Fall of Giants

A few moments later Ethel Williams entered. Her uniform was smudged with coal dust, but she had washed her face. She curtsied, and the king said: “What is the latest news?”

“Please, Your Majesty, there are five men trapped in Carnation district by a fall of rock. The rescue team are digging through the debris but the fire is still burning.”

Fitz noticed that the king’s manners with Ethel were subtly different. He had hardly looked at Perceval Jones, and had tapped a finger restlessly on the arm of his chair while listening; but he gave Ethel a direct look, and seemed more interested in her. In a softer voice, he asked: “What does your brother say?”

“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 Tŷ 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 Tŷ 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.