The Iron Road (18 page)

Yet, as she moved slowly about the room, straightening ornaments already perfectly positioned, he could feel himself connected to her as if by some invisible cord. He knew that, despite all she had said, the kiss had taken them another step down a path from which there was no retreat. But she would need time to recognize this.

Reaching the fireplace she turned and faced him, still flushed with shy radiance. Yet beneath it the strain of recent weeks was all too visible. They needed to talk. But now was not the time. And this was certainly not the place.

She cleared her throat. ‘How is everything on the line?’

He knew she had chosen the topic as much to justify her decision, by reminding him of his responsibility to the men and their families who depended on him to fight on their behalf, as to show her interest in his work. He longed to tell her what was happening, about the battles he was having with the directors. But to add his worries to the terrible burden she already carried would be selfish and cruel.

‘Very busy, as I’m sure you can imagine. Especially as I am now doing Pascoe’s work as well as my own.’ One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. ‘Sleep was difficult before he left. Now,’ he shrugged, ‘it has become something of a luxury.’ As her face clouded with anxiety he continued, meaning every word, ‘But nothing could have restored my spirits as much as seeing you. Even so, I must go now. You need to rest.’

She twisted her hands. ‘I cannot leave the house –’

Hearing a sound in the hall, he touched his lips with his index finger in silent warning, indicating the door with a slight sideways nod. ‘I understand perfectly, Lady Radclyff. As you’ll appreciate, the directors are most anxious about Sir Gerald’s health. They are keen to receive news of his progress as often as possible. So, with your permission, I will call again soon?’

He could see new tension in her shoulders. Her face, now the rosy blush was fading, looked small and pale and tired.

‘I shall be happy to receive you, Mr Santana.’

‘Meanwhile, if there is anything you need, or any way in which I might be of service, just send word to the Royal Hotel in Falmouth, and I will come at once.’

‘Thank you. You are very kind.’

Turning away was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He hated to leave her but he had no choice.
For the moment.

Tom sat with the rest of the gang on the flat-bed wagon as it clattered along the line, pushed by the little engine. The morning sun was still low in a pale-blue sky. Crows and jackdaws flapped and squabbled; seagulls wheeled overhead before dropping to a newly ploughed field. High overhead, a buzzard soared in a lazy spiral. The air was cool and dew-fresh, a breeze just beginning to stir. It caught the plume of steam and smoke that rose in puffing bursts from the funnel, stretching and shredding it until it dissolved.

‘Well, if you want to know what I think –’ Nipper began.

‘We all know what you think,’ Paddy interrupted. ‘You’ve talked of little else since the engineer told us. You think they’re mad.’

‘Well, so they are,’ Nipper defended. ‘Bleddy line isn’t half finished, and they want to run a train on it?’ He spat over the side. ‘What’s the point of it? That’s what I’d like to know.’

‘Aye, well, they’re no’ likely tae tell ye,’ Mac grunted. ‘So gi’ us all a rest.’

‘It’s about money,’ Yorky declared. ‘They’re doing it to prove that Pascoe sloping off hasn’t dropped them in the midden.’

‘They told you that did they?’ Paddy enquired drily.

‘Obvious, isn’t it? Put on a big show so people can see everything is fine and dandy.’

‘Here, Paddy,’ Fen shouted from the far end of the wagon. ‘How long are we off the cutting?’

‘Engineer said just today. Arf’s gang is up there blasting this morning. If they can shift that rock we’ll be back tomorrow.’

Tom looked out across the patchwork of fields and woods. He didn’t understand how people could talk about trees being
green,
like it was just one colour. From where he was sitting he could see beech leaves as pale as seawater, aspens that were silver-grey, young oak leaves with an orange tint, sycamores as bright as new grass, and holly so rich and glossy the leaves seemed almost black.

Beyond the dark-brown earth and outcrops of rock through which the permanent way had been cut, the hedgerows were laced with cow parsley and hawthorn blossom. Foxgloves were beginning to unfurl tall, pink spears. Pools of bluebells lingered in the shadows beneath stands of trees, and buttercups dotted grazing pastures with brilliant yellow.

He wished … he wished she was here with him, just the two of them. He wanted to share it with her, to make her understand that though he couldn’t read or write
yet,
it didn’t mean he was ignorant, or stupid. He recognized beauty. It wasn’t just something you
saw:
it was something you
felt.

She hadn’t said a word this morning. Dropping his head forward he lifted his cap, shoved a hand through his hair and settled the cap once more as the wagon trundled towards the viaduct. She’d dished-up the porridge like she always did. But she hadn’t even looked up. Probably planning what she was going to do with the money. Who could blame her?

He’d only been on the line a few weeks, but it was plain as day she’d had a hell of a life. She deserved better. He’d have worked night and day to give it to her. She certainly had no reason to trust men, but he’d have won her over. He’d have done anything. But what chance did he have now? A good navvy was a skilled man. But in her eyes he was
just a navvy.
Before the money that hadn’t mattered, because he had ambition, he had plans. But those were no longer enough.

The engine slowed as it rounded the bend and approached the viaduct.

‘What will you do, Tom?’ Fen nudged him.

Tom glanced round. ‘What about?’

‘When we finish here. Mac says he’s going to try for canal work.’

‘I’ve heard there’s plans for more drainage on the Somerset Levels,’ Fen chipped in. ‘That might be worth a look.’

‘Prob’ly all be finished by the time we get off of this line,’ Nipper grumbled.

‘Dear life,’ Tom snorted, ‘you’re some happy soul.’

‘All right,’ Nipper challenged, ‘so where’re you going then? There’s no more main-line work. Even branch lines like this is hard to come by.’

‘In this country, maybe,’ Tom said. ‘But what about France and Germany? Or America? They’re building railways thousands of miles long in America.’

‘That’s
abroad.’
Nipper shuddered. ‘I’ve heard about
abroad.
They eat frogs and stuff like that. Yeugh!’

‘You eat cockles and eels,’ Fen said. ‘What’s the difference?’

With squealing brakes and a hissing cloud of steam, the little engine jerked to a halt. The men reached for picks, shovels, iron bars and wheelbarrows, and clambered off the wagon. As they gathered at the side of the track, Paddy signalled the driver. Releasing another cloud of steam and an explosion of snorts and belches, the engine trundled across the viaduct. Picking up speed it headed back to Penryn to collect wagonloads of stone and rails.

‘What are we doing here anyway?’ Nipper demanded plaintively, as the men split into their usual pairs and headed towards the pile of stone chippings to load the barrows.

‘Engineer said to check the ballast and the levels.’

‘That’s the inspection crew’s job,’ Mac objected.

‘What inspection crew?’ Paddy pulled a face. ‘They’ve been laying sleepers and rail with the other gangs to try and make up for time lost to the rain.’

As the morning passed and the sun climbed higher, the temperature rose with it. The breeze died, and the men sweated and cursed. Tom and Mac were working on the right-hand side of the track, the outer curve of the viaduct. Nipper and Fen were a few feet behind them on the left.

Tom poked his iron bar into a zig-zagging gap in the stone chippings. ‘What do you think?’ He glanced at the Scot who had more experience of ballast work.

Mac shoved his own bar in and hammered it down hard, testing the resistance. ‘Och, dinnae fash yersel’. It’s just settlement after all yon rain.’

‘That four cracks in the last ten yards,’ Torn reminded him.

‘Aye, and given this heat we’ll likely see another four in the next. It’s only surface, lad. The base is solid and the rails have no shifted. We’ll fill in and level off and it’ll be fine.’

A dull
crump
made them both look up as the rock blocking the cutting was dynamited. Then Paddy whistled, signalling the dinner break. Dropping their tools, they sat down with their backs against the parapet and waited for the rest of the gang to join them.

As Paddy shared out bread and cheese, they passed the beer keg from hand to hand, each swallowing a long cooling draught. Far below, the still-swollen stream swirled and eddied as it raced towards the sea. The weeds and new grass spreading across the bare earth on either side of the massive stone pillars were lush and bright.

But beneath the arch where the men rested, wet black dust trickled out from cracks in the mortar and fell like fine rain, darkening the fresh new growth beneath.

Chapter Sixteen

‘Mr Santana, I am the traffic manager.’ Clinton Warne’s face was red with anger, and his chin jutted aggressively above his stiff collar. ‘My decision was made after long and careful consideration, bearing in mind that the locomotive will, at different times, be required to pull both passenger carriages and goods wagons. The Evans locomotives are admirably suited to both.’

‘Mr Warne –’

‘No; having questioned my professional judgment, you must allow me to finish.’

James made a polite gesture of acquiescence, ignoring Harold Vane ’s smirk. The other directors carefully avoided looking at him. Instead they read or pretended to make notes on the agenda each had in front of him.

‘There are several excellent reasons for choosing an engine that carries both fuel and water on top of its wheels.’ Clinton Warne held up one hand and ostentatiously ticked them off. ‘One, it does not require a separate tender. Two, it can be driven in either direction without being turned around which is an important advantage on journeys of relatively short distance. And three, the weight of fuel and water add to the engine’s own weight, providing valuable extra traction on gradients.’ With a brisk nod of satisfaction at having proved his point, he settled back, looking around at his fellow directors who were also nodding.

Like mindless echoes, James thought. He took a breath. ‘I know the design, and it is indeed an excellent one. However –’

‘Enough!’ Harold Vane slapped his hand down on the polished mahogany, causing Ingram Coles to jump and shoot him an irritated glance. ‘Mr Santana, this matter was investigated, and a decision made before you joined the company. So as well as wasting valuable time you are also calling into question the competence of a valued member of the board.’

‘Neither was intended, Mr Vane. But it appears both are unavoidable, as I would be failing in my professional duty if I did not reiterate my concern.’ Switching his gaze to the traffic manager, James continued, ‘Mr Warne, I assure you, my only reservation is over the weight.’ Vane was right. He was indeed wasting his time. None of them would look at him. Except the solicitor whose small eyes glittered with malevolent pleasure.

‘Then might I suggest, Mr Santana, that instead of criticizing Mr Warne, you devote your attention to ensuring the track is laid correctly? That is
your
responsibility. If you attend to it properly then the weight of the locomotive becomes irrelevant. Now, with the chairman’s permission, I move that we turn to the matter of the guest list.’ Murmurs of agreement and a general quickening of interest greeted his suggestion.

James sat back. Outwardly calm, he was inwardly seething with anger and frustration. He had said what needed saying. He had sent a gang to check potential weak spots. What more could he do?

‘I am negotiating hire of a single first-class carriage from Great Western,’ Clinton Warne announced importantly, ‘which will accommodate between fifteen and twenty guests, depending on the number of ladies in the party. Their gowns do require rather a lot of space.’

‘So,’ Ingram Coles, beamed around the table, ‘who should we include? Ourselves, obviously. I would also suggest a journalist?’ This time the murmurs of agreement were louder, and anticipation sharpened the atmosphere.

Victor Tyzack raised a finger. ‘I move we invite Sir Gerald Radclyff. Obviously acceptance will depend on his state of health. But Dr Treloar assures me this is improving daily.’

‘A capital idea!’ Ingram Coles nodded enthusiastically. ‘If Sir Gerald is paid the compliment of being one of the first to ride the line, he might well be persuaded to increase his investment.’

Catching Gilbert Mabey’s eye, James glimpsed a reflection of his own weary cynicism and concurred with a barely perceptible shake of his head.

‘It’s possible,’ the deputy chairman agreed. ‘But I suspect an additional incentive will be required.’

‘A directorship?’ Ingram Coles suggested, looking around the table. ‘Of course Lady Radclyff’s presence will ensure the interest of other ladies.’

‘Not only the ladies.’ Harold Vane and Clinton Warne spoke simultaneously.

Carefully expressionless, James glanced up, but neither man was looking at him. Clearly the comment had been a general observation rather than an accusation directed specifically at him. Common sense said he should be relieved that his relationship with Chloe was still a secret known only to the two of them. But he loathed the deceit, hated the subterfuge.

As the debate continued amid growing animation, the rest of the agenda faded into insignificance. Tired, heartsick and anxious, aware of Gilbert Mabey’s silent sympathy, and glad not to be entirely friendless, James stared blindly at the paper in front of him.

* * *

‘There is nothing to discuss.’ Sir Gerald Radclyff’s tone, eminently reasonable, defied argument. Bathed, shaved, and fully dressed, his only concession to his condition was a blanket over his knees. ‘I will soon be completely well again, and everything will be as it was.’

Chloe turned reluctantly from the window. She dreaded saying the things that had to be said. She wished she were outside in the sunshine, breathing the fresh scents of spring. The drawing-room was over-warm and stuffy. Though he had refused to remain in bed, ‘playing the invalid’ as he’d put it, Gerald had heeded the doctor’s warning against taking a chill, and a fire burned in every room.

‘I am glad you are so much better.’ She meant it. ‘Everyone is amazed at the speed of your recovery.’

Her husband grunted. ‘I can’t imagine why. I’m not old, and I’m rarely ill.’

Chloe sat down carefully. It was the chair the doctor had occupied less than an hour ago. Greeting him with frosty politeness she had left the two men together, not returning until he’d gone.

‘A seizure is not quite the same as ordinary illness. Under the circumstances –’

‘I know you heard me, Chloe, and I know I made myself quite clear: the matter is closed.’

‘No, Gerald. It’s not.’ Her throat was tight, and she felt her heart thump against her ribs. ‘I knew our marriage was different from others, but I never realized –’

‘Have I not always treated you well?’ he demanded.

‘Indeed you have. Very well. And I have always appreciated your generosity.’ Chloe swallowed. ‘But that is not the point. You used me, Gerald. I was a disguise to secure your own safety. In doing that you deliberately denied me the love –’

‘Love?’ he barked. ‘What else would you call what I have done for you? I have cared for you and protected you. We have shared a companionship and happiness few couples could match. I have ensured your feminine delicacy was never burdened with the demands to which other, less fortunate, women are forced to submit.

‘Are you saying I should be
grateful?’

‘Indeed I am. This is real life, my dear. Not some fatuous and overheated romantic novel that bears no resemblance to the way real men and women behave.’

Forcing herself to remain seated, though every muscle craved the release of movement, she held herself stiff and straight, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

‘Is our marriage typical of the way
real
men and women behave?’ Watching his face, she wondered which had surprised him more: her directness, or the fact that for the first time in their life together she was challenging him.

He studied her thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, my dear, what has brought about this sudden dissatisfaction?’

Sudden
dissatisfaction? A swift rush of anger made her skin prickle. ‘Gerald, you have in the past paid tribute to my intelligence. Did it never occur to you that sooner or later I would start to wonder about … about the lack of … of intimacy between us? Of course, there was no one in the household I could ask. Their loyalty to you is unswerving. Even my personal maid. Even
Polly.’
After a moment’s fight for control, she lifted her head again.

‘However, the married ladies of our social circle are not so reticent. They are not in the least reluctant to talk of intimate matters, though their opinion of their husbands’ behaviour in the bedroom is anything but flattering. Their curiosity about us, and about the fact that after four years of marriage I am still childless, has caused me considerable discomfort. But my fear of appearing ignorant, and of their ridicule, ensured I always presented our marriage as
happy in every respect.’
She couldn’t hide the depth of her hurt.

‘Chloe, it should not be necessary to remind you that, as my wife, you have access to the highest levels of society, and a lifestyle to match.
I
have not changed. I am the same man to whom you made your wedding vows. The only difference is that, through unfortunate circumstances, you have become aware of a certain situation. As for children: if it means so much to you I will arrange an adoption.’ He regarded her with an indulgent smile. ‘Have I not always granted your every wish?’

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He would buy her a
child,
in the same way that he had bought her a horse, or a new wardrobe of dresses? ‘No, Gerald, you don’t un–’

‘In return,’ he continued with a steely smoothness designed to crush any hint of resistance, ‘I shall expect you to continue your portrayal of a loving and dutiful wife.’ He looked intently at her. ‘Do you hate me, Chloe?’

‘No. I don’t hate you.’ The discovery of her husband’s true nature had shaken her to the core. But that deceit did not erase his kindness and generosity over the years.

‘Then what you have learned need make no difference.’

‘But it does, Gerald,’ she blurted. ‘You say you have not changed. But I
have.
It’s not just because of – the other evening. Gerald, I’m not a child any longer.’

‘I see.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘Then I must make myself absolutely clear. As my wife, certain standards of behaviour are expected of you. Thus far you have proved yourself equal to them, and to the honour of being Lady Radclyff. I have taken enormous pleasure in your achievements. However …’ – the word hung on the air and seemed to resound with dark threat – ‘should you even
contemplate
any action that might jeopardize your spotless reputation I will divorce you. Divorcees are not received in society. You would lose wealth, position, friends, in fact everything to which you have become so happily accustomed. This time there would be no rescue. For any young man having the temerity to challenge the proper order would very quickly find himself without friends or career.’

Chloe knew a moment’s icy terror.
Did he know about James?
Sitting frozen and silent, she forced herself to stay calm. What was there to know? All they had actually done, apart from one exquisite, breathtaking kiss, was to talk. If Gerald had suspected anything untoward he would surely have said so sooner. Therefore his threats had been made in response to her declaration that she had changed. He was warning her about the future, not threatening her over the past.

Nothing he had said was new to her. She had already made these same points to James. But hearing the threats – for there was no doubt that was what they were – from Gerald himself brought home the terrible truth. She was trapped.

‘Don’t look so stricken, Chloe.’ Her husband’s smile was gentle. ‘You have a life many would envy.’ She flinched as he unwittingly repeated what the doctor had said. ‘You say you are no longer a child. Then show you are a woman of strength and fortitude. Put this behind you. Look to the future. As soon as I am well enough I will begin making enquiries about a suitable child. I want you to be happy, my dear. You do know that, don’t you?’

A cold, smothering blanket of despair settled over her. ‘Yes, Gerald.’

* * *

The following day as he rode up the drive towards Trewan, James hoped, prayed,
willed
that Sir Gerald Radclyff was still confined, if not to his bed, then at least to his room. But the instant Hawkins opened the door James’s hopes were dashed.

Following the butler across the hall he pushed his disappointment deep. If the baronet was already well enough to receive visitors, James knew he could not afford – for Chloe’s sake – to relax his guard for an instant.

‘Mr Santana,’ Sir Gerald smiled, but there was an acerbic edge to his voice. ‘To what do we owe this pleasure? No, sit down, Chloe.’

‘I – I thought, if you had business to discuss –’

‘I want you to stay.’ He smiled, but it was an order. James felt a chill creep along his veins.

‘Good morning, Sir Gerald, Lady Radclyff.’ He inclined his head politely at Chloe, who looked down at the needlework lying in her lap. ‘The directors asked me to invite you both to be their special guests on the train which will make the inaugural journey from Penryn to the mid-point of the line, which will be followed by a champagne lunch.’

‘How very kind of them,’ Sir Gerald said drily. ‘Don’t you think so, my dear?’

‘Yes, indeed.’

Though he didn’t dare look at her, afraid he might not be able to maintain the impassive veneer of which he had always been so proud, James knew something was terribly wrong.

‘I must say I’m rather surprised you have come to issue the invitation in person,’ the baronet said. ‘I would have thought you had more important matters to attend to.’

‘You’re right, sir, I do. But the directors considered the importance of the occasion warranted both prompt delivery and my personal attention.’ Taking the thick creamy envelope containing the deckle-edged card from his pocket, James laid it on the nearest side-table, noting that he had not been invited to sit down.

‘Aren’t you going to congratulate me on my swift recovery?’

‘Indeed, sir, I was about to do so.’

The baronet’s smile reminded James of a shark. It contained many more teeth than he remembered. ‘It is all due to excellent care and loving attention.’ Leaning across he patted Chloe’s hand.

‘It has made me appreciate even more my good fortune in having such a devoted wife.’ His gaze snapped up at James who, acutely aware of undercurrents in the room and on his guard, met it evenly. ‘You should marry. A young man of ambition needs the comfort of a wife and the prospect of sons to follow him. In fact,’ – his smile was slow and lizard-like – ‘my own dear Chloe and I hope to add to our family in the near future.’