The Iron Road

by Jane Jackson

  James’s nails dug deep into his palm, but he forced himself to appear calm. ‘They might work without pay, but they certainly won’t work without food.’

  After an exchange of glances, there was general, if reluctant, agreement that extra funds should be allocated.

  ‘Who will arrange purchase and distribution?’ Clinton Warne asked. ‘I can’t possibly take on any more –’

  ‘Who better than Mr Santana?’ Harold Vane suggested with a bland smile. ‘He will be on the line every day. He deals directly with the men. He’s the obvious choice.’

  About to protest that the contractor’s flight would double his already heavy workload, and that in any case it wasn’t his job, James bit his tongue as he remembered what Chloe said at their first meeting about people’s attitudes to the navvies. She had been proved right on every point.

  Not trusting himself to speak, he simply nodded to indicate his acquiescence. But Harold Vane hadn’t finished.

  ‘Someone will have to tell Sir Gerald. We must get the penalty clauses set aside. As Mr Santana was so successful last time, I can’t think of anyone more suited to the task.’

  ‘Plead extenuating circumstances,’ Gilbert advised.

  ‘Acute shortage of available money,’ the traffic manager stretched his chin, revealing a red line where his collar rubbed.

  ‘Completing the line must take priority where funding is concerned.’ The deputy chairman held James’s gaze. ‘Otherwise no one, and that includes Sir Gerald, will retrieve a penny of their investment.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Ingram Coles nodded quickly. ‘Like us, he took part of his fee in Railway Company shares.’

  Leaving the meeting, James returned to the Royal Hotel, his muscles aching from the morning’s hard ride. He was sweaty, grubby, and ravenous. While a bath was prepared he ate two helpings of beef stew. Then, clean and replete, his travel-stained clothes brushed and pressed, boots buffed to a mirror shine, he set off for Trewan.

  The interview would not be pleasant, but at least it gave him an above-board reason to visit the house and maybe see Chloe again – if she was there. Perhaps it would be better if she were not. For seeing her and Sir Gerald together, a couple … James’s mind sheered away from an image that tortured him with jealousy even though he knew the image to be false, a distortion of the truth.

  Despite the amount on his mind, it would have been impossible not to notice the changes wrought by the few days of warm sunshine. Deep puddles had evaporated and water had drained from the cartwheel ruts. The hedgerows had suddenly burgeoned with lush greenery brightened by random patches of celandines and violets, cushions of primroses, and swathes of red campion. Tall stands of cow parsley reached for the sun with flower heads like white lace doilies, and hawthorn bushes scattered tiny petals like snowflakes.

  He rode in the dappled shade of beeches and sycamores, past clumps of rhododendron bushes whose deep pink trumpet-like flowers were just starting to open. Entering Trewan land, he rode through a carpet of bluebells that stretched across the park from the edge of the drive, surrounding elms, oaks and copper beeches like a fragrant rippling sea. Above the sighing wind he could hear blackbirds and robins, and the raucous squabbling of crows.

  As he approached the front door, conscious of his boots crunching on the gravel, he was aware of an unusual tension beneath his ribs, and knew a moment’s bitter amusement as he thought of all the reasons he might claim as its cause.

  While he waited in the hall for the butler to return, he mentally rehearsed the points he hoped would persuade the baronet against pressing for compensation.

  ‘This way, sir, if you please.’ Opening the drawing-room door, the butler stood aside to let him pass.

  Taking a breath, James walked into the sunlit room. As the door closed quietly behind him, formal words of greeting died unuttered, on his lips.

  Chloe sat alone, straight-backed, her hands clasped tight, at one side of the blazing fire. Despite the room’s comfortable warmth, her face was devoid of colour except for plum shadows like bruises beneath each eye.

  He hurried forward, his carefully prepared speech forgotten. ‘What’s wrong? Have you received bad news? Are you unwell?’ He saw her throat work.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Santana.’ Her voice sounded husky and nasal, as if she were suffering from a cold. Or had been crying. ‘I’m quite well, thank you.’ Her cheek muscles twitched and her lips parted briefly, baring her teeth in what he realized with terrible compassion was an attempted smile. ‘I’m afraid my husband isn’t available right now. But as Hawkins said the matter was urgent, if you would care to leave a message with me –’

  ‘Chloe, in God’s name –’ the words burst out, then he stopped, To press her would be tantamount to bullying. She was so tense she was practically vibrating, and her superficial calm was more unnerving than a scream.

  ‘Forgive me. Concern is no excuse for bad manners.’ He indicated a chair, facing hers but not too close. ‘May I?’

  Her brief nod was almost imperceptible. But, as he sat, her shoulders lost a little of their rigidity.

  So, at least she was not anxious for him to leave. Nor did he intend doing so until he found out what was troubling her. But it would need extreme care.

  ‘I only wish my visit was for a happier purpose. Though seeing you –’

  ‘Please, Mr Santana, I have never sought compliments. False ones demean both of us.’

  ‘I swear to you’ – he deliberately held her gaze – ‘that I have never been more sincere.’ He saw her eyes widen, saw confusion in their depths, and sensed he was a step closer. ‘Seeing you makes the most difficult day easier to bear. And these are difficult days indeed.’ As she searched his face warily, he forced his thoughts away from kissing her soft mouth, and tried to concentrate. ‘I’m afraid the Railway Company is now without a contractor.’ He watched it register.

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘Horace Pascoe has absconded with a large sum of money. Obviously this will have serious consequences for the line. The directors held an emergency meeting this morning, and I’m here to ask … Sir Gerald,’ he could not bring himself to say your husband, ‘not to press for compensation.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ As he told her about the problems Pascoe had left behind, and the directors’ refusal to pay the men, her hand crept to her mouth.

  ‘But they can’t not pay them.’

  ‘Wages are the contractor’s responsibility. So the directors are not legally bound –’

  ‘You cannot support that argument.’ Her passionate cry mingled horror with a plea for reassurance.

  ‘I don’t. But I have no voting rights, and mine was the only dissenting voice.’

  ‘But what about the children?’

  ‘Exactly. Look, I hesitate to ask as you’ve done so much already –’

  ‘There’s no question we will help. This is clearly an emergency. I will send messages to the committee this very afternoon.’

  ‘Until I met you,’ he said, ‘navvies were simply the means by which my surveys and plans were transformed from figures and lines on paper into the reality of a railway track. But your generosity and your compassion have forced me to rethink my attitudes. My whole life has changed because of you.’

  She stared at him, digging with unconscious savagery at the broken skin around her thumbnail. Then her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips.

  ‘M-Miss Polmear told me of your great kindness to her. She is very appreciative of all you have done. The credit for that is yours alone.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s you who provided her with clothes and books.’

  ‘At your request,’ she reminded him. Looking down, she fingered the material of her skirts. She is looking forward with particular pleasure to your company when she visits the solicitor’s office.’

  ‘Oh Lord, I forgot.’

  ‘Forgot?’ she echoed.

  ‘To tell them she’s been found. She has no proof of identity, you
see. So I offered to vouch for her. It seemed the least I could do, as it was I who had brought the notice to her attention. But this business with Pascoe put it right out of my head.’

  The bewilderment on her pale face evolved slowly into realization, and he sensed she was replaying certain scenes and conversations in the light of what he had just said. Just as he glimpsed dawning hope, she looked quickly away. Suddenly he understood. He and Veryan Polmear?

  The urge to take her in his arms was overpowering. He restrained himself, but the effort was considerable. He chose his words with great care.

  ‘You have spoken to the young woman almost as often as I have. I’m sure you would agree she has many fine qualities. Let us both hope that someday soon she will be fortunate enough to meet a man worthy of her, someone with whom she can be truly happy.’

  Chloe’s eyes widened. ‘You mean … it’s not –?’ The first faint touches of colour appeared along her cheekbones.

  ‘No.’ He was quietly firm. ‘It never was. Never could be.’

  Nibbling her lower lip, she averted her head.

  An ormolu clock on the marble mantle struck the hour, reminding James of the responsibility now resting on him. Yet something had changed. It did not weigh quite as heavily as it had an hour ago. He leaned towards her.

  ‘There is so much I want to discuss with you. But as soon as I’ve spoken to Sir Gerald I must –’

  ‘He isn’t here.’ Her colour deepened. ‘He’s in Truro attending a business meeting. He wasn’t sure if he would be back tonight. But the moment he returns I will tell him about Mr Pascoe. Though regarding the penalty clauses and so on, I think you, or one of the other directors, will need to speak to him personally.’

  James rose to his feet, his mouth twisting. ‘It will be me.’ After a pause he said, ‘I am staying at the Royal Hotel in Falmouth until I find permanent lodgings. Perhaps Sir Gerald could send word there when it’s convenient for him to see me?’

  She nodded. ‘I should have offered you some refreshment.’

  He smiled. ‘Next time?’

  They both moved towards the door. He reached it first and turned to face her. Her lashes fluttered down.

  ‘Thank you for coming.’ Her manner was formal, correct, but in her tone he detected relief and gratitude.

  He waited, knowing courtesy demanded she offer her hand, understanding – probably better than she did – her reluctance. When she did, he held her fingers lightly for a moment then lifted them to his lips.

  He saw her breath catch; saw the warm wash of colour rise from her throat to her hairline as she turned her head away. Her mouth quivered and she began to tremble.

  Moved beyond words, James covered her hand with his.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, rigid.

  He stood perfectly still, neither tightening nor loosening his hold. It had to be her choice. Watching her inner battle he suffered for her, biting his tongue so hard he tasted blood.

  She looked up at him, shaking, agonized. ‘This is wrong. I am married. I made my vows before God.’

  ‘You live in his house. You bear his name. But you do not share his bed.’

  He watched the colour drain from her face. She swayed, and reached blindly for a chair. He helped her sit then crouched beside her, still holding her hand. Her response spoke for itself.

  ‘Is it so –? Have I –? Does it show in same way? I’ve been so careful –’ Her fingers tightened convulsively. She looked up, her face gaunt with dread. ‘Do other people know?’

  He was tempted to deny it, purely to comfort her. But she had lived with lies for too long. Only the truth could free her. But the truth would hurt. He had to be gentle. ‘No one can know, unless you’ve told them.’

  ‘I haven’t, I haven’t.’ She shook her head violently.

  ‘But Chloe, there’s more than a little suspicion. ’

  ‘Diana and Loveday,’ she murmured.

  He remained silent. The perplexing rumours Gilbert Mabey had mentioned could wait.

  ‘How – how did you know?’

  ‘Your eyes. Certain experiences change a woman. It’s a change that shows in her eyes. You don’t have that look. Your eyes, my sweet Chloe, are innocent. I see in them not cynicism or dissembling, but sadness, and a longing to be loved. And I do love you, Chloe, just as you love me.’

  ‘Stop it. Please. It’s impossible. I can’t –’ Pressing her fingers against her mouth she shook her head.

  ‘You love me, Chloe,’ he stated quietly. He had never expected, hadn’t imagined ever feeling like this. As she raised exhausted, tear-bright eyes, he saw how the battle she’d been fighting with herself had taken her to the limits of her strength.

  A deep sigh shuddered through her. ‘Yes. But it makes no difference.’ She stood up, porcelain pale but erect. ‘I gave my word.’

  He rose, facing her. ‘Chloe, it’s not a marriage, it’s a sham.’

  ‘I cannot leave him.’ She tugged the bell-pull.

  ‘I won’t accept that.’ His voice roughened and he tried to swallow the stiffness in his throat. You cannot continue with this charade. It is destroying your health.’

  Her fragile composure cracked. ‘I was managing until you came.’

  ‘Were you? Was that why you were at the apothecary’s? Because you are managing so well?’

  ‘A tonic – the doctor suggested – I was managing. I knew no different. But now … Do you know what you’ve done?’ Her voice was a strangled whisper. ‘The cruelty? Showing me something I can never have?’

  ‘Chloe, my dearest –’

  ‘Shh.’ She tensed then drew a deep breath and folded her hands.

  The door opened. ‘Hawkins, will you ask Nathan to bring Mr Santana’s horse, please?’

  The butler bowed and retreated, leaving the door open. Chloe walked out into the hall. James’s hat and gloves lay on a side table. She stopped beside them, avoiding his eye, and spoke for anyone who might be listening.

  ‘Food will be delivered to the shanty village as soon as arrangements can be made, certainly no later than the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ll come yourself.’ He wanted to lift her in his arms, put her on his horse, and carry her away forever from this elegant, soulless house of lies. ‘I’m sure the men and their families would welcome the opportunity to show their appreciation.’

  ‘I – ah –’ She turned her head, and he realized she was trying to blink away tears before they spilled over and betrayed her.

  He couldn’t leave her. He couldn’t stay. ‘Please?’ Sensing the butler’s flicker of surprise he forced jovial concern into his voice. ‘You really should. Your committee will want confirmation that their gifts are going where they are most needed.’

  ‘I’m sure Lady Diana and Mrs Hosking will come if their other engagements permit. Apparently they were much impressed by their last visit.’ Her wry tone almost disguised the tremor in her voice. ‘On the journey home they talked of little else.’ She walked to the open front door and stood waiting, leaving him no alternative but to leave.

  ‘I’m sorry you had a wasted journey, Mr Santana. But rest assured, even if I am not here, my husband will be told of your visit the moment he returns.’ Those words, and their implication, echoed in his mind long after he had left Trewan land.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘What the hell d’you call this?’ Nipper stared at the contents of his bowl. ‘Where’s the veg? Where the meat? There’s nothing here but potatoes and gristle.’

  ‘And dumplings,’ Veryan pointed out. ‘You’ve got the same as everyone else.’

  ‘This isn’t food, it’s just slop. I seen dishwater with more meat in it.’

  ‘I can only cook what’s available.’

  ‘How’s a man supposed to work without proper food in his belly?’

  ‘Stop your moaning,’ Queenie snapped from her chair by the beer barrels. ‘If I hadn’t stood in that bleddy queue for hours, all you’d have is bleddy nettle soup. So just shu
t up, all right? Bleddy Pascoe. If I got my hands on him, he’d know what for.’

  ‘What about our money?’ Mac fretted. ‘If they’re not going to pay us –’

  ‘It’s all that engineer’s fault,’ Yorky growled. ‘Ever since he came –’

  ‘How can it be his fault?’ Tom showed rare impatience. ‘It wasn’t him who ran off with the money. Would you have had the nerve to come on the line like he did this afternoon, and tell us what had happened? No, you wouldn’t. If it wasn’t for him, we’d still be in the dark. You can’t say the man haven’t got guts.’

  ‘Listen, you lot,’ Queenie interrupted, ‘I been thinking.’

  ‘Dear life,’ someone groaned. ‘What now?’

  She could not have missed the sighs and mutters but chose to ignore them. ‘Seeing you aren’t going to get paid this month, I’ll give you tickets for your board and beer.’

  ‘Oh aye?’ Mac’s dour face was even more gloomy than usual. ‘So how much extra will that cost us?’

  ‘Nothing extra. I aren’t greedy. No, I won’t ask no more than the ten per cent Pascoe charged. That’s fair, isn’t it? After all, it’s my money, and my risk. I still got to pay the brewery. So I reckon you’re doing all right. But I’m warning you now: all tickets are to be paid off the day you get your wages. Anybody don’t like it, they know what they can do.’

  ‘Some choice,’ Paddy grumbled, and the queue shuffled forward.

  During their meal the men continued to discuss Pascoe’s disappearance and the likely repercussions. Even after they finished eating, they were still so absorbed they virtually ignored Veryan when she began collecting the dirty dishes. As Queenie levered herself out of her chair and disappeared out to the latrine before the evening’s drinking started, Veryan carried half the bowls to the small table to be washed up. Picking up the rest, Tom followed her.

  ‘Can I see you later?’ He kept his voice low and his back to the men. ‘There’s something –’

  ‘No.’ She felt aggrieved that he so obviously wanted to hide the fact he was speaking to her. She knew it was irrational, and the knowledge increased her confusion and her anger. She wasn’t even sure who she was angry with: herself or him. ‘I promised Davy a story.’ Head bent she plunged the bowls into hot water. First he deliberately ignored her; now all of a sudden he wanted – What exactly did he want? Don’t let Queenie be right.