Part 1 (2/2)

The dam and the church were equidistant from Manson. If he could see over the hill to his left. he thought, he would see that the entrance to the mine was also about the same distance away. He was in the centre of the triangle formed by the three constructions. More interestingly, he was standing on dry land where only a year ago there had been a river. The moorland was already reclaiming the land. Tufts of gra.s.s poked through the damp ground; the rocky outcrops echoed the rest of the moor between here and Ambleton. There was nothing now to show what had been here. Nothing save the dam.

As he stood considering this Pete Manson saw that the tiny figures on the top of the dam had become a blur. They were running to and fro, pausing perhaps to peer over the edge at the dry land one side, the new reservoir the other. They were hauling up the ropes with the tiny red figures clinging to the ends. But the blur was not caused by the motion of the figures. He felt it in his feet first. Then the sensation ran up his legs and he felt his whole body start to quiver as the ground bucked beneath his feet.

The gra.s.s was moving. Not just waving in the breeze. Not even trembling with the ground. It was parting, ripped aside, as a dark gash ran across the earth towards him, rupturing the moorland. creating a new river along the bed of the old. It was heading straight for him, but Pete Manson could not move.

It was as much as he could do to maintain his balance. And there was the heat. He could feel it through the soles of his boots. His feet were getting warmer. Burning. There was a hot smell in the air, more than just the sun on the rocks. Like a fire just as it catches in the grate. And the sound seemed to split the air just as the ground was splitting.

He realised that the sound was his own voice, shouting. Screaming. The heat was unbearable now, yet still he could not move. The world shook and blurred around him. A heat*haze of pain and fear. There was steam rising from the jagged black slash that was almost at his feet, running between them. Then, mercifully, just as the heat became truly unbearable, just as the leather of his shoes started to smoulder, the ground disappeared from beneath him and Pete Manson tumbled headlong into the smoking abyss.

Few people waited outside the church. It was as if the uncommon heat of the last month had been vented by the tremors the previous day, sucked down into the chasm that had opened on the moorland. There was a thick frost on the late January turf of the churchyard, the gravestones dripping icicles and glittering in the crystal sun. The congregation stamped and blew their way out of Holy Communion, dutifully shook the hand of the Reverend Matthew s...o...b..ld, and hurried home to the warm.

Lord and Lady Urton waited outside the church, exchanging words of greeting with everyone, no matter from what walk of life or social background. It was their way. Aristocracy with a human face. Lord Urton looked up in surprise at the several uniformed figures that had emerged finally from the church. Their red jackets were a contrast to the greys and blacks of the rest of the people.

Urton had put a brave face on things with the mine workers, knowing as they did that whatever s...o...b..ld might preach about the delights of Heaven, there was bound to be some immediate suffering here on Earth before transcending to glory above. He held out his hand to the tall, straight*backed man in front of him. 'Colonel Wilson, I didn't notice you in church.'

Colonel Wilson shook Urton's hand, then pressed Lady Urton's delicately gloved hand to his immaculate moustache. He was well*built with dark haft and lively eyes. 'We were a little late, I'm afraid. Sneaked in at the back.'

'But why here at all, Colonel?' Lady Urton inquired. 'Why not attend the parish church in Ambleton?'

'We started at the dam as soon as it was light,' Wilson explained.

'Not still checking it?' Urton sighed. 'Thought you were due to finish last week.'

'We were, sir,' one of the other soldiers replied. 'Just about done yesterday in fact.'

'Captain Brookes,' Wilson explained. 'My chief engineer.'

'So why are you still here?' Lady Urton asked. 'The fissure?'

Wilson nodded. 'If it's wise to check the stonework and integrity after a few minor earth tremors in the area, you can imagine the necessity for caution after a thing like that opens up across the moors.'

Behind the soldiers, Lord Urton could see Matthew s...o...b..ld approaching. He had removed his white surplice and carried it over his arm. In the hand that emerged from the folded material was held a prayer book. He was within earshot and caught the end of the Colonel's comments.

'Subsidence, do you think?' he asked, beaming round as the group moved slightly to allow him to join them. s...o...b..ld was a slight man in his fifties. His hair retained its brown colour, but was receding from the centre of his forehead. His features were not prominent but his deep set eyes twinkled with an intimation of good humour and optimism. 'I mean from the mine workings.'

Captain Brookes was shaking his head. 'Don't think so, sir. For one thing, the fissure only catches the end of the workings. And it runs across them rather than following their path.'

'And it's too deep, so far as we can tell,' Wilson added. 'Still too hot to get a good look, but it seems to reach beyond the depth of your mine, sir.' He nodded to Urton.

'Yes,' Urton agreed. 'The workings themselves are quite shallow. Used all to be open cast, you know. But as the seams run away from us we dig deeper, following their path.'

As they spoke, Betty s...o...b..ld joined them. She stood quietly beside her father, relieving him of the surplice and prayer book. He smiled at her a moment as he let her take them, before returning his attention to the conversation.

Lord Urton watched her as she stood meekly and waited. She looked after Matthew, had kept house for him since her mother died. It couldn't be much of a life for a young woman, but he had never heard her complain. When she had been born, almost seventeen years ago now how time simply flew past Urton and his wife had discussed whether she would be a good match for their son. Marrying into the clergy was hardly a step up the social ladder, but Urton was keen to maintain his links with the local community, to continue the tradition and succession that he was himself a part of.

Except of course that it would never happen now. Urton had no son, no children at all. His lineage would end with himself and his wife. And perhaps, since the fortune was gone and the mine was worked out, that was after all a good thing. He became aware that Betty was watching him, having noticed his attention. She smiled, guileless and pretty with the sun on her freckled face. He smiled back, a flicker of joy in his increasingly unhappy life, and turned his attention back to the conversation around him.

'Some of the lads,' Captain Brookes was venturing hesitantly, 'they say that, well... ' he broke off as if embarra.s.sed.

'What do they say?' Urton prompted.

'They say,' Wilson finished for him, 'that this fissure goes down into h.e.l.l itself. That Middletown is about to be swallowed into oblivion.'

s...o...b..ld gave a snort that mixed amus.e.m.e.nt and disdain. 'As if heaven and h.e.l.l were physical places within our own world. Reality is far more mundane, though I fear Middletown may well be sinking into oblivion. But for economic and social reasons rather than superst.i.tion and devilry.'

Captain Brookes blew on his hands and stamped his feet uneasily. 'Whatever the cause of it, though,' he said, 'we still have to check the dam. Every foot of it.'

Lord Urton looked down at frozen ground. 'Wish I'd never built the blasted thing,' he said. 'For all the good it's done. Now you tell me it may be falling down anyway.'

'I hope not,' Wilson said quickly.

'It might as well,' Urton said.

'I beg to differ, sir.' Wilson glanced at Captain Brookes, as if for support. 'Now that it's there, with that head of water built up behind it, any structural problems could be disastrous.'

'The water wouldn't just flow back into the old course of the river,' Brookes explained. 'Not if the dam burst. Well, it's difficult to know what it would do. But Brans...o...b..*sub*Edge is below the old river level...'

'That's why we're giving it our full attention,' Wilson finished.

'And if it is about to give way?' Lady Urton asked.

'Oh no immediate worry, your ladys.h.i.+p,' Wilson rea.s.sured her. 'If there's any problem we can either repair it, or dismantle the structure carefully, in a controlled manner.'

'Like closing the mine in stages,' Urton muttered. 'Get out slowly and carefully and hope it isn't too painful an experience.' He shook his head and toed at the frosted gravel of the path. When he looked up, he fixed s...o...b..ld with a stare. 'We'll let you worry about the theological implications of it all,' he told him. 'Just warn us if Old Nick's coming to dinner, won't you?'

The group broke up, their laughter echoing off the frozen stone work of the church and the gravestones. Lord Urton and the clergyman walked together, following the soldiers. A few steps behind them, Lady Urton walked with Betty s...o...b..ld.

'And speaking of dinner,' Lord Urton said to s...o...b..ld as they approached the lynch gate, 'don't forget it's the first Thursday of February coming up.'

'I'm looking forward to it,' s...o...b..ld confirmed.

'Good. Good,' Urton hesitated. Then he confessed: 'I've, ah, I've asked some people to join us. From London.'

s...o...b..ld made no comment, waiting for Lord Urton to continue.

'Recommended to me by a friend in the Royal Society. They're from some sort of offshoot that examines... these sorts of things.'

'What sorts of things?' s...o...b..ld asked. 'You mean the tremors, the fissure?'

'Ye*es. That sort of thing. Apparently it's called the Society for Psychical Research.'

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