Railroad

by Graham Masterton

  Collis got up to inspect the picture more closely. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘He reminds me of Stride. He has the same look of a bald eagle, with his eyes fixed on some suitably plump and defenceless prey.’

  Theodore smiled. ‘I can see what you mean. But you’re not still sore about your father, are you? We shouldn’t have come here if you are. It wasn’t really Senator Stride’s fault, any more than it was yours.’

  ‘I think it was very largely my fault,’ said Collis, looking down at Theodore seriously.

  ‘And Senator Stride’s, too?’

  Collis gave an affirmative nod.

  Theodore let out a long, anxious breath and then covered his mouth with his hand.

  ‘You’re not going to start questioning my morality again, are you?’ Collis said. ‘About seeking help from a man I despise?’

  ‘No,’ said Theodore, ‘I’m not going to do that. But I do believe you ought to start considering some of your principles more closely.’

  ‘I see. You’re still thinking about Arthur Teach, are you, and l’affaire des couvertures?’

  ‘I’m thinking about you, as a matter of fact. You seem to be less compromising lately. Both with other people and with yourself.’

  ‘Other people are uncompromising with me,’ said Collis.

  ‘Well, I know,’ answered Theodore. ‘But even Annie noticed, and remarked that you were harder in your criticisms these days, and more determined in the way you talked.’

  ‘Aren’t you pleased? We won’t be able to build this railroad without determination.’

  Theodore lifted his eyebrows in a subtle facial shrug. ‘Maybe you’re right. But I hope your determination won’t ride roughshod over other people’s feelings.’

  Collis looked at him. ‘You think that what I did to Arthur Teach I might do to you, too?’

  ‘I guess it’s possible.’

  ‘But the railroad is your scheme, Theo. The plans and the engineering are all yours.’

  ‘I know,’ said Theodore. ‘But plans and engineering don’t come to life without vision, do they? And the vision is yours. And who do people remember? The visionaries, or the engineers? Do they remember Hannibal, or the man who guided him over the Alps?’

  Collis was silent for a moment, his arms folded, his thin face engraved by shadows. ‘I’ll make you one promise, Theodore Jones, and as God is my witness I will never go back on it. Your name will be marked on our railroad, when it’s built, as proud and prominent as the name of the railroad company itself.’

  Just then the doors opened, and a breathy voice said, ‘Collis!’

  Collis turned, and there was Alice Stride, her face bright, her hands held up like a child at a Christmas party, in a grey velvet dress with a cream lace collar, and lace cuffs. She came tiptoeing into the room on tiny laced-up day shoes, and kissed him on both cheeks, pip-pop, and then laughed a little high trill of delight.

  Collis held her hands and squeezed them. She hadn’t changed, except that her hair was now tied up in ribbons. She was still vivacious, still poised, but her nose wasn’t any smaller, and her eyebrows were still heavy, and Collis still had the impression that she was the kind of girl who teased and mocked her men friends, rather than flirted with them, trying to attract with clever banter the attention that her looks rarely brought her.

  ‘You’ve lost weight,’ Alice told Collis. ‘And you’re so brown! If you stay out in California any longer, you’ll be the first Black Republican who’s actually black!’

  ‘You haven’t changed at all, Alice,’ Collis said. ‘You’re still the way I remember you. Charming.’

  ‘You didn’t answer my letter.’ She pouted, with feigned – or maybe not-so-feigned – hurt.

  ‘I know,’ said Collis, ‘and it’s been worrying me for weeks. But how could I find the words to answer?’

  Alice put her head on one side. ‘I’m not quite sure what you mean by that. But since you’re usually so glib, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, you’re being very bad-mannered. You haven’t introduced me to your handsome friend.’

  Theodore gave a restrained bow. ‘I’m honoured to make your acquaintance, Miss Stride. I’m Theodore Jones, a railroad engineer, from California.’

  ‘He describes himself very modestly,’ said Collis. ‘He is, in fact, the finest railroad engineer and surveyor on the continent.’

  ‘Well, that’s very nice,’ said Alice.

  ‘It’s more than nice,’ Collis told her, ‘it’s the whole reason we’re here. Except, of course, for me to renew our delightful friendship.’

  ‘I’m pleased you added that,’ Alice remarked, with a tart little smile.

  ‘I’m teasing,’ said Collis. ‘I’ve thought about you many a night in Sacramento, when the coyotes were howling at the moon, and the cool winds were blowing in from gold-mine country.’

  ‘Which reminded you most of me?’ asked Alice sharply. ‘The coyotes or the gold mines?’

  ‘The moon, of course,’ said Collis. ‘So serene and lofty that the dogs could never reach it, no matter how they howled, and the gold miners could never afford it, no matter how much gold they dug up.’

  There was a taut silence, and then Alice suddenly laughed out loud, a long peal of soprano joy. Theodore had to cover his mouth with his hand again, but this time to smother his mirth. Collis stood smiling with pleasure until Alice had recovered herself. She looked at him with dewy eyes, her hands clasped together, her diamond rings bright.

  ‘You’re quite shameless,’ she said. ‘Mr Jones – don’t you think he’s shameless? He could flatter a donkey into thinking it was a palomino. Thank goodness Delphine isn’t here. She would have fainted in a vapour, from sheer excess of compliments.’

  ‘How is Delphine?’ asked Collis. ‘Is she still in New York?’

  Alice shook her head. ‘She’s here in Washington now. There was tragedy in her family after the financial crash last year. Her father – well, her father is in a hospital. He made an attempt on his own life, by eating broken glass. They fear he may never recover his sanity. Her mother took it badly and went to stay with Delphine’s aunt in Boston. Delphine, because we are friends, and because my father is her godparent, came here.’

  ‘Is she staying here now? In this house?’ Collis enquired.

  ‘She did for a while. But I told you in my letter how determined she was not to be a burden on her family and friends. We argued with her, of course, and told her that she was always welcome, as long as she wanted to stay. There was no persuading her, though. After six or seven weeks, she found a position.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Collis said. ‘Delphine, in a position?’

  ‘You mustn’t underestimate her strength of character,’ said Alice. ‘She may be very pretty, and flirtatious, but she is also a girl of great courage.’

  ‘But what position has she taken? She’s not in a store, is she?’

  Alice smiled. ‘No, nothing like that. She’s working as a governess for Senator Carslake’s children. I saw her only last week, taking the three little mites for an afternoon walk in the park. She’s very well, though subdued, of course.’

  Theodore cleared his throat. ‘Is this a lady friend of yours, Collis?’

  ‘Yes. Or she was, before I had to leave New York.’

  ‘She still is, Collis, rest assured,’ put in Alice. ‘Although I fear that what I said in my letter is also still true. She has no wish to meet you again, not in her present circumstances.’

  ‘That’s absurd,’ said Collis. ‘She may have no money and no family, but what difference does that make? After I left New York, I was down to a few hundred dollars, and I had nothing to my name but disgrace.’

  ‘It’s different for a woman,’ Alice told him. ‘A woman needs a family of means behind her so that she does not feel obligated to accept proposals of marriage for the sake of domestic security, and so that the man she marries never has cause to say that she wed him for his money, or for his house. She also expects t
o offer her new husband a respectable dowry, and to be married in a ceremony of circumstance for which her father has paid.’

  ‘But isn’t your father acting as her legal parent? And aren’t you all the family she could wish for?’

  Alice smiled sadly. ‘We are. But Delphine is quite determined that she must accept what fate has brought her. She comes here for luncheon and dinner from time to time, and we always invite her to parties. Yet she won’t change her mind, and stay.’

  There was a short, regretful silence. Then Alice said, ‘You must take some tea, in any case. Why don’t you come through to the conservatory, and Hubert can bring us a tray. Do you like great cake, Mr Jones? It used to be baked by Martha Washington, for special days at Mount Vernon, and she passed the recipe to my grandmother.’

  Alice rang the bell, and the black footman, Hubert, reappeared. He led them through the gloomy hallway to the back of the house and opened the conservatory door for them. Then he arranged white-painted cast-iron garden chairs around a table for them, and they sat down, rather stiffly, while tea was prepared.

  With the afternoon so dark and the drizzle so persistent, the conservatory was like a chamber in Neptune’s palace. All around them, dark-leafed plants crowded and twined, and even the decorative iron pillars were sprouting leaves. On the glass roof over their heads, the rain ran down in endless scallops and then trickled into the gutters.

  ‘The truth is,’ said Theodore, ‘we are looking for your help.’

  Alice smiled at him cautiously. ‘I don’t see what I could possibly do to help you.’

  ‘You could do a great deal,’ put in Collis. ‘You see, we need to talk to as many Senators and Congressmen as we can about the possibility of building a Pacific railroad.’

  ‘Ah. You’ve come to Washington to lobby.’

  ‘Mostly, yes. And to sound out opinion, too, about what we’re proposing to do.’

  ‘That’s strange,’ Alice said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought of you for one moment as a railroad man, Collis. Or even a businessman. I always saw you as careless, fancy-free, and answerable to no one at all. Especially to politicians, or stockholders.’

  ‘I’ve changed in the past five months,’ said Collis.

  She looked at him. Her eyes were deep, and they glittered in the subaqueous light like faceted jet. There was something about her expression that reminded Collis disturbingly of her father; as if behind her grace and politeness there was a personality of utter coldness and reserve.

  ‘I’ve noticed,’ she said. ‘You would never have come to me for help before, not for anything. I know how difficult you found it to ask my father for money.’

  ‘So what do you conclude from that?’ asked Collis.

  ‘It’s simple,’ said Alice. ‘I conclude that whatever this Pacific railroad business is all about, it’s more important to you than anything has ever been before.’

  Theodore gave Collis a quick, uncertain glance. But Collis sat back in his chair and smiled. ‘What if it is? Is it so terrible for a man to find a vocation?’

  ‘Not at all,’ teased Alice. ‘In fact, I think that railroads are quite romantic. But if you feel so earnestly about it, and place so much value on my assistance, then I must be able to ask for something in return.’

  Collis looked at her suspiciously.

  ‘I don’t want anything arduous from you, nor at all unpleasant,’ she reassured him coquettishly. ‘I would simply like you to escort me to the White House next week. Harriet Lane is holding a dance for some of her younger friends in Washington, and although Congressman Taylor has already asked me, I should prefer to go with you.’

  Theodore, amused, said, ‘That doesn’t sound like too demanding a deal, Collis. In fact, I envy you.’

  ‘Of course it isn’t demanding,’ said Alice lightly. ‘Quite apart from the pleasure of having Washington’s most distinguished young hostess on your arm, you’ll be able to meet lots of young congressmen, and harangue them about railroads all night.’

  ‘Theodore must come, too,’ said Collis. ‘After all, he knows the hard facts about the engineering.’

  ‘Theodore is most welcome to come,’ Alice told them. ‘I have the partner for him. A young lady who thinks that beards were devised by the Lord for the sole purpose of tickling her cheeks.’

  ‘I’m married, I regret,’ said Theodore.

  ‘I don’t think that will present any difficulties,’ said Alice. ‘So is she. Her husband’s Senator Fredericks, and he’s in Minnesota this month, caring for his sick father.’

  Theodore was about to protest, but Collis gave him a frown which meant, ‘Not now – wait until we’ve gotten what we came for’. And so Theodore tried to look pleased, and folded his arms, and bent forward in his chair as if he was suffering from indigestion. Just then Hubert came in with the tea-tray, which bore a Georgian silver teapot left behind by the British at Bladensburg, and fine Sèvres cups. There was a fresh cake, too, sliced and still warm.

  ‘Now,’ Alice said as she poured the tea, ‘let me think of some likely Congressmen for you. And some lawyers and bankers, too, who might be interested.’

  She passed Collis his cup and added, ‘I could give you an excellent tailor, if you’re thinking of wearing anything special next week.’

  Collis said, ‘You’re very kind. But the Congressmen and the lawyers will suit me well enough.’

  After a night of boisterous winds, the morning was dry and crisp, and when Collis walked to Senator Carslake’s house, the muddy streets were already forming a crust. Wastepaper and rubbish had been blown everywhere, and the wooden sidewalks, where there were any, were swirled with the chaff from dried horse manure. Collis smoked a cheroot and walked with his hands in his pockets.

  Senator Carslake’s house wasn’t far from Senator Stride’s. It was one of the Seven Buildings on Nineteeth Street at Pennsylvania Avenue, next door to the corner house where President James Madison had lived with his wife, Dolley. Collis went straight up to the front door and rang the bell.

  He had to wait for two or three minutes before a coffee-coloured Negro came to the door and opened it. ‘Yes, sir? You expected, sir?’ he said.

  ‘I want to see the governess, Miss Spooner,’ replied Collis.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. The rule is, the staff don’t have no callers.’

  ‘Then I want to see the Senator.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. The Senator, he ain’t here. The Senator, he’s in Baltimore.’

  ‘Then Mrs Carslake.’

  ‘She’s got herself a headache, sir. I’m sorry.’

  Collis took a card out of his breast pocket. ‘In that case, would you be good enough to leave this on the hall-stand for Miss Spooner, and ensure that she gets it?’

  ‘I can’t do that, sir. The rule is, staff don’t get no calling cards, no more than callers.’

  Collis let out an exasperated sigh. ‘What do you suggest I do, then? Slit my throat and write a message on the front steps in blood?’

  The Negro peered at him warily. ‘The front steps, they get cleaned at ten, sir, so there ain’t no point in that.’

  Collis took off his hat and carefully wiped around the band with his handkerchief. The Negro stood by the door, watching him patiently. The wind tossed some loose straw against the railings in front of the house. At last Collis looked up and said, ‘It’s all right. You’ve got me beat, whatever I ask for. You can close the door now.’

  Collis left the house and walked south on Nineteenth Street. He felt empty and depressed. He had been thinking about Delphine all night, until his bedsheets had been twisted up like a rope, and he had been obliged to take a large tumbler of Old Tate to get himself to sleep. It had never occurred to him that he might see her again so soon. After he had left New York, he had imagined that he would spend years and years in California, impoverished and aimless, and he had let himself forget her. Even when Alice had written him and said that Ohio Life and Mutual had crashed, and that Delphine was a pauper, he had cons
ciously let his memories of her fade away, like a calotype clouded by too much silver nitrate.

  But now she was close, and her name had taken on life again, and warmth, and all night long he had been tempted by a ghostly image of that last day in the Spooners’ front parlour. He had dozed once, and heard her whisper, ‘Collis, my lover’. The whisper had seemed so loud that he had sat up in bed and looked around his room to see if she was really there.

  As he crossed F Street, taking two or three quick steps to avoid a farmer’s wagon laden with winter vegetables, he saw the children. He didn’t realise at first that they were the children, Senator Carslake’s children, gathering at the side of F Street on their way back from a walk. There was a pale-faced boy of nine, in a brown tweed overcoat; a girl of seven, with chestnut ringlets and a white fur muffler; and a boy of four, still dressed in skirts, who was holding the hand of his governess.

  Collis had already raised his hat before he fully understood that she was Delphine. She was even more petite than he remembered, and her hair was drawn up and pinned under a severe blue bonnet. Her dress was pale blue, with an overdress of black, and there was no mistaking at all that she was employed to look after these three children, and was not their mother. Mothers rarely took their own children out, and when they did, they rode in carriages.

  He called hoarsely, ‘Delphine?’

  She was busy ushering her little cavalcade across the ruts of F Street. She looked up, and her eyes were as dreamy and huge as ever. Her full pink lips were slightly parted, her cheeks were flushed with the February cold, and she was so pretty that he wondered why he had ever left her in New York, only to meet her here, now, under these sad and strange circumstances, on a windy street in Washington.

  Delphine reached out and held the older boy back. The girl looked up at her and said, ‘What is it, Spooner? What are we waiting for?’

  But Delphine said, ‘Hush, Amelia. This is a gentleman.’

  ‘I didn’t know staff were acquainted with gentlemen,’ the older boy piped up. ‘I thought staff weren’t supposed to.’

  ‘Delphine?’ Collis repeated.