Stay with Me (4 page)

The train rocked.

‘John!'

‘It's all right, my dear.'

 

The whirling air shrieked between the buildings. Martin's lips tightened. This was no time to be out, but needs must. He had to see to the welfare of his sister and brother-in-law, could not let them fend for themselves in this. His steps faltered then. A splintering crash on the pavement a short way ahead brought both men to a sharp halt.

‘My God, sir! That could have killed us,' gasped Angus, staring with alarm at the slate that lay shattered at their feet.

‘Aye, and there might be more,' returned Martin. ‘Quick, man, cross the road!'

They ran, eager to be clear from the danger.

 

The train rumbled on, clinging precariously to the tracks.

 

The band struck up the next tune. Joyous laughter rang around the room as couples chose their partners.

 

The wind ripped at the waters of the Tay, tossing them into a maelstrom of foam-topped waves, the whiteness emphasising the yawning depths below.

 

Forwards, backwards, swirl around. Pretty dresses sent waves of colour undulating round the room.

 

John fished his watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Soon be at the bridge.' Jennie did not respond except to grip her husband's hand tighter. The carriage shook. He felt her tremble.

 

The windows rattled. Lena cast an anxious glance at them and then at the clock on the mantelpiece. Six-fifteen. ‘They'll soon be here,' said James, knowing she was thinking of their parents.

A sudden crack, the sound of tearing of timber . . . a huge branch, torn from a tree as if it was a matchstick, crashed into the road a few paces ahead of the two hurrying men. They leaped clear of it,

‘Not far,' yelled Martin. ‘We'll be safer in the station.'

They reached it with relief and found some other people too had braved the raw night to meet the Edinburgh train.

 

A violin string, caught accidentally by the musician's bow, sent a screeching sound around the drawing-room.

 

The wind howled through the station like a demented banshee, wanting to awe and intimidate with its display of power.

 

‘Enjoying yourself, James?' Olivia asked as his hand took hers for the waltz.

‘Now that I'm with the best dancer in the room,' came the flattering reply.

‘You exaggerate.' Olivia blushed but thrilled with pride at his compliment.

 

‘Not long now,' said John reassuringly, close to his wife's ear, hoping to calm the tension he could feel when she huddled closer to him.

The train rumbled on to the bridge. He glanced out of the window and took comfort from the sight of those solid black girders.

 

Mary eased a curtain back a little and looked out into the darkness. Nothing to see. The window frame rattled. She hoped her husband was all right, and was thankful he was not alone.She glanced back into the room, pleased that the young folk still seemed oblivious to the ferocious storm outside.

Lena slipped as she whirled in to the dance with Alistair. Always sure on her feet, she had never done so before and was thankful now that he was there to support her. As he grasped her more tightly her face came close to his and she felt his lips touch hers, driving away any fear.

 

The train lurched. Another jerk as if something had impeded its progress. It lurched again. Rocked. Tilted.

‘John!' screamed Jennie as she tumbled against him, her eyes widening with fear. They were both thrown sideways.

‘John!'

He grasped her. Pulled her close. He heard timber tear, metal screech. The carriage toppled. They were falling, falling. He held her tight. ‘I love you, Jennie, always have, and always will . . . wherever we are.'

His lips met hers and they stayed locked together as they fell, fell, fell, and icy waters rushed in to claim them.

Martin was uneasy. He reckoned the train should have arrived twenty minutes ago. He sought out a railway official who was already being pressed for news by other people.

‘Have you any word of the train?' he asked, his features creased with concern.

‘None, sir! I'm sure everything is in order, though, or we would have heard. This storm's bad. Could have caused a delay for any number of reasons.'

Martin knew how true that was. After all, he himself had witnessed trees uprooted and masonry torn down. Something could easily have caused a blockage on the line.

‘We are awaiting news from the south side of the river. I'll let you all know as soon as we hear.'

As the minutes passed unease mounted among the crowd at the station. Enquiries became more agitated, voices demanding news, urging something be done to ascertain it.

‘What's that?' The query came from near the station entrance.

‘No!'

‘Did you hear that?'

‘The bridge has collapsed!'

‘It can't have!'

‘Who told you?'

‘Came from someone outside.'

‘How do they know?'

‘It's a rumour! Must be. The bridge is strong, not long built.'

‘Stand anything.'

‘Shouldn't spread alarm . . . we've relations on that train.'

Calls and comments were flowing fast. No one knew what to believe.

Harassed officials tried to quell the rumours, calling for everyone to keep calm, but then a fresh wave of anxiety swept through them when, a few minutes after seven, communication was lost between the signals cabins to either side of the bridge. Public demand for something to be done ran high. Pressure mounted on the railway officials. Disturbed by this latest setback and the lack of any concrete news, they decided an investigation should be made.

Martin did not like feeling so helpless. He was used to being in charge of situations, but here there was nothing he could do but wait. He saw some railwaymen huddle together in what appeared to be serious discussion, clearly agitated, shaking their heads and nodding violently. Then he saw one man, ignoring what appeared to be protests from the others, leave the group and stride off down the track towards the bridge.

Other people saw him go and soon speculation was running rife amongst the crowd. What exactly was Mr Roberts, superintendent of the locomotive department, doing?

Roberts disappeared into the gloom, hoping he would soon be able to confound the spreading rumours.

With every step he took, the wind seemed to grow in ferocity. It was as if it was bent on preventing him finding out what had happened, even to the extent of hurling him into the murky depths of the Tay to stop him doing so. His determination to discover the truth quelled the fear rising in him as he inched his way forward, until finally he had to crawl on hands and knees.

‘Mama, Papa should have been back with Aunt Jennie and Uncle John by now,' Avril said to her mother who had hidden her own concern about the delay thus far.

‘I know, my love.' Though worry plagued her mind, Mary tried to sound reassuring.

‘Everyone's getting hungry.'

‘If they aren't here in five minutes, we'll make a start. Something must have held them up. I'm sure they won't mind.'

 

Mr Roberts hunched his shoulders against the wind and gripped the rails even harder as he crawled along. If the train had had to stop on the bridge, as seemed likely by its non-appearance, he should be able to see it, even in the dark, but there was nothing. He advanced slowly. A few more yards . . . then he stopped and stared with horror at the scene before him: the entire centre-section of the bridge, where girders had formed a tunnel-like structure, had disappeared and all that remained were its supporting piers, rising finger-like from the river.

Terror gripped him, forcing disbelief from his mind, as he tried to grasp the only conclusion to be drawn from that missing section. Despair filled him. There was nothing left for him to do but to return with the devastating news: the train from Edinburgh and all its passengers must now lie deep on the muddy bed of the Tay.

With a heavy heart, he inched his way round and returned to the north side, wondering how on earth he could break such tragic news. By the time he'd reached solid ground he knew there was nothing for it but come straight out with the truth.

The crowd surged towards him when he reached the station. The questions they flung at him in their eagerness for news faltered as they sensed he had nothing good to tell them.

‘The centre portion of the bridge has gone.' The words seemed to stick in Roberts's throat.

The disbelief that ran through the crowd was palpable.

‘What - collapsed?

‘Can't be!'

‘It was built to withstand anything . . .'

‘What about the train?'

The putting of that question silenced all others. Everyone strained to hear the reply.

‘I couldnae see it. There wasn't a sign of it on the south side. And if it's no' there,' his voice faltered, ‘then I believe it now lies at the bottom of the river.'

The shock of this announcement sent minds reeling. For one moment there was a heavy silence broken only by the mocking cries of the wind. Then pandemonium broke out, with cries of disbelief and howls of agony as folk struggled to take in what this tragedy meant to them. Then shouts of vilification were hurled at all those concerned with the building of the bridge. Some railway officials tried to calm the situation while others struggled to decide what to do next.

The news brought a cold dread to Martin's heart. He stood still for a moment, oblivious to what was happening around him. He felt drained of all energy, his legs leaden, his throat constricted. He wanted to cry out to heaven for allowing his dear sister to be taken when she had so much to live for, but felt a touch on his arm and stayed silent.