The Trainmasters Page 14

They were at the door to the long entrance corridor now. It was a double swinging door. Teresa pushed through.

  “Don’t run!” he said to Teresa, resisting the urge to race away from the two other men. And he added unconvincingly, “Keep calm.” They did not run, but they did hurry down the hall to the exit, and then they burst out into the night.

  Outside, they heard feet pounding after them on the cobblestones. They didn’t need to look back to see who it was.

  “Are you going to run away from me, Tessy, you and your new boy?” Ben called after them, and then he laughed a deep-throated, mocking laugh.

  “He’s crazy, isn’t he?” Graham said to Tess.

  “Yes,” she said, squeezing his hand. “He is absolutely mad … And do you know I could have married him?”

  He shook his head. “You’re better off the way you are.”

  “No,” she said. “But I’m better off not married to Ben Kean.”

  Ben called out. “Where are you two going now? Do you think you’ll find some place that’s private from us?”

  Then Matthew’s deeper voice added, “Do you hope to put in a little lovin’?”

  “Don’t answer them,” Graham said.

  It was pouring rain now, the dim, ill-lighted street was even more obscure than usual. Perhaps, if they were lucky, they could slip away into the darkness.

  “Is Matthew insane, too?” Graham asked.

  “Matthew? Oh no. Most of the time Matthew is all right. He works with his father—they’re teamsters, they operate many wagons, they’re well off.” She was breathing hard, but continued. “He works like an ox. But he protects Ben. He tries to take care of him. And so he thinks I would be good for Ben, that I could turn Ben Kean into a steady, church-going, family man.”

  “Why don’t you spread your legs for him here, in the street?” Ben yelled. “What’s to stop you, Tessy darlin’? You don’t mind doin’ it in front of me and Matthew, do you? You’re not the kind of girl that minds men watchin’ you rut?”

  “Hey!” Matthew shouted gaily. “I’d like to see that! Show us, Tess. Go ahead.”

  And then Ben yelled, once again with his mocking laughter, “How much is your boy payin’ you for your pleasures, Tessy? How much, Tessy girl? I’ll tell you what. I’ll pay you double that if you’ll both do it here and now.” And then he added,

  “And I’ll pay him, too.”

  “You won’t get a good offer like that soon, Tess,” Matthew said.

  Graham couldn’t stand their insults any longer. He twisted around to face them. “Ignorant, stupid bastards!” he shouted. “Get out of here! Both of you get out of here!”

  The Keans just laughed.

  Then they started closing in.

  “Tessy? Tessy? Tessy?” Ben called, jeering, derisive and yet imploring. “Tessy!”

  Teresa looked at Graham. “Run!” she whispered, and then dashed away.

  Graham thought a moment, considering whether he wanted to risk staying and fighting. He soon realized that it would be crazy to stay and fight them. He dashed after her.

  They ran a block, turned, ran half a block, and then raced up an alley, came out onto another street, ran up it a short way, and then slipped into another alley. They hoped to hide there.

  For a moment, they stood gasping for breath. Then Teresa fell into his arms.

  “Oh, Graham!” she sobbed. “Graham!”

  The alley was as dark as a tunnel. Its outlet to the street, though, was a bit brighter. Graham stared at the outlet and remained coiled, alert, waiting.

  The rain pounded on them.

  Without taking his eyes off the dim area at the mouth of the alley, he whispered to her. “Are all your other lovers like Ben Kean?”

  “Oh, Graham,” she said, her voice throbbing with shame, “I’m so sorry about him. I never thought he would come after me that way. And I never thought that Matthew would be mad enough—or devoted enough—to help him.”

  Graham shook his head. “I admire his taste in choosing you,” he said. “But I wonder about you choosing him.”

  “Wait!” she flashed. “Just wait, Mr. Graham-superior-Carlysle. When I took up with Ben Kean, he was the gentlest man I’d ever met. And later, when I saw his other side, I left him. If you know of a way I could have stopped him from refusing to let me go, then you tell it to me.”

  Graham had no reply to that. So he took her head in his hands and kissed her full on the mouth.

  “That’s better,” she whispered.

  “Hush,” he whispered.

  Someone passed the alley’s entrance.

  The figure moved beyond visibility, but Graham held his hand over Teresa’s mouth.

  Then they heard shouts between the two Keans. Then another figure passed across the mouth of the alley. This one carried an oil lantern.

  “Think they’re in here?” the one with the lantern called out. It was Matthew Kean. Ben appeared next to him. Through the rain and mist, Graham could see that Ben was carrying a pistol in his hand. It gleamed dully and coldly in the lantern light.

  Teresa and Graham retreated farther back into the alley. But soon they were forced to stop. The alley came to an end against a faceless brick wall, probably the rear of a warehouse.

  On the right side of the alley there was a high, stout wooden fence. Graham knew that he could probably scramble up it, but he doubted that Teresa could, especially dressed as she was. But the other side of the alley was more promising, a large, open yard. They moved into it, carefully, for it was filled with junk and abandoned scrap… as well as tall, massive, finished and unfinished stone blocks—monuments. Tombstones.

  “This is a stonemason’s yard,” Graham said.

  “How pleasant,” she said, shivering.

  “We can hide here,” he said.

  They threaded their way through the junk and the half-finished tombstones. Among all the detritus was a large, broken-down, four-wheeled wagon, turned upside down. Graham led Teresa behind it and made her crouch down. “Stay there,” he whispered.

  Then he bent over and slipped his knife out of its sheath. After that he drifted like a shadow over to the side of the yard.

  The two Keans were now standing at the end of the alley, peering through the rain into the yard.

  “Come out, Carlysle,” Matthew Kean said, raising the lantern above his head to see better.

  ‘Tess,” Ben called. “Tessy. Let me see you. Let me see your face.”

  “Carlysle,” Matthew said, louder this time, “we’re going to let you go by us, safe and sound, if you leave Tess. But,” he paused significantly, “if you stay, we’ll tear your ass off.”

  There was a rustling noise, like a body slipping and falling. Teresa cried out, then rose and stood at the edge of the lantern’s glow. Then she vanished.

  “Stop, Tess, for God’s sake!” Ben said, without moving.

  But Matthew, more alert, strode quickly after her.

  Graham had not expected Teresa to show herself; and he had no idea why she did so. Yet her movement served Graham’s purposes. It distracted the Keans.

  Both brothers were now rushing to the spot where they last saw Teresa.

  In a second, Graham was at Matthew’s back with his knife edge at the side of the other man’s throat.

  “Drop the lantern,” he ordered.

  “Damn you,” Matthew snarled.

  “Just drop it.”

  The lantern fell and shattered. Oil spilled, the flame caught and flared, and for a moment there was a pool of yellow-blue flame; but the rain quickly drowned that out.

  There was very little light now. But Graham could hear Ben moving closer through the stony rubble. And there were other sounds farther away. Surely that was Teresa.

  “What now, Carlysle?” Matthew asked, breathing heavily.

  Graham said nothing… in fact, he didn’t know what move he ought to make next. His own heart was pounding, and he, too, was breathing in great, sucking gulps.

  And then Be
n was upon him. With a piercing, angry cry, he crashed into Graham and his brother, sending Graham sprawling onto the ground. As Graham fell, his knife slashed the side of Matthew’s neck, but it was not a deep wound Graham, aware of Ben’s gun, rolled, and then he twisted up onto his feet.

  Ben had followed him as he rolled. And he was now no more than six feet from Graham. The gun was leveled at Graham’s face.

  “I warned you,” Ben said. The madness that Graham had heard earlier was in Ben’s voice. “Tessy is not yours. You can’t have her.”

  The gun was a small one, a double-shot derringer. There was a possibility that it would not fire in the rain.

  Matthew now stood at Ben’s side, but a few feet behind him. He was holding a rag to the slash on his neck.

  As Graham watched him, Matthew suddenly staggered and made a sharp, brief cry. Then he fell on his face.

  Teresa had come up behind Matthew and struck the back of his head with a piece of marble the size of a melon.

  Ben, distracted, looked in her direction… and, as he did that, Graham dove toward him, with his knife arm extended in front of him.

  Ben fired the pistol, and the bullet passed Graham harmlessly. But the action checked Graham’s rush. And then, after he fired, Ben quickly backed away. He raised the pistol again. He fired, and this time the bullet struck Graham’s right side, just above the top of the hip bone. He staggered, swept by a wave of agony. But he kept driving at Ben; and the knife found the other man’s body and penetrated.

  Graham had braced himself, expecting resistance. But that did not happen. The knife passed into Ben’s body with no more effort than if it had been plunged into a loaf of bread.

  Graham stumbled and fell. And lost consciousness.

  When he awoke, Teresa was holding his head in her lap. Her back was propped against a partly formed marble funeral obelisk.

  Words started to form on his lips, but she placed her fingers on his mouth. “Hush,” she said. “Rest a minute.”

  But he shook away her hand. In spite of the flaming pain in his side, he had to know about the Keans.

  “Are they …?”

  She stroked his head, combing his wet hair back with her fingers. At last she answered him. “Ben is dead. Matthew is only unconscious, I think.”

  “God!” He looked at her, asking for more information.

  “You stabbed Ben in the heart or lungs. A lot of blood came out of his mouth.”

  Graham raised his head a little. “I can’t… !” he said. “I didn’t… !”

  “I know,” she said, stroking his face. “Don’t try to explain. This was not your doing.”

  “But…” His head sagged back into her lap. “Then we must go and…”

  “Hush. You’ve lost blood… a lot of blood. It seems to have stopped now, but I don’t know whether we can risk moving you.”

  “We can’t stay here.”

  “No, we can’t,” she admitted. “But I don’t know what else to do.”

  “And we can’t wait for help,” he said, raising himself painfully up to a sitting position.

  “Don’t do that,” she said. But he ignored her; he struggled to his feet.

  “There,” he said, trying to smile, “I’m not as injured as I look. Let’s go.” He lurched toward the alley.

  “You’re mad, Graham Carlysle,” she said and shook her head in exasperation. But she offered him her arm to lean on. And he realized then for the first time that she had somehow bound his wound. She had either done a good job dressing it, or else he was lucky, because the blood did not start flowing again.

  Then he pulled her to a halt. “What about them?” he asked. His voice shook, and his words were slurred with pain. “Shouldn’t we tell someone about this? Shouldn’t we tell a law officer?”

  “Graham, darlin’, your mind’s not clear. Don’t waste your thinking on such thoughts. Leave the thinking to me for now.” She urged him to take a step forward. One foot moved. Then the other followed.

  “So what are you going to do now?” he asked, staring at his legs move as though he were more than a little surprised that they were obeying him.

  “I’m going to find a way to get you taken care of. Did you have something else in mind?”

  Seven

  Kitty Lancaster woke to the racket of loud pounding at her door. She opened her eyes, saw that it was still dark in her room, and closed them again.

  “Mrs. Lancaster!”

  Kitty did not want to acknowledge whoever it was that was tearing her away from her sleep. So she covered her head with her pillow. The pounding continued, albeit muffled and far away.

  “Mrs. Lancaster!!”

  She knew who it was. It was Bridget, her maid. Damn her. What could she want at this hour?

  The pounding grew louder, in spite of the pillow.

  “Mrs. Lancaster!!”

  “All right. All right. I’m awake,” Kitty said and tossed the pillow onto the floor. She sat up. Damn! Damn. Damn.

  “Yes, Bridget,” she called. “What is it?” She drew the covers up about her and waited for Bridget to open the door. When the maid appeared, she was carrying a lamp.

  The girl wore a tattered pink robe over her nightgown, and she was white-faced and breathless.

  “Mrs. Lancaster,” Bridget said, “you had best come downstairs. There’s been trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble, Bridget?” Kitty asked.

  “A young man and a young woman, ma’am. He’s been shot. She’s waiting downstairs. He’s outside still, in a hansom.”

  “Why should that concern me?” Kitty said, trying to sound in control. Actually, she was quickly growing intrigued. And even as she spoke, her feet were moving toward the floor and her slippers.

  “The young man, ma’am, he’s the brother of the two boys you’ve taken in.”

  “Oh, my God! Graham Carlysle! Shot?” Kitty rose to her feet. “And the woman? Who is she?”

  “I didn’t get her name, ma’am. She’s Irish like me.” Bridget paused. “But she’s a young lady with class,” she went on, “if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure that I do, Bridget,” Kitty said. “But come, show me. And first hand me my robe, would you please?”

  Bridget fetched Kitty’s robe and helped her slip it on.

  “Thank you,” Kitty said, already on her way through the door.

  Kitty was more confused than anxious. Graham Carlysle was definitely a young man whom she had a strong desire to meet, although she never would have thought they would meet under these circumstances. Kitty wondered who this girl—an Irish girl—was and what role she played in Graham’s life.

  The girl was downstairs in the entrance hall restlessly pacing back and forth. She was in a state of utter and complete disarray. Her face was scuffed and grimed, and her hair was caked with mud and plastered hard against her skull. At one time, she had been dressed nicely, but now her clothes were filthy and torn.

  And yet she carried herself proudly and becomingly. Beneath her grime she was clearly a ravishing beauty. Kitty also saw intelligence in her eyes, and great sensitivity.

  Kitty’s heart went out to her. “Oh, you poor thing,” she said the moment she saw her. “What has happened to you?”

  The girl looked at her with tragic eyes for a long moment before she spoke. “You are Mrs. Lancaster?” she asked at last.

  “I’m Mrs. Lancaster.”

  “I’ve come to you, Mrs. Lancaster,” the girl blurted out, “because I don’t know anyone else to turn to.”

  “I’m very surprised to find you at my doorstep, miss. And I’m wondering how you ever found your way to me. God knows what I will do about you, but you’re welcome to be here.”

  The girl’s eyes filmed with grateful tears. “Thank you, Mrs. Lancaster,” she said.

  “Bridget tells me you’ve brought Graham Carlysle.” Kitty said. “And that he’s been hurt.”

  “Yes. He’s outside in a cab.”

  “I should
tell you that I’ve never met the young Mr. Carlysle,” Kitty said. “But he is by no means a stranger to me, either. Is he hurt badly?”

  “I don’t know,” the girl said. “He was shot, but I bandaged the wound, and the bleeding has stopped.”

  Kitty stifled her impulse to ask how he was shot. Instead, she started across the hallway. “Then we should go to him,” she said. And she led the girl to the door.

  Outside, it was still raining hard. Kitty thought momentarily of covering herself, but decided not to waste the time. So she dashed out the door, down the steps, and across the slate sidewalk to the waiting cab. The girl followed close behind her.

  Kitty nodded to the driver, and then opened the door on the carriage. Graham was slumped across the seat, asleep or unconscious.

  The girl touched Kitty’s shoulder. “Let me,” she said, and Kitty stepped aside. Teresa climbed the step and knelt on the floor of the cab facing the boy.

  “Graham,” she said, shaking him gently with her hand. “Graham, wake up.”

  He stirred and opened his eyes.

  “Tess?” he asked.

  So that is her name.

  “Can you move?”

  He looked at her. “I think so.”

  “We’ll help you.”

  For the first time Graham noticed Kitty. He stared at her, recognizing her, but not remembering where or how they had met.

  “Give me your hand,” Kitty said, reaching into the cab. Graham reached out to her. And slowly, they helped him into the house. After a moment, Kitty decided to take him into Charles’s study. There was a long, comfortable, upholstered leather sofa Graham could stretch out on. They led him to the study, and then helped him onto the sofa. After that, Kitty sent Bridget out to pay the cab and then to fetch a doctor. The Lancaster’s regular physician did not live nearby. But there was a Doctor Fleming who lived a few doors away and who had a good reputation.

  While she left the girl to remove the bandages she had improvised and to comfort Graham, Kitty went to the kitchen and put a large pot of water on to boil. Then she returned to the study.

  Graham’s eyes were closed, and his face was pale and clammy and twisted with pain. The girl, Tess, was seated on the floor next to the sofa, wiping his brow with a cloth. She had already cleared clothes and bandages away from the wound. It looked clean, and the bleeding had not started up again when they had moved him.