The Trainmasters Read online

  “Yes, I understand that. So go on, tell me what happened.”

  And John repeated for Sir John the story of the raid on the powder wagons and the rescue of the captives. And then the ride to Tyrone, and the train trip that very nearly ended in disaster.

  When John finished telling him how George Kean had surrendered rather than risk being blown off the earth, Sir Charles held up his hand to make John pause. “Wait there for me,” Sir Charles said. “Stop.”

  “Yes?” John said. “Something doesn’t make sense?”

  “Actually, no,” Sir Charles said. “I’m flabbergasted that that slip of a girl would stand there as calm as you or I and watch that fuse burn down to the bomb. That took some kind of courage.”

  “She is some kind of a courageous girl.”

  “And from the bogs and mires, is she?”

  “Do you mean is she Irish?” John asked. “Yes… and I must say proud of it.”

  “Amazing.”

  “I have to add, of course, that the Keans had plans to hang her. So that gave her no little encouragement to do what she did.”

  “Still, it took nerve to do that.”

  “Well, if that’s what it took, then that’s what she had.”

  “And you think she and your son will stay together?”

  “I’ll wait and see. I certainly wouldn’t mind having her in the family. She’s a bright girl and educated, in addition to everything else you’ve heard about her. And she’s a smashing beauty as well. She and Graham might do well together.”

  “What of the Keans?”

  “They have been charged by the magistrates in Philadelphia. And there will be a trial. I’d guess they will go to jail for a good many years.”

  “We’ll see,” Sir Charles said, doubtfully.

  “Oh?”

  “My experience of these things is otherwise,” Sir Charles said. “If, as you say, George Kean is a powerful and well-to-do man, then he doubtless has the political and financial wherewithall to ensure that he suffers very little for his crimes.”

  John considered that, then shrugged. “At any rate, his spirit is broken. Observing him on the trip back to Philadelphia would convince anyone of that.”

  “Possibly. But the man sounds damned resilient. I’d be interested to hear about George Kean in a year or so.”

  “I’ll keep you informed.”

  “And did the other teamsters cause any trouble after the Keans were captured?”

  “None. We’ve had no further trouble with them at all.”

  “Ahh,” Sir Charles said, “that doesn’t surprise me. But there is another thing that does intrigue me.”

  “Yes? What’s that?”

  “There were two more men in your little merry band, my Robin. What were their names?” He paused to recall the names. “Ah, yes, it was Stockton… and another Irishman. What happened to them?”

  “When?”

  “While your train steamed away from Tyrone,” Sir Charles said. “According to my recollection, Stockton and the other man were directed to report to you on the movements of the Keans.”

  John smiled. “Oh, that!” he said, laughing. “Francis got lost.”

  “Lost?”

  “Right. Francis became lost in the wilds of Pennsylvania. He thought he knew from their original direction where the Keans were heading. So Francis tried a shortcut to get in front of them. But it turned out to be rather the reverse of what Francis expected.”

  “So he failed you?”

  “Oh, no. He simply made an error. Francis is full of confidence in himself and in his abilities. Now and again his confidence is misplaced. And in the event, even if he had managed to keep the watch on the Keans, there was little he could have done to prevent what happened.”

  Sir Charles nodded, then turned the full force of his steely, gray-green eyes on John. “And now, Mr. John Robin Hood Carlysle”—John laughed hard at that—”I have one final question for you.”

  “I’ll answer it if I can,” he said, with a mocking laugh.

  “About that bomb that the girl had lit, the one in the saddlebags.”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you have let her go through with it?”

  “Let the fuse run its course?”

  “Yes.”

  “Certainly, Sir Charles. I would have happily done that.” Then he laughed again. “Earlier, I’d worked that fuse so its other end came nowhere near the gunpowder.”

  Sir Charles opened his mouth, closed it, then said, “And the girl wasn’t aware of that?”

  “No. She thought the bomb would detonate.”

  “Does she know the truth now?”

  “She doesn’t. And I’ll never tell her.”

  “I’ll keep that secret between us,” Sir Charles said, smiling. “But I do want to meet that girl.”

  “You will, Sir Charles. You will.”

  Then John rose to his feet and turned toward the bow and Kitty. “But now it’s time for me to see my bride… in case she has ideas about a date for the wedding.”

  “You do that,” Sir Charles said. “And I will stare at the sky…and dream of beautiful, young, and unattached women.”

  Thursday, July 29, 1852

  Mr. Daniel Drew, after spending a few pleasurable minutes on the trading floor of the New York Stock Exchange— not to trade in stocks which was conducted by his lieutenants, but to observe the action—walked the short distance to his favorite tavern, the Tontine, on Beaver Street. Once inside he made his way through the lunchtime crowd to the comer table that was reserved for him.

  There he was met by two oi” his lieutenants, Mr. Will Sutherland and Mr. Leonardo Grimaldi. Sutherland was young, hollow cheeked, eager, and hungry looking. Grimaldi was older, more distinguished—with a mane of silver hair swept back from a high, noble forehead—and fleshier, with the air of a man who has achieved in life what he set out to achieve. Grimaldi emigrated from northern Italy, and he claimed a proximate relationship with the Grimaldis who were the royal family of Monaco.

  When Drew approached the table, both men rose to greet him.

  “I’ve just come from the exchange floor,” Drew said, waving them back to their seats, starting up immediately with the subject foremost on all their minds. “And I like what I see there.”

  Sutherland and Grimaldi smiled at one another, basking in the pleasure the great man took in their work.

  “You’ve both done good for me,” Drew went on. “And when this business is finished, you’ll see your rewards. That’s a promise I’m sure to keep.”

  There were, of course, more than a few promises that Daniel Drew did not keep. But no one at the table would have seen fit to mention that unhappy truth.

  “There has been considerable activity all week in Pennsylvania stock,” Sutherland said.

  “And the stock has started to slide,” Grimaldi said. “It’s down to forty-eight now. And I’ve heard from two or three of my informants that some of the larger holders of Pennsylvania will be offering large blocks tomorrow or Monday— hoping to cut their losses.”

  “Excellent, by God! Excellent!” Drew said. “By midweek the stock will have fallen to forty-three or forty-four.” He looked at Sutherland. “Don’t you agree?”

  “I’m dead certain of it.”

  “Excellent. Excellent. Then on Thursday or Friday we’ll start purchasing in small blocks, so that we can begin to make delivery on the stock we’ve shorted. But,” he cautioned, “go slow on this. No large blocks. I want to make sure there’s a real panic in Pennsylvania stock. That’s when I’ll make my large move.”

  “We understand perfectly,” Leonardo Grimaldi said.

  * * *

  After Drew had finished his lunch and was sitting alone over a glass of brandy—Sutherland and Grimaldi having returned to the exchange floor—a recent acquaintance of his approached the table.

  When Drew looked up and saw who it was, he cursed inwardly: The man’s name was Tom Collins.

  “Af
ternoon, Mr. Drew,” Collins said, with a deference that verged on abjection. As an accomplished liar himself, Drew was well aware that the man’s manner was a façade. And so he ignored it.

  “Collins,” he asked, “what brings you here?”

  “This is where I was told I could find you.”

  “That you have accomplished,” Drew said. “And I’m willing to wager that that isn’t all you intend to accomplish during the next few minutes.”

  “That’s true, Mr. Drew,” Collins said humbly. “I have a few items of business that I trust you can spare the time to discuss with me.”

  Drew looked at him. It was a long, hard, assessing stare. Then he said, “I don’t see any reason why I should have any more business with you, Collins. You have been paid for your work.” He raised his hands a little off the table, turning his palms up. “What more have you and I to discuss?”

  “Well, sir,” Collins said, lowering his eyes, “that the affair of Mr. Gibbon—”

  At the mention of Gibbon’s name, Drew raised his face up, suddenly intensely alert. Then he lifted a hand in warning. “Do not—” he stopped, then resumed. “Do not ever mention that name in my presence.”

  “Well, yes sir. Of course, sir,” Collins said. “Anyhow, after I completed and accomplished your instructions in that matter so that the person in question would never be able to testify as to his connection with… certain other people…”

  “Yes? Go on,” Drew said, with growing impatience.

  “I decided to examine some of the personal records of the person in question… in order to ascertain whether or not some of these might also implicate certain other gentlemen.”

  “I see,” Drew said, gradually becoming aware of the place that Collins was leading him. “And I take it that your search achieved some kind of success.”

  “It did.”

  “And, I take it, you are prepared to provide some evidence to that effect.”

  “That I am,” Collins said and produced from a pocket of his coat two pages. “I’d be pleased if you would take a glance at these,” Collins said. “Though,” he added, “you should know that these two only represent a small portion of the… materials that are now in my possession.”

  “I would never dare to fault you, Collins, by suggesting that they are,” Drew said. Then he scanned the two documents quickly and handed them back.

  “So what are you proposing?” Drew asked, tight lipped, angry.

  “Well,” Collins drawled. The deference was no longer in his voice. “I don’t plan to fall into the same trap that the man whose name I daren’t mention did. So I’ve placed these documents in the care of a trusted friend…”

  “I wonder to what lengths you went to find a friend who would trust you,” Drew said.

  Collins sailed blithely on, however, refusing to take notice of the dig. “And in the event that some accident or other befalls me, then my friend has instructions to reveal these documents to certain people known to you.”

  “A sensible move,” Drew said.

  “And I have also written a narrative account of events in which I have participated, including the names of people who gave me my orders.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “And that, too, is in a safe place. Its existence would be revealed should I meet with an accident.”

  “I can see that you are a man who puts his trust in careful preparation,” Drew said. Then he snapped to the point. “So what do you want from me, Collins?”

  “Not a great deal, Mr. Drew,” he said, spreading his arms like a statue of Jesus crucified. “Very little in fact, considering.”

  “Tell me,” Drew said.

  “All right then, I’ll do that,” Collins said, warming up to a job he found wonderfully pleasurable and exciting. “First of all, as you know, Mr. Drew, I am—have been—a labor contractor. I’d like to continue in that profession.”

  “You would, would you?” Drew’s brows raised into fine, joyful arches at that. Praise the Ijjrd! he thought to himself. have just the perfect job for Tom Collins: the Isthmus Railroad! Across Panama! Yellow fever! Malaria!

  “Yes sir, I’d like that very much.”

  “And I take it that isn’t all you’d like?”

  “There is more, sir.”

  “I suppose I’d better listen,” Drew said. And he put an intent look on his face, but he only heard Collins with half an ear. He preferred at that moment not to dwell on the little man and his little schemes. He’d pay Collins off, and the man would go away.

  But the manipulation of the Pennsylvania stock … that was a matter of vast scale and grandeur. And so it was upon that that he rested his mind, as Tom Collins related his demands.

  Sunday, August 1, 1852

  At ten in the evening of the final night of the voyage, John Carlysle paced restlessly and expectantly in front of the wide, double glass doors that were the formal entrance to the great ballroom of the North Star. John was dressed in formal evening clothes, and he was waiting for Kitty Lancaster, who, he knew, would be wearing her best and newest gown. Somehow she and Diane Elliot had found time in London, during their brief stopover there, to purchase it and have it almost instantaneously tailored to fit. And tonight was the night she had chosen to wear it.

  For tomorrow he and she both would be forced back into the world of commerce, industry, and financial manipulation.

  But now on a luxury yacht they practically had to themselves they would dance their last, private ball together.

  And then he saw her coming toward him, across the wide open space that separated the ballroom from the dining saloon. And she was magnificent, from her hair, newly folded and curled, to her satin slippers. The slippers were the color of pale roses. And the gown itself was an equally pale peach, a peach that was also touched with roses. Her shoulders were bare, but there were pearls about her neck. The waist was narrow, and the skirt was full.

  As she approached, her smile grew wider and more radiant.

  “You’re glorious!” he said to her as he took her hand to lead her through the glass doors.

  “I hope so,” she said. “It’s the only way I could possibly match you.”

  He laughed. “I didn’t mean that as flattery. It was the simple truth.”

  “You don’t think I’d stoop to flattery myself,” she answered, her eyes bright and daring, “at a moment like this.”

  Inside they passed by the empty tables directly to the dance floor. Across the floor was a single table lit by a single candle and a pair of champagne glasses. Beside the table was a bucket containing an unopened bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

  Above them the lamps were turned low. And the sconces on the walls, at John’s command, had not been lit. He did not want to dance this evening in a blaze of light.

  The steward, Mr. Leiber, an Austrian from Salzburg, was standing next to the piano. They walked up to him before they began the dancing, for John had ideas about the music, just as he had ideas about the lighting.

  “Sir. Madam,” Leiber said, bowing slightly. He, too, was dressed in formal evening clothes. “How can I help you?” As he said that, he indicated with a slight but unmistakable gesture that there were servants in the shadows prepared to accomplish their slightest wish.

  “Tonight is our last night with you, Mr. Leiber,” John said.

  “I’ll be sorry to see you go.”

  “And I’ll very much miss”—he waved his arm broadly— “all this,” John said.

  “As will I,” said Kitty.

  “And so we would both like this last night of dancing to be particularly memorable,” John said.

  Mr. Leiber gave a warm smile in answer to that. “I am, of course, at your complete service,” he said.

  “What we would like, then, tonight,” John said, “is nothing but waltzes.”

  “Of course,” he bowed.

  And then to Kitty John said, “Come.” He extended his hand. Together, they moved to the center of the floor. When they reach
ed it, they paused for a time, poised, expectant. And then the music began.

  They danced for over an hour without a pause. And when they stopped to rest it was more for Mr. Leiber’s sake than for their own. As soon as they reached their table, a waiter appeared, opened the champagne with an impressive flourish, and poured some into their glasses.

  After he backed away, Kitty lifted her glass to John. “A toast,” she said.

  “Absolutely. A toast.”

  And then she hesitated, for a moment at a loss for the perfect words. Finally, with her eyes locked on his, she spoke, softly, firmly, “This glass I offer… to your children … and to ours.”

  “To … all of them,” John responded in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, and then he touched her glass with his.

  Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Leiber struck a grand, introductory chord. And John and Kitty rose to dance again.

  Later still—it was now well past midnight, but neither of them was ready to slow down—she spoke to him as they swung around the floor. “It’s Monday now, isn’t it?” she said.

  “I imagine so,” he said. “But I haven’t checked. Shall I?” He made a move to pull out his watch.

  “Don’t bother,” she said. “It will come soon enough.” She said these words darkly. A shadow had crossed her face.

  “You’ve begun to worry,” he said. “Haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, “a little.” She looked up at him. “Tomorrow … we’ll be… it will start. The labor and the anguish. The schemes and the money and the manipulation.”

  “Don’t let that spoil this moment, Kitty, my darling.”

  “That’s easy to say, but not to feel.”

  “What you’re saying is all true. But then, on the other hand, look around you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Here.” He stopped dancing so that he could better direct her mind. “Look at the place where we are now. Look.”

  She turned her eyes here and there. “Yes. All right. I’ve looked. Now what should I see?”

  “You don’t see it yet?” John asked, then paused and cocked an ear. The music had ceased.

  When he saw them stop dancing, Mr. Leiber stopped playing. For he was growing weary, and he hoped they would soon call it an evening.