The Trainmasters Read online

  “Right,” John said briskly, happy with the reassurance, “then let’s look at my reasons.”

  Then John went through the logic that had led to his suspicions of Tom Collins.

  When he finished Thomson nodded thoughtfully in agreement. “Yes, good,” he said quietly, reflectively. “I see what you were thinking and why—though in the absence of any kind of direct evidence, it does seem quite a risk.”

  “The final evidence for me was Collins’s plan to dismiss the leaders. Those were men we could not do without. And they were the very ones he was determined to let go.”

  “Yes, I agree; but still, what am I going to tell the board?”

  “We’ll have to wait for the next stage.”

  “The next stage?” Thomson asked.

  “I expect that Tom Collins’s next move will be to run to his master. I’ve taken steps to ensure that we will know who that person is.”

  “You’ve had him followed?”

  “I’ve sent two men to do that. We should receive their report tomorrow.” John decided not to mention the names of the two men. He especially did not want to open up with Thomson the thorny issue of Thomson’s opinions of Francis Stockton.

  “It seems to me that you’ve covered all the possibilities, then,” Thomson said, rising to put an end to their conversation. “I expect you’d like some time to yourself? You’ve been on the move for several days.”

  “Yes, I would, actually,” John said, rising.

  “When will you be needed back in Gallitzin? Are you free to stay here for a few days to help me?”

  “I should think they could do without me—that they’ll want to do without me—for a day or two. The workers and their superiors will need time to put themselves back in order, and to readjust themselves to me. I have only recently been a villain.”

  “Good. Then you’ll stay here with me. You can stay in my house, if you like.”

  “I’d like that very much.” He paused before leaving. “Before I go, I have two requests.”

  “Yes?”

  “One has to do with the man O’Rahilly I’ve been talking so much about.”

  “He sounds exemplary.”

  “Better than that.”

  “And you’d like to reward him?”

  “Yes,” John said. “But better than that: I’d like to make him the new labor contractor.”

  “Really?” he said with furrowed brow. “Isn’t he rather young and inexperienced for that?”

  “He’ll get the work done. There’s no one better in the world.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Do it,” Thomson said decisively, after only the briefest of pauses. “And you have another request?”

  “I’d like to see your daughter, Kitty.”

  “But you will see her,” Thomson said, with pretended innocence and a huge grin, “if you stay at my house.”

  “You know what I mean,” John said, coloring.

  “You like her, don’t you?”

  “Very much.”

  “She also likes you,” Thomson said simply. “And you want to see her now?”

  “Yes, today.”

  Thomson considered the matter for only a moment. “Do it,” he repeated. “You’ll find her at home.” He caught John’s eye. And then he softened. “And you have my blessings.” Then he smiled.

  “I’m surprised she’s not here with you,” John said, as he walked to the door.

  “I refused to let her come. It would never have done to have a woman at my side when I took over the Pennsylvania.”

  “There’s a man here to see you, ma’am,” Bridget announced to Kitty Lancaster. Kitty was then sitting on the grass under a large, old maple in the small garden behind her father’s house. She had a book in her hand and she’d been trying to read it. But it had been unlooked at for over an hour. She would have much preferred being at her father’s side advising him and taking a personal part in his decisions and actions.

  “A man?” Kitty asked. “Who?”

  “You know him, ma’am. It’s Mr. Carlysle.”

  “The elder Mr. Carlysle?” Kitty asked.

  “That’s right, ma’am. Not the one that was shot.”

  “Ask him in, please,” Kitty said, trying to appear calm.

  “In the garden?”

  “Yes, please, Bridget. I’ll see him here.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bridget said. And then she went to fetch John Carlysle, while Kitty tried to set her face and hair in order. But she had no success, for it was a warm and muggy afternoon, and she had not expected a visitor, much less this visitor. Her face was shiny with perspiration, and her hair was an absolutely hopeless tangle.

  And her clothes! She was wearing a thin summer frock, tiny stripes of white and the palest blue. But she was also wearing scarcely anything under it because of the heat and the fact that she did not plan to go out that day.

  He’ll think I’m naked! she thought. He’ll think I’m without shame!

  Before she could go to her room and change, John was standing there in the doorway! She stood to greet him, instantly, painfully aware that the sun was behind her, slanting through her, throwing her body beneath the thin dress into silhouette.

  Suddenly she knew how flowers must feel—and they did feel, she was convinced of that. Suddenly she knew the embarrassment of flowers.

  “Good afternoon, Kitty,” he said, smiling.

  “Hello, John,” she said, returning the smile. “I’m surprised to see you in Philadelphia. But I’m delighted you’ve come,” she added quickly.

  “There’s a long story,” he said as he approached her, his eyes looking up and down her, drinking her in, “and I’ll tell it to you shortly. But meanwhile,” he was now close enough to offer her his hand, “I’d like to…” His voice trailed off as he took both her hands in his.

  “Yes,” she said softly, closing her eyes and drawing the hands to her lips. Then she released them and glanced down at the grass, a little more shy and girlish at that moment than she usually thought of herself.

  “Would you like to sit down?” she asked, still feeling a little awkward. “I’ve been relaxing here on the grass. Would that be all right with you?”

  “Perfect,” he said. And then he gave her his hand again in order to help her take her place. He sat down next to her with his back propped up against the maple. Now they were at right angles to one another, and Kitty was only a yard away from him.

  As he settled down, she studied him, noting especially the lines of anxiety and exhaustion in his face.

  “You’re very, very tired,” she said, concerned. “Are you all right? Are you ill?” For a moment she had had a flash of alarm that he was in Philadelphia because of his health.

  “Oh, no,” he said, appreciating her concern. “Nothing like that. I’m in Philadelphia purely for business reasons. I’m here at this moment because I want to be with you.”

  She drew in a long breath.

  “I’ve thought about you, too, John. A great deal.”

  “Yes, I can see that, Kitty.” He paused. Then he said, “And I’m very glad of that.”

  “But you are exhausted,” she said, changing to a subject that she could more easily handle, though she also very much wanted to hear more of what John had started to say. “And you must be hungry and thirsty. Can I get you anything?” Before he could reply, she called out, “Bridget! Bridget! Come out here, please.”

  “I’m neither hungry nor thirsty,” he protested. “Really. Don’t have your maid—”

  “Here she is now,” Kitty interrupted. And then she said to Bridget, who was walking toward them, “Bridget, dear, would you please ask the cook to put together a few things for Mr. Carlysle to eat? And bring him something to drink with that, too, please?”

  “I’m truly not hungry,” he protested again, uselessly.

  “Thank you, Bridget,” she said, and Bridget went off to do her bidding.

  “You h
ave impressive powers of will, Kitty,” he said, smiling again. “Or else bloody-minded stubbornness.”

  “If you won’t take care of yourself,” she said smoothly and calmly, but with gleaming, sparkling eyes, “then I will.”

  “Should I be grateful?”

  “Why not?” She smiled ravishingly, but playfully, too. It was easy to be playful with him.

  “Or should I spank you?” he asked, moving swiftly, effortlessly, and joyfully into the game.

  “Definitely not. Spanking’s for naughty children.”

  “I know… And you’re not a naughty child?”

  “For taking care of you when you wouldn’t do it for yourself?” she asked, her eyes locked with his. “Am I a naughty child for that?”

  “No. You are definitely not a child.”

  As he said that, she could see his eyes roam up and down her, not lasciviously, but lovingly.

  “You were going to tell me how you came to be in the city today,” she said, in order once again to deflect the direction of the conversation.

  “Later,” he said. There was something on his mind he would not be deterred from. “Before that I have a more pressing concern.”

  “Yes?” she said, cautiously, desperately curious to know what it was.

  “I spent several hours with your father this morning.”

  “Then you heard about Will Patterson?” When she said that, she suddenly realized that she had not once thought about her father or Will Patterson from the moment that John Carlysle was announced.

  “I know the story,” he said. “You don’t have to repeat it.”

  “It’s shocking news, isn’t it?” she asked, aiming for another deflection Which she didn’t achieve.

  “I talked about that at some length, Kitty,” he pressed on. “And I’m sure you and I’ll have much more to say about it to one another. But that’s not what I must discuss with you now.”

  “Yes?”

  “I talked to him about you.”

  “Yes?”

  “I asked him if I could court you.”

  “And?”

  “Here I am.” He smiled a gentle teasing smile.

  “I want that,” she said.

  “You want ‘that’?” He smiled. “Am a ‘that’?”

  “You, John,” she corrected instantly. “I want you... I think.”

  “You ‘think’?” he teased again. “Do you know? Can you say it?”

  “Would you stop teasing me, John Carlysle!” she flashed. “You know damned well that I love you, you …”

  She caught herself.

  “I know that,” he said. The smile had now vanished. He was deadly serious. “And I love you, Kitty. That’s why I came.”

  Then she reached across the space of grass that separated them and was in his arms.

  “I’ve wanted you badly,” he said, “ever since I saw you last in Gallitzin.”

  She did not answer him. His arms and hands and lips and face made talk irrelevant. They held each other tightly for a moment, but a short time later, Bridget reappeared with a tray of snacks and a pitcher of tea. John ate and drank not to please her, Kitty realized, but because he was every bit as famished as he looked.

  “I suppose I owe you an apology,” he said after he had finished.

  “An apology? Why?”

  “For accusing you of bloody mindedness,” he said. “For blaming you for trying to force all this good food on me.”

  “You weren’t teasing?” she asked.

  He laughed, a full rich laugh.

  “Weren’t you?” she persisted.

  He laughed again. “I’m not going to answer that,” he teased back. “1 think it’s time for mystery.”

  “You’re impossible,” she said and kissed him again.

  And then he told her the story he had told her father earlier that day.

  When he nearly reached the end of the story he stopped and looked at her. It was the point when her father stopped him to ask him to explain his reasoning. But that was not why he stopped now.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He shook his head as though to shake out cobwebs.

  “And so Collins went running?” she asked to prod his memory.

  “Yes,” John said, pondering. “And I sent two men to follow him, to find out who he ran to… One of the men was my son Graham. The other is Francis Stockton.”

  “Francis?” she asked blank-faced, tense.

  “I decided not to tell your father the names of my scouts and trackers.”

  “You didn’t want to bring up Francis’s name?”

  “Right.”

  “But you’ve brought up Francis’s name with me?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I know a little about Francis and you. You can’t blame me for being curious about him and—” he looked at her, “you.”

  “No,” she said and turned her face away from him for several moments.

  “I like him,” John said. “Did you know that?”

  “Yes? Good. I’m happy about that. He isn’t hateful.”

  “Then why did you break off from him?” John blurted.

  “Why must you know that?”

  “I—”

  “He was much, much more to me, John,” she said before he could finish his thought, “than any other man I’ve known, even my husband, rest his soul. But much, much less to me than you are. So please don’t be jealous. You don’t have to be.”

  And then he smiled. “Do I look jealous?”

  “Fiercely.” She was not smiling.

  He looked surprised. “I’m…” he stumbled. “I’m … sorry, then, for that.”

  She softened then and brightened. “Oh, John,” she cried, and took him in her arms. “You’re such a darling! Of course you are scarlet vermillion with jealousy. And I adore it! I love you for your jealousy. It shows you’re afraid of losing me.”

  “It does?”

  “Of course.”

  He held her after that for a long time. Then he laughed. “Then I’ll savor my jealousy of Francis Stockton like a fine wine,” he whispered.

  Thirteen

  On Tuesday morning Edgar Thomson became president of the Pennsylvania Railroad. And on Tuesday afternoon, Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt visited the new president. He came breathing fire and threatening all manner of destruction and litigation upon everyone connected with the Pennsylvania Railroad.

  His contention was that he had been defrauded, which could not be denied. It was Vanderbilt’s further contention that it was not just Patterson’s obligation to make the stock good, but the railroad’s, since Patterson had been acting as the railroad’s legitimate agent.

  Thomson sat through the wealthy man’s tirade, listening but not committing himself one way or the other to Vanderbilt’s demands.

  Then Thomson excused himself, leaving John Carlysle to entertain Vanderbilt, and went to consult the Pennsylvania’s legal counsel. The lawyer told Thomson that a case could be made stating the railroad was not obligated to make good Patterson’s frauds, but should the matter come to judgment, the railroad would likely lose.

  So the lawyer suggested negotiating a settlement. Perhaps, he said, the Commodore would take fifty cents on the dollar? or even thirty?

  Thomson meditated on that. But he also meditated on a more important matter—that of the identity of their chief enemy.

  Could it be Vanderbilt? or his friend Drew? or both together? he asked himself. Would either of them have Come here today if he were involved in an intrigue or a conspiracy? Perhaps they would in order to disguise their intent, although Vanderbilt seemed too direct for such a Machiavellian ploy.

  If Vanderbilt had no responsibility for the troubles, he’d be a good man to have on the railroad’s side. Especially if he could be persuaded to help us fight off the stock manipulation and the short sales.

  Thomson was absent from his office for perhaps forty-five minutes. When he returned, he found Vanderbilt and Carlysle engaged in heated but friend
ly conversation. Vanderbilt had tremendous physical presence. In spite of that, he in no way overshadowed John Carlysle. John, Thomson was pleased to note, was dealing with Vanderbilt as a peer.

  But when Thomson entered the room, Vanderbilt instantly turned the full force of his more than ample personality from John to the new president of the railroad. “Thomson, you’re back,” Vanderbilt said. “What have you brought for me from your law twister? Good news I hope?”

  “He thinks you have no case,” Thomson said evenly, as he resumed his place behind his desk. “He believes the Pennsylvania line bears no responsibility to make good on any illegal acts of William Patterson.”

  “What?” Vanderbilt shouted. “No case? Why that’s insane, by God! It’s absolutely unacceptable. I won’t stand for it. I won’t listen to it. If that’s your position, then I’ve no more time to spend with you.” And he stood as if to storm out.

  “Wait, please,” Thomson said, still icily calm, “until I’ve finished. You will give me that courtesy, won’t you?”

  And Vanderbilt, with a great show of reluctance, took his seat. But his reluctance was clearly all part of his performance. He expected Thomson had more to say to him, and he had no intention of leaving just yet.

  “Well?” he asked impatiently.

  “As I perceive it, you stand to suffer because of your association with my railroad.”

  John Carlysle noted his use of “my.” It was the first time he had heard Thomson speak of the Pennsylvania Railroad as if it were his own possession.

  “I do not intend,” Thomson continued, “to let you suffer from that association if I can prevent it.”

  “And so,” Vanderbilt said, with scarcely hidden sarcasm, “you are prepared to offer me a settlement.”

  “The lawyer suggested that,” Thomson said.

  “And?”

  “I’m not going to do it.”

  Vanderbilt just stared, without comprehending what he was hearing.

  “You’re not going to do that?” he asked finally. “You’re not going to fight me?”