can I do?’

      ‘Come on.’ Buttercup stood up wearily and stretched. ‘Tea’ll be drummed up in a minute or two. I got a little tipple o’ whisky in me bottle. Me and thee can share it. Things won’t seem half so bad after a tipple o’ whisky.’

      Lightning Jack and Buttercup shared the whisky, finished their dinners and their tots of tea, and then went back to work. It was time to pack explosive into the hole they had drilled and blow the face of the tunnel to bring down more rock for clearing, more clay for making the bricks. From a sturdy wooden box, Jack picked up a linen bag that had already been filled with gunpowder and packed it deep in the hole, with a length of fuse attached, carefully bunging up the hole with clay.

      ‘Ready to blow,’ he said to the ganger who was at Lightning’s side inspecting the work.

      ‘Ready to blow, it is,’ the ganger replied. He cupped his hands like a megaphone around his mouth. ‘Clear the area!’ he called, then blew his whistle. ‘Clear the area!’ He looked around for flickering candles in the darkness, which would tell him where the nearest men were working. ‘I’ll just get that lot to move back,’ he said, turning to Lightning who was waiting to light the fuse. ‘Give me a minute afore you light it. I’ll make sure the way’s clear for you to get away.’

      Lightning watched as the ganger’s shadow became more indistinct. He gave him his minute and duly lit the fuse.

      ‘About to blow!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Blowin’ up!’

      Beneath the shaft, where the men had collected, Buttercup asked for silence.

      ‘What’s up?’ asked the ganger.

      ‘Listen … I can’t hear Lightning walking back.’

      ‘You ain’t about to with all the racket going on down here. Dripping bloody water, the clatter o’ bricks, the squeal o’ them there wheels on the damn trucks, blokes chuntering.’

      ‘Look. The fuse is lit. Thou canst see it flaring. But where the hell’s Lightning?’

      ‘Give him a chance. The fuse’ll be at least a minute fizzling afore it sets off the gunpowder. Get your hands over your ears ready.’

      ‘Nah. I’m going to fetch him. He ain’t come away. Look, I can see his candle. He’s still there, the damned fool, by the fuse.’

      At that, Buttercup hurtled off, running towards the fuse that was still fizzing bright and crackling as it burned its way towards the compacted gunpowder. ‘Lightning!’ he yelled. ‘Move theeself! Get back here!’

      ‘Stay where you are, you bloody fool,’ came the reply echoing towards him through the gloom. ‘Get back and save yourself. You’ve got a bloody errand to run for me, remember?’

      ‘You arsehole!’ Buttercup bawled angrily as the final, awful realisation of what Lightning was up to struck him. ‘Thee bisn’t doing that. I’m coming to fetch thee. Stamp on the fuse or pull the bugger out. Quick!’

      ‘Get back, Buttercup,’ Lightning shouted urgently. ‘You’re too late. Save yourself.’

      There was a blinding flash of light and Buttercup was thrown to the floor of the tunnel as the wave of the blast reached him. He had the distinct impression that his head had imploded. The deafening sound was palpable as it reverberated along the walls and roof of the tunnel section. The ground beneath him and above him shook and shuddered and he fancied he must be dead already and in the midst of a thundercloud with heaven’s artillery booming. He lay with his hands over his head, fearing a fall of bricks and debris from the roof, but none fell. He looked up but all was black. He could feel the stench of burnt gunpowder in his nostrils, the dense smoke billowing around him making his eyes run.

      ‘Lightning!’ he called out, knowing it to be hopeless. ‘Lightning! Where bist thee? Answer me!’

      But there was no answer. The smoke deadened even the echo СКАЧАТЬ