The Iron Road (20 page)

He stared, speechless with horror as the other arches began to follow.

The monster steamed slowly past, unaware of the yawning chasm opening up behind as the rest of the viaduct began to break apart faster than the train was moving. The air was filled with yells and shouts as the other navvies registered what was happening. Tom saw Yorky and Nipper waving wildly at the driver.

‘
No!’
he roared, too late. ‘Keep going! Don’t stop!’

But the locomotive was already slowing. By the time it stopped, brakes shrieking like souls in torment, and clouds of steam billowing around the huge driving wheels, the locomotive was out of danger, but the rear end of the carriage was still on the supporting pillar built partly into the valley side.

There was another grating rumble. Then, with a long groan, the rails beneath the carriage began to twist as the pillar gave way and subsided in a tumbling avalanche of wood and stone and mud.

‘Mother o’ God,’ Paddy gasped as the carriage tilted backward at an angle and stopped with a jerk, attached to the locomotive only by the coupling chains. Stricken faces peered through the windows. But the directors and their guests were not yet fully aware of the peril they were in.

A wail of terror rose to a scream as William Thomas slipped from his precarious perch on the buffers. Even as Tom darted forward towards the rear of the carriage, automatically reaching for the arm that clawed desperately for a handhold, William lost his grip and pitched headlong into the void. Tom stopped abruptly, closing his eyes as he heard the body land.

Behind him, Paddy clambered up the side of the locomotive to shove the wide-eyed, trembling driver back onto the footplate. ‘Blow the whistle! Keep blowing the whistle!’

Chloe stared in disbelief at the empty space where the viaduct had been, her mouth dust-dry with shock. The sound of the whistle, short shrill blasts, galvanized her.
James was in the carriage.
So too was Gerald. She slammed her heel into the mare’s side, leaning forward to urge her on. As they flew down the slope at breakneck speed she saw a gang of navvies swarming round the front part of the carriage. The door nearest the locomotive was opened and slowly,
too slowly,
figures began to emerge. But they were too far away for her to identify.

As the final rumble died away, Veryan looked at James. ‘I thought … the men said you’d finished dynamiting.’

‘We have.’ His forehead creased in a puzzled frown. ‘It can’t be the quarry. Tomorrow’s their day –’ The train whistle cut him short. At the third urgent blast James turned towards the sound. Veryan watched the colour drain from his face.

‘Oh no,’ he whispered. ‘Please, no.’ He spun round, already running for his horse.

She raced after him. Paddy’s gang was working on the viaduct.
Tom.
‘Take me with you,’ she begged. ‘Davy took horses to be shod this morning. He’ll be on his way back. If anything’s happened … I’m strong. I can help.’

All around them, women were emerging from the shanties. The younger ones were merely curious. The older ones, more experienced, were anxious. Seeing James they started forward.

‘What’s all the noise?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘That’s what I’m going to find out.’ Quickly astride his horse he tucked free of the stirrup to give Veryan a foothold and, seizing her elbow, hauled her up behind him. She barely had time to grab hold of his waist before they were hurtling out of the village.

Ashen and trembling, the directors and their guests were helped down onto the track, urged on by cries of, ‘Don’t you worry, that old carriage isn’t going nowhere till you’re all out, safe and sound. Come on now, we won’t let you fall. Jump, my handsome. ’T’id’n as far as it looks.’ They were glad now of the grimy calloused hands belonging to men who, a few months ago, they had denounced as drunken heathens, unfit to live in decent society.

Amid the noise and melee, Tom glimpsed Davy who was losing his battle to hang onto the three horses. Terrified by the whistle blasts and gushing steam, their eyes rolled wildly, and each jerk of their heads threatened to wrench his arms out of their sockets. Still he hung on, leaning back as they skittered and tugged, dragging him over the stone ballast.

Ripping off his shirt as he ran towards the boy, Tom caught the material between his teeth and tore it into rough strips. ‘All right, my handsome. You hang on now.’

The horses twisted violently, pulling the ropes through Davy’s small palms. His face screwed up and with a cry of pain he clutched his seared hands to his chest. Tom grabbed the ropes and tugged hard, yanking the animals’ heads down.

‘Here, lad.’ He passed over the strips. ‘Tie these over their eyes. They’ll soon calm down.’

Wiping his nose on his sleeve, the boy did as he was told.

Tom talked soothingly to the horses, stroking and patting them. But all the time he was watching Davy. Had the boy seen his father fall?

Reaching the bottom of the long slope about fifty yards from the locomotive, Chloe jumped off the sweating mare. Her legs felt weak and shaky as she looped the reins over a post.
Please let him be safe.
She would let him go, never see him again, and do her best to be a good wife to Gerald. She would never ask for anything else.
Just let him be unharmed.

Then, heedless of decorum, she clambered over the new wooden fence that separated the track from Trewan land. Stumbling over the rough ballast stones, she hurried towards the milling knot of people. Two ladies had fainted. Lying in bright puddles of frilled and beribboned taffeta at the side of the track they looked like collapsed balloons. Anxious husbands knelt beside them, helpless and embarrassed. Catching sight of her, they both reached out like drowning men for a lifebelt.

‘Lady Radclyff, thank Heaven. Please …’

‘Of course.’ She forced a quick smile that was meant to be reassuring. ‘Just one moment.’ She scanned the faces, desperate to find James. ‘I must first make sure my husband –’

‘Your husband?’ Ingram Coles glanced up, perplexed, still patting his wife’s limp hand. ‘But … Lady Radclyff, Sir Gerald isn’t with us.’

Chloe swivelled round.
‘What?’

‘I received a message this morning. Sir Gerald regretted that, due to unforeseen circumstances, he would not be able to join us. I thought – we all thought – his illness – we were most concerned.’

‘No, no, he’s much better,’ Chloe replied automatically. She opened her mouth then closed it again. The chairman had not seen Gerald this morning.
So where was he?
He’d said nothing at breakfast about changing his plans. Had something happened
after
he left home? Or had he never intended to join the party? Just then, to Chloe’s immense relief, Ingram Coles’s wife moaned. He immediately turned to her.

‘There, there, my dear. Are you recovered now?’ Eleanor Coles’s eyes fluttered open and she raised one hand to her forehead.

At the sound of thundering hooves Chloe glanced round. Her heart leapt to her throat and she swayed, momentarily dizzy, as James reined his mount to a halt. She saw his gaze sweep the crowd, and find her. Their eyes locked. Then it hit her.
He hadn’t been on the train either.

Throwing his leg over the front of the saddle, he jumped down and strode towards her. Veryan Polmear slid from the saddle and ran to the other side of the track, her face intent, eyes searching.

‘Lady Radclyff.’ Catching her hand James raised it briefly to his lips. Only Chloe knew how tightly he clasped her fingers. ‘I am relieved to see you unharmed.’

‘Mr Santana.’ Relief left her weak. ‘I didn’t – I couldn’t –’ She swallowed hard, forcing a smile. ‘I was not on the train … a minor indisposition … I was riding when I saw … and I have just learned … it appears my husband did not join the train either.’

‘Lady Radclyff,’ Ingram Coles cried out plaintively. ‘My wife needs help.’

‘Mr Santana,’ Paddy shouted, running towards them.

‘I’ll see you later,’ James whispered.

She gave a brief nod. As he strode away with the ganger, she clapped her hands, wincing as the whistle blew again. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention? You are all most welcome to rest at Trewan while carriages are prepared to return you to Falmouth. Please follow me up through the park.’

Veryan pushed anxiously through the throng. All around her the rough accents of navvies mingled with the refined tones of the directors. In other circumstances it might have amused her. But under what other circumstances would it have happened?

‘Davy?’ she shouted, craning to see over the heads around her.

‘Over here.’

Turning, she saw Tom and was shaken by the strength of her relief. He beckoned and, as she started towards him she glimpsed heavily muscled shoulders and the dark curling hair on his chest and realized he was naked to the waist. Heat flushed her upper body. For goodness sake, there was nothing new about half-naked men. She saw them every day in and around the shanty.
He was different.
When she looked at him she felt strange: sort of shivery inside, as though she couldn’t quite catch her breath.
He was just another navvy.
She couldn’t … must not …

A small body pushed though the people and hurled itself at her. Bending, she swept Davy up into her arms. He buried his face against her neck.

‘It’s all right,’ she murmured, resting her cheek against his head. ‘What happened to your hands?’

‘Rope burns,’ Tom answered, his eyes saying a lot more than his mouth. ‘The whistle spooked the horses.’ He jerked his head indicating the three animals, now docile under their blindfolds, being led away by Fen.

‘That’s your shirt.’ He shrugged.

‘Is he dead?’ Muffled against her neck, Davy’s voice was thin and strained.

‘What?’ Veryan eased her head back to look at him. ‘Is who dead?’

Placing his big hand on her shoulder, Tom drew her away to the side of the track. ‘The boy’s father jumped on the back of the coach as it came across the viaduct,’ he murmured, then stood back so she could see the twisted and broken rails hanging out over empty space. He pointed down.

Veryan bit her lip. She had loathed and despised William Thomas, and though he deserved to suffer for his cruelty, that wasn ’t the type of death she would wish on anyone.

‘Is he? Is he dead?’ Davy pulled his head back, gazing at her.

She glanced at Tom and saw him nod.

‘Yes, Davy. No one could have survived a fall like that.’ She didn’t want to think of what the body looked like.

‘You sure? He won’t come back?’

She held him closer, rocking from side to side. ‘No, my love, he won’t come back.’

Sagging against her, Davy’s small body shuddered violently. ‘You never done it. It wasn’t you. It was him. I saw him.’

Chapter Eighteen

Veryan glanced uncertainly at Tom, who shrugged again.

‘What are you talking about, Davy?’

‘The gypsy.’ He wriggled. ‘I’m alright now. You can put me down.’

Veryan released him without a word, understanding he was embarrassed and feared watchers would think him a baby.

Squatting, Tom grasped the boy’s shoulders and gently turned him around. ‘What about the gypsy, my handsome?’

‘It wasn’t Veryan. She never killed him. It was me pa.’

Stunned, Veryan dropped to her knees beside Tom. ‘Davy, do you realize what you’re saying?’

Shifting from one foot to the other, the boy scrubbed the back of his bandaged hand across his nose. ‘I aren’t daft,’ he protested, hurt and hostile.

‘Of course you’re not,’ Veryan reassured. ‘But how do you know it was your father?’

‘Cos I seen him. The gypsy was on top of you and you was trying to fight him off.’

Veryan’s stomach heaved and she rubbed her arms, her skin crawling as she felt again the weight of the gypsy’s body and smelled his stinking breath. Tom put his hand on her shoulder. She couldn’t look at him. About to shrug it off she remained still.

He’d heard the gossip the day he’d arrived at the shanty. Yet it had made no difference. The men had warned him off, but he’d ignored them. In spite of what everyone – including herself – believed she had done, he had still wanted to know her. She looked up at him, the warm weight now a surprising comfort.

‘Why?’ she whispered.

He seemed to understand. ‘It didn’t matter,’ he said simply. Then he turned to the boy. ‘Go on, Davy. What happened?’

‘Veryan had dropped the knife and was crying co reach it. But pa grabbed it. He stuck it in the gypsy, and the gypsy fell on her. Then Queenie and the rest come out.’

‘All this time I thought …’ Veryan whispered. She glanced up. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Davy?’

He squirmed again, visibly uncomfortable. ‘I wanted to but I couldn’t. Pa knew I was the only one who seen what really happened. He said if I ever told he’d …’ His lower lip quivered. ‘He’d k-kill –’

‘He’d kill you?’ Veryan prompted quietly.

‘
No!’
Davy cried. ‘He said he’d kill
you.
Then you’d be dead an’ it would be all my fault. So I couldn’t say nothing, could I?’

Veryan’s eyes filled and she covered her mouth. ‘Oh, you poor little soul.’

The boy gave a little groan. ‘I got to pee.’

Tom jerked his head. ‘Go on, over by the hedge. No one’s looking.’ As Davy scampered off Tom muttered fiercely, ‘It’s a good job the bastard’s dead or I’d kill him myself for making the both of you suffer like that.’

A ll the more powerful for being so rarely shown, Tom’s anger made Veryan shiver. ‘But if he wasn’t dead, I still wouldn’t know what really happened. It’s strange. I had to believe Queenie when she said I’d done it. But I never
felt
as if I had.’

‘That’s because you didn’t.’

‘Yes, but don’t you see?’ She looked up at him, agonized. ‘It doesn’t make any difference. Everyone else believes I did it. Sooner or later the body will be found.’ She shuddered. ‘Every day I expect someone to … The longer it goes on, the more I hope, and the worse it gets. And now William is dead he can’t be brought to trial. Besides,’ – she drew a deep hopeless sigh – ‘everyone knows Davy likes to spend time with me. Just as they know his father used to beat him. They’d think he was making it up: blaming it on his father to protect me.’

‘You don’t have to worry about the body. It’ll never be found.’

‘How can you know that?’ She was both anguished and scornful, not daring to hope he might be right.

He brought his head close to hers. ‘Because he isn’t where he was dumped. I tipped him down an old mineshaft.’

Suddenly she remembered: the night he’d gone out and none of the men had known where: the state of his shirt the next day. He’d done that for her? Even though at that time he – along with the rest of the shanty – believed she had killed Gypsy Ned?

The lump in her throat was painful. ‘I’ll never be able to repay you.’

He straightened up, his face tight and hard. ‘Did I ask you to? I’m no blackmailer.’

‘No, I didn’t mean that.’

‘I’m not after your money. I told you so you’d know you’re safe. You can go whenever you like. There’s nothing to hold you here.’

She flinched.
The prospect should fill her with pleasure. So why didn’t it?
Reaching into the pocket of her dress she pulled out the folded letter and held it up with shaking fingers. ‘Mr Santana brought this with him this morning.’

His face set like stone. ‘Good news is it?’

‘Yes, I –’
suppose so.
What was wrong with her? Of course it was good news: the best.

‘No good showing me.’ He shoved both hands into his trouser pockets, his aggression startling. ‘Can’t bleddy read, can I?’

‘I didn’t –’ About to apologize for her thoughtlessness she was swamped by sudden anger. Why was he so defensive? Why take it out on her? Hadn’t she been helping him? Retreating into her shell, pretending unconcern, she waved the letter. ‘The legacy is confirmed. I just have to go and collect it.’

He didn’t move, yet she’d have sworn –

‘That’s it then.’ Turning away he whistled to Davy. ‘Here, boy, time you took they horses back.’

With a high-pitched toot, the little engine trundled towards them from the head of the line. The wagons, recently loaded with ballast and rails, now carried navvies responding to the emergency signal from the locomotive.

Veryan watched Tom lift Davy onto one of the horses. She wanted to say something, but had no idea what. She was angry with him, and not sure why.

Handing Davy the leading ropes for the other two, and pulling off their blindfolds, Tom murmured something to him before slapping Davy’s mount on the rump. The boy set off along the line towards the village and, without even glancing in her direction, Tom joined the other men.

She might as well go. There was certainly nothing to keep her here. Yet still she hesitated, and heard James Santana detail a ganger and six men to work with the driver of the locomotive to tow the coach away from the overhang.

‘Watch yourselves. I don’t want it, or you, going over the edge.’ As they moved away he turned to the others. Tom was among them. ‘I need two men to recover William Thomas’s body. The rest of you take your picks and crowbars and get down into the valley. The rubble and boulders have dammed the river. It’s already beginning to flood the valley.’

Chloe moved about the room, ensuring everyone was provided with food and a hot drink. Hawkins supervised Henry and Ellen, the housemaid, who hurried in and out with fresh supplies of sandwiches, cakes, tea, coffee and hot chocolate. As shock began to recede, relief made the men more effusive than usual. Chloe caught snatches as they exchanged their own impressions of the event.

‘A catastrophe.’ Ingram Coles shook his head. ‘Of course, we must rebuild. But the cost, I really don’t –’

‘Not now, my dear.’ His wife tugged his sleeve. ‘For the moment, let us be grateful that we escaped with our lives.’

‘Indeed.’ He patted her hand. ‘You’re right.’

‘Clearly the fault lies with the contractor, and the navvies, of course,’ Clinton Warne was saying to anyone who would listen. ‘If the line had been properly constructed …’

‘We cannot possibly accept legal liability,’ Harold Vane insisted to the deputy chairman. ‘That must be borne by those responsible.’

Victor Tyzack pressed his fingertips to his forehead. ‘But as directors I really don’t see how we can avoid –’

‘Madam?’

Chloe started. ‘Yes, Hawkins?’

‘The carriages are ready.’

‘Thank you, Hawkins. Ladies and gentlemen?’ It took a moment for the loud, brittle buzz of conversation to die away. ‘I’m sure you are anxious to get home as quickly as possible. Transport is waiting at the front door to take you back to Falmouth. However, if you all wish to leave together, two gentlemen will be required to travel alongside the drivers. Of course, if that is not acceptable, you are most welcome to remain here until –’

‘No, no,’ several voices cried in unison.

‘Most kind, but –’

‘– generous hospitality –’

‘– would not dream of imposing any longer.’

Twenty minutes later Chloe stood on the gravel, watching the last carriage disappear down the drive. Turning to go back into the house she heard the drumming of hooves and looked over her shoulder. A galloping horse, its hatless rider crouched low in the saddle, breasted the rise and jumped the wooden fence that separated the lawns from the park beyond.

As one hand instinctively went to her loosened hair, she glanced down at her dust-streaked riding habit. But her anxiety about her dishevelled appearance melted away as she realized suddenly
it wasn’t important.

She walked slowly across the gravel, absorbing every detail of him, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude that he was unharmed. How could she bear never to see him again? Yet, if she truly loved him, how could she jeopardize his future? She pressed a hand to her midriff against the deep grinding ache of impending loss.

Reining in, James jumped down. ‘Whoa there, steady now.’ His gaze devoured her as the horse skittered and pranced, nostrils wide, sides heaving after the headlong dash up the long slope. He stroked the soft muzzle, and she blushed under his scrutiny.

The stable boy came running out of the yard. ‘Sorry, ma’am, but with all the others gone –’

‘It’s all right, Billy. Take care of Mr Santana’s horse, will you?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll give ‘un a good rub down.’ Billy crooned softly to the sweating, foam-flecked animal as he led it towards the yard.

James watched her while she talked to the stable lad. He loved her gentleness, her unexpected strength, the way she tilted her head. Her torn fingers moved him unbearably. As she turned back to him, her eyes – before the lashes fluttered down – held an almost fevered brightness. A heady mix of tenderness and desire raced along his veins.

‘Are your guests still inside?’

‘They’ve just left.’ She gestured jerkily then rubbed her hands, betraying her tension. ‘I wasn’t sure if we would have sufficient transport for all of them. But the coachman and grooms managed to find horses for the barouche, the phaeton and the post chaise. So fortunately no one had to wait behind for a cab to be sent from Penryn.’ She stumbled on the long folds of her riding habit. He caught her instantly, cupping her elbow. ‘I’m talking too much. It’s just – James,
I saw it happen.
I thought – I believed you were on board.’

‘I know.’ Reluctant, but only too aware that they might be under observation, he released her. Side by side, careful not to touch, they approached the wide porch. ‘I thought
you
were on the train,’ he confided, his voice low and intense. When I heard the whistle blasting on and on, and realized what it meant.’ He shook his head. ‘If anything had happened to you –’

‘
Don’t,’
she begged.

He stopped. God help him, he had to know. He had to hear it from her lips. ‘Chloe, is it true? You and … him? A child?’

He saw her flinch, sensed her inward recoil, watched her face lose what little colour it possessed as some inner battle tore her apart.

After an eternity she raised her eyes to his. ‘I should lie to you,’ she whispered. ‘Then you would go away, and you’d be safe. But I can’t. You are the only person who has ever been honest with me. I owe you the same.’

He saw her throat work as if swallowing was painful. ‘When I spoke to Gerald about his – about what I had learned – he reminded me of my good fortune and my privileged position in society. He told me I would be an outcast if I did not continue in my role of loving and dutiful wife. He said’ – she swallowed again – ‘that if all that is missing from our marriage is a child, he will buy me one.’

‘
Buy?’
He was incredulous.

She gave a brief nod. ‘So you see it was not quite as it appeared, or as he intended you to believe.’

‘Dear God!’ James hissed, swinging round and driving a hand through his hair in raging frustration. ‘Buy a child?
All
that is missing?’

‘Please, James. Listen to me. He also made it very clear that if any man should find himself … attracted to me, and dared to challenge this arrangement, he would quickly find himself without friends or career.’ Her gaze was anguished. ‘He would destroy you. I would sooner live with him than live with that.’

He clamped his mouth shut. To argue would only increase her torment. He drew a long, deep breath. ‘Do you know why Sir Gerald was not on the train?’

Her features lost their sharp anxiety, relaxing in relief and gratitude. ‘I have no idea. He hadn’t mentioned not going. The first I knew of it was when Mr Coles told me he had received a note of apology citing unforeseen circumstances as the reason he wouldn’t be joining them.’

‘So you don’t know where he might be?’

She shook her head. ‘But it must be important. He is still weak from his illness.’

He followed her into the hall and watched her alter as the butler came towards them. The suffering vulnerable young woman withdrew behind the practiced facade of charming and thoughtful hostess. As she turned to James with a gracious smile, her eyes betrayed her. But only he could see them. ‘I expect you’d like to refresh yourself? Hawkins will show you.’

She addressed the butler. ‘Hawkins, ask Ellen to bring a pot of coffee and some sandwiches to the drawing-room, will you please?’

When he entered the drawing-room, Chloe was already seated, a tray on the table in front of her. She looked up quickly, her expression troubled.

‘Close the door. There’s something else …’ She picked up a slim package of folded papers tied with narrow red ribbon. ‘I don’t understand these. Will you tell me what you think?’

Puzzled, he took them from her and sat down. Scanning the IOUs his perplexity deepened. He went through them a second time, recalling his conversation over dinner with Gilbert Mabey, the rumours about Sir Gerald.

Mabey ’s voice echoed in his head. ‘… gambler … nerves of iron … friend of Polglase’s …’
Richard Polglase was Chloe’s father. Richard Polglase couldn’t pay his debts and shot himself.
‘… won his wife on the turn of a card.’