A Place Called Freedom by Ken Follett Page B

collapsed into the miner’s arms.
    The watching women all shrieked with laughter at the discomfiture of what they thought was a young gentleman. The miner caught Lizzie falling forward and easily supported her on his strong forearm. A callused hand as hard as a horse’s hoof squashed her breast through the linen shirt. She heard the man grunt with surprise. The hand squeezed, as if double-checking; but her breasts were large—embarrassingly large, she often felt—and an instant later the hand slid away. The man lifted her upright. He held her by her shoulders, and astonished eyes stared at her out of his coal-blackened face.
    “Miss Hallim!” he whispered.
    She realized the miner was Malachi McAsh.
    They looked at one another for a spellbound moment, while the women’s laughter filled their ears. Lizzie found the sudden intimacy deeply arousing, after all that had gone before, and she could tell he felt it too. For a second she was closer to him than to Jay, even though Jay had kissed her and held her hand. Then another voice pierced the noise, and a woman said: “Mack—look at this!”
    A black-faced woman was holding a candle up to the roof. McAsh looked at her, looked back at Lizzie, and then, seeming to resent leaving something unfinished, he released his hold on Lizzie and went over to the other woman.
    He looked at the candle flame and said: “You’re right, Esther.” He turned back and addressed the others, ignoring Lizzie and Jay. “There’s a little firedamp.” Lizzie wanted to turn and run, but McAsh seemed calm. “It’s not enough to sound the alarm—not yet, anyway. We’ll check in different places and see how far it extends.”
    Lizzie found his equanimity incredible. What kind of people were these miners? Though their lives were brutally hard their spirits seemed unquenchable. By comparison her own life seemed pampered and purposeless.
    Jay took Lizzie’s arm. “I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you?” he murmured.
    Lizzie did not argue. Her curiosity had been satisfied long ago. Her back ached from bending constantly. She was tired and dirty and scared and she wanted to get out on the surface and feel the wind on her face.
    They hurried along the tunnel toward the shaft. The mine was busy now and there were bearers in front of them and behind. The women hitched their skirts above their knees, for freedom of movement, and carried their candles in their teeth. They moved slowly under their enormous burdens. Lizzie saw a man relieving himself into the drainage ditch in full view of the women and girls. Can’t he find somewhere private to do that? she thought, then she realized that down here there was nowhere private.
    They reached the shaft and started up the stairs. The bearers went up on all fours, like small children: it suited their bent posture. They climbed at a steady pace. There was no chattering and joking now: the women and girls panted and groaned beneath the tremendous weights they were carrying. After a while Lizzie had to rest, but the bearers never stopped, and she felt humiliated and sick with guilt as she watched little girls pass her with their loads, some of them crying from pain and exhaustion. Now and again a child would slow down or stop for a moment, only to be hurried along by a curse or a brutal blow from its mother. Lizzie wanted to comfort them. All the emotions of the night came together and turned into anger. “I swear,” she said vehemently, “I’ll never allow coal to be mined on my land, as long as I live.”
    Before Jay could make any reply, a bell began to ring.
    “The alarm,” Jay said. “They must have found more firedamp.”
    Lizzie groaned and got to her feet. Her calves felt as if someone had stuck knives in them. Never again, she thought.
    “I’ll carry you,” Jay said, and without more ado he slung her over his shoulder and began to climb the stairs.

8
    T HE FIREDAMP SPREAD WITH TERRIFYING SPEED .
    At first the blue tinge had been