Closer to the Heart (20 page)

“And I am grateful that you accepted me,” she replied, “And the only regret I have is that I am inevitably going to have to disappoint these nice young men.” She turned and shrugged helplessly. “What am I to do? This is the job I am here for. I just feel rather sorry for them.”

“You can certainly feel sorry for them, my dear,” Jorthun said. “Just don't allow your sympathies to get in the way of doing that job.”

Her expression hardened just a little. “No fear there. Really, I am seeing their best faces, and I know it. For all that I can tell, in private, they are beasts, and I keep reminding myself of that.”

“As well you should, my dear,” Jorthun replied, finally getting up from his seat. “Now, if you would all care to join me in
my
rooms, I'm having dinner sent up for all of us there. I think we have earned it, one and all.”

“Coot, you jest go on over with m'lord and m'lady,” Mags said, taking the basket from him. “Ye done right good fer your
first try at playin' page-boy.” He thought a moment. “Iffen ye ain't gonna starve, might could be a good time t'learn how t'wait on gentry at a meal.”

“I ain't gonna starve!” Coot said with more enthusiasm than Mags had expected. “Iffen m'lord an' m'lady don' mind doin' the teachin'.”

“Mind?” Lord Jorthun laughed. “I never mind teaching. To teach is both a privilege and a pleasure. Come, my lad, and together we shall explore the graceful art of meal service—an art that is seldom appreciated, and invisible when done well.”

“Oh!” said Coot, as Mags went out the door carrying the basket. “Then it's 'xactly like pickin' pockets!”

• • •

Mags rode the appropriate number of paces behind Lady Keira; she had scandalized most of the town by appearing in a riding outfit with a divided skirt, much to his amusement. He couldn't imagine why all the pointing and whispering. It wasn't as if these people didn't see women in trews, after all. Female Heralds only wore dresses and skirts on formal occasions, and women who had physical jobs to do often wore breeches or trews, though some of them wore such garments under a knee-length skirt. But evidently the idea of a
lady
in a divided skirt was unheard of. He didn't blame her, though; the very few women he'd seen in that bizarre contraption called a
sidesaddle
had looked terribly uncomfortable.

:The only “ladies” they see in a very prosperous village like Attlebury are the wives and daughters of the well-to-do, who have their own rather stilted notions of propriety,:
Dallen told him.
:Women like that seldom ride. When they do, it's on a pillion, behind a manservant or a relative. They don't ride to hunt, for instance, and they don't have property to oversee.:

Well, that made sense, then. When he'd been on circuit,
they hadn't stayed long enough in any of the truly well-off places for him to get a notion of village manners.
:Seems I have plenty t'learn.:

Dallen chuckled.
:Everyone does.:

Once they were out of sight of Attlebury, Mags responded to Keira's gesture, motioning him to ride beside her, by urging his horse up those two lengths. When he got there, he could see she was smiling. “I shocked them, didn't I?” she said.

“Reckon so, Keira.” He chuckled. “Dallen tells me that there's the difference 'tween Haven an' a village like thet. Odd little thins shock folks that don't see bigger towns much, and don't got much call t'leave their own streets.” He gazed out over the fields on either side of them. “Country folk, not much shocks 'em. It's th' ones in towns thet git stuffy.”

“Hmm,” she agreed. “Well, they'll have to get used to me.”

“Prolly you'll set a new fashion,” he pointed out. “Been doin' my due snoopin' 'mongst th' servants. Maybe the mamas're shocked, but the gels'll be cuttin' up their skirts in no time.”

She just chuckled.

They remained side by side until the walls of the estate Tiercel had invited them to shone as a gray line in the distance, marking the boundary between open fields and the estate and mine proper. He dropped back then; it wouldn't do to appear presumptuous, not if he wanted to remain invisible.

The last time Mags had seen a mine, his circumstances had been . . . rather different. Then again, it was evident from the moment that he and Keira rode in through the gates of Master Rolmer's property that this was nothing like the mines he had been forced to slave in.

Instead of the untidy sprawl of nearly wild forest that had been behind Cole Pieters' gates, the land on the other side of the walls here stretched out in neat fields alternating grazing and cultivation. Master Rolmer evidently didn't see any reason
to waste good land in ornamental plantings, but he also didn't see any reason to put people off who were riding the lane up to his Great House, either.

Cole Pieters' Great House had been situated right at the mouth of his mine, and it had been the first thing you saw when you passed through his gates and got on the other side of his forest. Imposing, and more than a bit grim, there had been nothing ornamental about it.

Rolmer's Great House was something of a cheerful sprawl; it had several additions in different styles, probably added as the family had grown from the original Rolmer who had discovered the mine. But more to the point, unlike Pieters' unfriendly place, this Great House was surrounded, at least on this side, by a very tidy little village of well-constructed and well-maintained cottages. Mags had a very good idea of how many people it took to run a mine, and it looked to him as if this village was perfectly large enough to support two, and possibly even three shifts of workers with their families,
and
the folk it would take to tend those fields.

:I can't hardly believe my eyes,:
he told Dallen, wishing that the Companion was underneath him and not a league or more away. Not because he was in the least fearful; more because he wanted someone who had been with him and seen the conditions at the Pieters' mine to see this.

:I really wanta believe this, an' I'm feared to,:
he said, after a few more paces of his rather stolid horse.
:I wanta believe there's people that treat folks proper—:

At about that moment, Tiercel appeared at their end of the road that led through the village, mounted on a good strong hunter. He waved at Keira enthusiastically, and sent his horse trotting toward them with a huge smile on his face. “Lady Keira!” he called as he neared them. “Welcome! We've been expecting you this past candlemark. Thank you for accepting our invitation!”

“Well, how could I fail to, when it was presented so hopefully?” she asked, with a smile. She waved her hand at the village. “What is this charming little village?”

“It's called Rolmer's Roost. We helped build it for our miners, and the folks that work the Home Farm.” He wheeled his horse and brought it in beside Keira's. “My family has always been of the opinion that when you treat your workers well, they not only work well for you, but their children and children's children will
want
to work for you.”

They were into the village now; Mags kept looking around himself to verify that he was seeing what he thought he was. The cottages were set pretty close together, but they were all two stories tall with plenty of room for a family. Each one had a bit of garden in the front, more garden in back, and they were all constructed sturdily of stone with thatched roofs. It looked positively idyllic.

Tiercel waved a hand to the right just ahead of them, where men were laying the stone walls of a new one. “I say
we
helped build it, because Father supplies the stone from the mine, and everything needed to finish each cottage, but the villagers themselves do the building. When a couple wants to wed, if there isn't a cottage vacant because of a death, we give those who want to work on it a day off every sennight besides their regular day off to build it. That way
everyone
has some stake in the building, and the families will make sure it's done properly. After all, who wants to have to dig your son and daughter out of the ruins of their home if you did it wrong?”

“Most enlightened,” said Keira, with admiration.

Mags couldn't see their faces, but it sounded as if Tiercel was pleased with her reaction. “Servants from the Great House are given cottages to live in when they're too old to work, too,” he continued cheerfully, seeing that she appeared to be interested. “We give the miners the option of building those cottages for the same pay as they'd get without bonuses in the
mine, and they almost always take us up on that. It's a whole, real working village. No one has ever left.”

“It seems like a logical scheme to me,” she agreed. “My father runs his estate the same way, more or less. We have our manor village as well. But I confess I never considered the same applying to mines.”

No more had I,
Mags agreed silently.

Even though he was
looking
for trouble, he wasn't finding it. No sign of hunger, no sign of mistreatment. The cottages were clean, young children were busy at chores; usually baby-watching as their mothers did laundry or worked in the garden, or cleaned or cooked. There was one fellow sitting out in front of his front door in a willow chair, dozing in the sun, lacking a leg—obviously a victim of a rockfall. But he was
here,
alive and well if not whole, and clearly was being cared for. Mags could not help thinking of all the victims of accidents in the Pieters' mine who had been left to lie until they died or freed themselves, or someone took pity on them. And
then
there was no medical attention for them, so they generally died anyway. If they didn't, they eked out a miserable existence, dragging themselves about with no help, and more often than not, wasted away and died later.

No one ever helped them, much less gave them a decent place to live in.

Then Mags did notice one thing. There was no child older than about ten to be seen—

“Children ten or older work the sluices,” Tiercel was continuing, as if he had read Mags' mind. “Of course, they can be at school, and some families choose that if their child is especially intelligent or not suited for the work. But most prefer the extra income, in case of things like Jake Dawe's accident.” He nodded at the drowsing man. “His two youngest are at the sluice, and his oldest is in the sorting house. He'll likely go back to work in the sorting house himself once we are sure he
is thoroughly healed, but that doesn't pay as well as the mine, and in any case, he's not fit to go back to anything yet. So the extra money coming in from the littles is welcome.”

“When do they go down in the mines?” Keira asked. “The children, I mean. You say they tend to follow in their fathers' footsteps after all.”

“There's no set age. We've got a height test and a strength test. If they pass those, and their parents are willing, then they go down. One young giant in Father's time went down at eleven, if you can believe it! Most go down at fifteen or thereabouts.” They were out of the village now, and the Great House and all the mine buildings spread out before them. “In general we prefer not to have girls down there, because most of them simply don't have the strength in their upper limbs that the job requires, but there are a few girls as well as young men working the shaft. Now, would you like to be entertained at the House, or would you care to see more of the mines?”

Keira dimpled. “I'm sure you'll think it most unladylike of me, but the mines, please. I have never seen a mine, and I am most intrigued to discover where the stones come from.”

Tiercel laughed. “Well, my lady, you won't be seeing exactly that. It's far too dirty and dangerous for you to go underground, and in any event, you wouldn't see much. It's a dark hole, the only light comes from very small lanterns, and the lads work close to the rock face. But I can show you the rest, and the mine-head, at least.” He guided his horse toward the mine-head going into the hill that rose behind the mine buildings. Already it was clear this was to Cole Pieters' mine as a dove was to a snake, because rather than overworked mine-ponies coming out dragging overladen carts, men were going into the mine-head carrying shoring timbers. Pieters had scanted on those as he had scanted on everything else. It mattered to him not at all if the shaft collapsed, as long as he could get miners back in to clear the debris away—but
installing supports took time away from the mining, and it took money to buy the timbers.

Tiercel gestured at the mine-head. “It's not shift change yet. We don't work a night shift, and we don't work the lads before dawn or after sundown. The lads just opened up a new area though, so mostly what we are doing on this shift is putting in supports so nothing comes down on them.”

Mags was aching to ask why they didn't work a night shift—after all, night didn't make any difference to men who were working in the darkness of underground.

Keira asked the question for him, again, almost as if she could hear his thoughts.

“Well, we discovered something—or rather, Father did. It seems that when you ask people to sleep during the day, they don't do as well, and you get less work out of 'em. So we don't work the mine after dark.” He shrugged. “Father says by his calculations, because the lads are working at their peak all the time, and come to work well-rested, they don't make as many mistakes, don't get injured as often, and don't get sick, so in the end, you make as much money out of them as you would if you had the mine going the full day and night.”

“Your Father sounds intriguing, reducing such things to numbers. I didn't realize one
could
do that with people and their work so exactly.” Keira raised an eyebrow as her horse shifted under her.