ardent fingers. He looked exactly like the rooster he was trying so hard not to resemble.
Connor started it by smiling. Jack grinned back, embarrassed but tickled, and pretty soon they were both laughing, reveling in the knowing, infectious sound, egging each other on with it. Jack collapsed on the bed, holding his sides. A coughing fit brought his hilarity to an abrupt end, and afterward he lay on his back, alternately wheezing and chuckling, wiping tears from his temples.
“Who was she?” Connor said. “If I may ask.”
“Why, she’m the gel I telled you about, the one who serves at the George. Rose, ’er name is, although I calls ’er . . . ah, well.”
“Ah, well,” Connor agreed. “Next time I’ll be more careful before I walk into your room. In broad daylight on a Monday afternoon,” he added pointedly.
Jack grinned, sheepish. “You do that. So,” he said, to change the subject. “Tell me how yer day went, counselor. Ee’re looking a bit fagged. I’m startin’ to despair o’ us turning you into a real miner, Con. Sad t’ say, ee just may not have the stuff.”
Connor dropped down in the room’s only chair, too tired to joke back. “Guess who owns the mine, Jack.”
“Who? Some woman, you said.”
“Sophie Deene.”
Jack’s mouth fell open. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No! That girl? On the green, the one wi’ the children?”
“That girl.” He rubbed his eyes. “And she doesn’t just own it, she
runs
it. She’s the bleeding
manager
, she comes in to her bloody office every day and sits down behind her great bleeding
desk.
”
Jack sat up on his elbows, and gradually his face changed from amazement to amusement. “Uh-oh,” he said knowingly.
“Stow it, just—”
“Uh-oh, uh-oh. Now what’re ee going to do? You fell in love wi’ her on Saturday, and now—”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“—Now ee’ve got t’ go behind ’er back, pickin’ out all the flaws in ’er mine, rattin’ on ’er to the Rhads, and her the gel ee’d most like to—”
“Jack, would you just sod that?”
Startled by the anger Connor couldn’t hide, Jack held up his hands. “Right you are,” he said placatingly. “It’s a pickle, I can see that. Oh, I forgot to give you this.”
“What?”
“Letter from the Rhads, I expect. Another one o’ the blank envelopes, lest yer dark ties to their socialist coven be found out.”
Connor chuckled in spite of himself, and reached for the envelope Jack had taken out of his pocket. Inside was a letter, short and to the point. “Good,” he muttered when he’d read it. “Fine with me.”
“What?”
He looked up. “They say the reform bill may be brought in sooner than they’d expected. Now their man Shavers wants all of my reports by the end of this month or he might lose his chance to offer the bill in the Commons this session. It means we won’t have to go to the mine in Buckfastleigh after I’m through here.”
“Shavers,” Jack muttered, not bothering to hide his disgust. “That flamin’ fomenter. Why you care to hook up wi’ a lawless jack-rag the likes o’ him is a myst’ry to me.”
“I haven’t hooked up with him. I’ve never even met him.”
“Well, I heard ’im speak onct—”
“And he incited a crowd of tin miners in Redruth to walk out on strike. I know, you’ve told me a hundred times. What I can’t understand is why that makes him the devil incarnate as far as you’re concerned. If anybody—oh, hell.”
If anybody ought to be in favor of mining reform
, he almost said,
it’s you.
But he and Jack had had this argument too many times, and the irony of their reversed positions on the subject no longer entertained them. “Anyway,” he finished tiredly, “it seems we won’t be in Wyckerley for as long as I thought.”
“Which is fine wi’ you. On account o’ that lady who’m now yer boss.”
Connor started to deny it, then didn’t. “You ought to see her, Jack, sitting behind this huge desk,
Connor started it by smiling. Jack grinned back, embarrassed but tickled, and pretty soon they were both laughing, reveling in the knowing, infectious sound, egging each other on with it. Jack collapsed on the bed, holding his sides. A coughing fit brought his hilarity to an abrupt end, and afterward he lay on his back, alternately wheezing and chuckling, wiping tears from his temples.
“Who was she?” Connor said. “If I may ask.”
“Why, she’m the gel I telled you about, the one who serves at the George. Rose, ’er name is, although I calls ’er . . . ah, well.”
“Ah, well,” Connor agreed. “Next time I’ll be more careful before I walk into your room. In broad daylight on a Monday afternoon,” he added pointedly.
Jack grinned, sheepish. “You do that. So,” he said, to change the subject. “Tell me how yer day went, counselor. Ee’re looking a bit fagged. I’m startin’ to despair o’ us turning you into a real miner, Con. Sad t’ say, ee just may not have the stuff.”
Connor dropped down in the room’s only chair, too tired to joke back. “Guess who owns the mine, Jack.”
“Who? Some woman, you said.”
“Sophie Deene.”
Jack’s mouth fell open. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No! That girl? On the green, the one wi’ the children?”
“That girl.” He rubbed his eyes. “And she doesn’t just own it, she
runs
it. She’s the bleeding
manager
, she comes in to her bloody office every day and sits down behind her great bleeding
desk.
”
Jack sat up on his elbows, and gradually his face changed from amazement to amusement. “Uh-oh,” he said knowingly.
“Stow it, just—”
“Uh-oh, uh-oh. Now what’re ee going to do? You fell in love wi’ her on Saturday, and now—”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“—Now ee’ve got t’ go behind ’er back, pickin’ out all the flaws in ’er mine, rattin’ on ’er to the Rhads, and her the gel ee’d most like to—”
“Jack, would you just sod that?”
Startled by the anger Connor couldn’t hide, Jack held up his hands. “Right you are,” he said placatingly. “It’s a pickle, I can see that. Oh, I forgot to give you this.”
“What?”
“Letter from the Rhads, I expect. Another one o’ the blank envelopes, lest yer dark ties to their socialist coven be found out.”
Connor chuckled in spite of himself, and reached for the envelope Jack had taken out of his pocket. Inside was a letter, short and to the point. “Good,” he muttered when he’d read it. “Fine with me.”
“What?”
He looked up. “They say the reform bill may be brought in sooner than they’d expected. Now their man Shavers wants all of my reports by the end of this month or he might lose his chance to offer the bill in the Commons this session. It means we won’t have to go to the mine in Buckfastleigh after I’m through here.”
“Shavers,” Jack muttered, not bothering to hide his disgust. “That flamin’ fomenter. Why you care to hook up wi’ a lawless jack-rag the likes o’ him is a myst’ry to me.”
“I haven’t hooked up with him. I’ve never even met him.”
“Well, I heard ’im speak onct—”
“And he incited a crowd of tin miners in Redruth to walk out on strike. I know, you’ve told me a hundred times. What I can’t understand is why that makes him the devil incarnate as far as you’re concerned. If anybody—oh, hell.”
If anybody ought to be in favor of mining reform
, he almost said,
it’s you.
But he and Jack had had this argument too many times, and the irony of their reversed positions on the subject no longer entertained them. “Anyway,” he finished tiredly, “it seems we won’t be in Wyckerley for as long as I thought.”
“Which is fine wi’ you. On account o’ that lady who’m now yer boss.”
Connor started to deny it, then didn’t. “You ought to see her, Jack, sitting behind this huge desk,
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