The Iron Road

by Jane Jackson

  ‘No, Gerald. Oh, you’re so convincing. But then you always have been. I really believed you loved me.’

  ‘I do love you.’ His voice was unexpectedly hoarse. Seeing her wounded incredulity he added, ‘In my own way. Chloe, I didn’t choose to be as I am. Believe me, it has caused me more grief than you can ever comprehend. But none of us can help our nature. It is something we are born with.’

  ‘Then why,’ she cried, ‘did you not stay with others of your kind? How can you say you love me, yet do what you did? What kind of love is it that lies and cheats?’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ For the first time his mask of impassivity cracked and she saw his desperation. ‘I had no choice. Chloe, I have wealth and status, a position in society. But in the eyes of the law I – and men like me – are beasts, loathsome and abominated. I could be sent to prison for doing – for being what nature and God,’ he laughed harshly, ‘made me.’

  Gazing at him, seeing the depth of his torment, despite all her own suffering she felt a sharp twist of sympathy. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

  His expression changed: hope turning to quickly hidden triumph. ‘Come, Chloe, we can –’

  ‘No, Gerald.’ She cut him short with quiet finality. ‘I meant what I said: I’m leaving.’

  ‘Have you thought, really thought, about this? I could cut you off without a penny.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, you could. I expect you will. But before you do I want my father’s house returned to me. Legally it may belong to you, but morally it’s mine. I also want enough money to pay the navvies two weeks’ wages so they won’t starve while they look for other work.’

  He stared at her in disbelief. ‘This has gone far enough.’ He was brisk, impatient. ‘You are being ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s a small price to pay for my silence, Gerald,’ she said gently and saw the flicker of shock and realization in his eyes.

  His knuckles gleamed white as he gripped the glass and swallowed the last of his drink. ‘How could you?’ he whispered. ‘How can you hate me so much, after all I’ve given you?’

  She resisted another pang of pity, recognizing his ploy. ‘Indeed, I have learned a great deal in the past four years. I don’t hate you, Gerald. I loved you.’ She saw the quick leap of hope.

  ‘Then –’

  ‘I said loved.’ Interrupting him was something she would not have dared to do a fortnight ago. ‘I don’t any more. But nor do I have the heart, or the strength, to hate you.’

  His very lack of expression told her she had struck deep. He gestured in dismissal. ‘Well, if you are determined to go I will not stop you. But at least have the common sense to wait until the morning. It could be dangerous on the roads. Particularly if the navvies –’

  ‘Thank you, but I prefer to leave now.’ Chloe knew she was in greater danger by remaining here than from the navvies. Knowledge was power, and she had too much. ‘It’s not yet dark, and Polly is coming with me. As soon as the financial arrangements are confirmed I will be leaving Cornwall for a while, so you will suffer minimal embarrassment and will be free to continue living as you always have.’

  He stared at her as though she was a stranger he had never seen before. She was no longer the grateful, eager-to-please child he had manipulated to suit himself. They had both been living a lie. But while he had done so deliberately, she had not even known.

  Still wearing her riding habit Chloe clutched her small reticule between gloved hands and gazed out of the window as the barouche swayed and jolted down the drive. Her trunk and overnight case together with Polly’s bulging carpetbag were piled on the seat opposite. The sun had set in a glory of crimson and gold, and streaks of high cloud glowed deep pink against the paling sky.

  ‘Beg pardon, ma’am, but can I ask where we’re going?’ Polly settled her hat more firmly.

  Chloe ’s reflection smiled back at her. ‘The Royal Hotel at Falmouth.’ She did not look back.

  Two days later Tom stood in the queue with the rest of the gang moving slowly nearer to the table set up outside the shop. Sitting on a rickety old chair, the bank official looked hot and uncomfortable in his black suit and stiff white collar. His pale face glistened and his hair was slicked down and shiny with pomade. Next to him sat Mr Santana with Lady Radclyff alongside.

  The engineer had made a little speech telling them it was only through Her Ladyship ’s kindness that they were getting paid at all. She had gone pink, and Tom thought he’d never seen her look prettier.

  ‘Name?’ The clerk dipped his pen in the squat ink bottle and carefully drew it across the edge to remove the excess.

  ‘Tom Reskilly.’

  The clerk looked at Bernard Timms, who ran a stubby finger down his list, then gave a brief nod.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t trust them,’ Tom had overheard the engineer explaining the lists and checks to Lady Radclyff, ‘but navvies are coming and going all the time. Some gangs stick together for the duration of a job. Others change almost daily. In those cases no one recognizes anyone else, and a man’s name is whatever he chooses to call himself. I want to make sure that everyone entitled to pay gets it, but only once.’

  Tom had seen her give the engineer a quick shy smile. It had been obvious from the first time he saw them together that Mr Santana admired Lady Radclyff. But now, though they were both so polite and proper, it was plain as day just from the way they looked at each other that there was something more between them.

  Envy, rare and powerful, mocked him. Was he going to leave without even trying? Pride was a fine thing. But where he was going the winters were bitterly cold. Pride didn’t warm a man’s bed, or his heart. All right, so he didn’t have much money, certainly not as much as her. But he could make his way. He had enough for his fare and to get a start. What he lacked in cash he made up for in a strong back, a hunger to learn, and determination to succeed. If he didn’t ask, he’d never know. If she turned him down … He’d deal with that when the time came.

  ‘Make your mark there,’ the bank clerk pointed.

  ‘I’ll sign,’ Tom said, unable to mask his pride. Taking the pen, he wrote his name with care.

  With the cash in his pocket reassuringly heavy against his thigh, he crossed to the shanty, ducking his head automatically as he went through the doorway. Veryan stood at the table chopping vegetables. Davy sat by the fire, his chin on his knees.

  Tom hesitated. He had hoped to find her alone.

  Davy looked round. ‘All right, Tom?’ He tried to grin, and Tom saw his grubby face was tear-stained.

  ‘I’m better for seeing you two.’ Sticking his hands in his pockets he fingered the coins, awkward in his uncertainty. ‘Where’s Queenie then?’

  Veryan glanced up. ‘She said she was going in to see Davy’s mother for a minute.’ Indicating the boy with a sidelong glance she gave her head a tiny shake. ‘Bessie isn’t well.’

  ‘She isn’t ill, she’s drunk,’ Davy said, hunching his shoulders. ‘She wants my money. I know she’s me ma, but I don’t have to give it to her, do I, Tom? She’ll only use it for more drink. Then I won’t have nothing to buy food.’

  ‘You earned it, boy. I reckon it’s yours. You don’t have to give it to no – anyone,’ he corrected himself carefully. He took a step towards Veryan. Her cheeks were just as pink and pretty as Lady Radclyff’s. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. ‘Can I talk to you a minute?’

  She nodded, and carried on chopping.

  He hesitated again, pushed one hand through his hair, and rubbed his face. ‘Dear life!’ It was half laugh, half frustration.

  She looked up quickly. ‘What?’

  ‘Me. I never been short of words before. Always had the gift. Known for it I am. It didn’t matter then, see. It was just a bit of fun. But now … well, it’s different. It’s important. So I don’t want to say it wrong.’

  She had stopped chopping, but she wouldn’t look at him. ‘Well,’ she said softly, ‘why don’t you just say it, whatever it
is?’

  ‘All right. I will.’ He cleared a sudden thickness from his throat.

  ‘You know I said I had ambitions? Well, I’m going to Canada.’ He almost jumped as her head flew up.

  ‘Canada?’ She couldn’t hide her shock.

  He nodded. ‘It’s a big country, and they’ve only just started building their railways. They’ll need thousands and thousands of miles of track. And they’ll need contractors. Men like me. I’ve spent my life on the lines. I know the job.’ He had to pass his tongue over his teeth to free his upper lip. Sweat trickled down his back and sides. ‘But I’ll need help with letters and accounts and stuff like that. Just till I get the hang of it. It’s got to be someone I can trust. So I thought …’ He cleared his throat again and blurted, ‘Want to come with me, do you? Look, I know it’s a bit sudden. It’s took me all me time to get up the nerve to ask. You just think about it for a minute, all right? I’ll’ – he gestured towards Davy – ‘I’ll chat to the boy while –’

  ‘Wait.’ Veryan put out a hand to stop him. ‘Wait. Listen. I’ve been thinking, too.’ Her face crumpled in a wry smile. ‘I haven’t slept for thinking. But I just kept going round in circles. All right, I’ve got a little money, so I won’t have to go on the tramp, or on the parish. But I’ll never be accepted back into society, not after all the years I’ve spent on the lines.’ She hesitated, and he saw her colour deepen. ‘What happens after?’

  He stared at her, bewildered. ‘What do you mean? After what?’

  As she moistened her lips he realized she was just as nervous. Hope leapt in him. ‘After you get the hang of it and you don’t need my help any more.’

  ‘Bleddy hell,’ he breathed, his eyes rolling in relief and frustration as he leaned forward and grasped her shoulders. ‘I’ll always need you, girl. Always.’

  She made a wry face. ‘I vowed I would never be a navvy woman.’

  ‘You won’t be no navvy woman,’ Tom retorted instantly. ‘You’ll be a contractor’s wife. You’ll have the respect you deserve.’

  She studied his face. ‘You’re a kind, decent man, Tom Reskilly. Yes, I’ll go with you.’

  ‘You will?’ Even though it was what he had so desperately wanted, he could hardly believe it. ‘I’ll give you a good life, maid. That’s a promise. While there’s breath in my body you’ll want for nothing.’

  ‘Tom, what about Davy?’ As he glanced from the boy back to her anxious face, his thoughts racing, she continued quietly, ‘I thought, with William gone things would be better for him. But in some ways it’s worse. He isn’t being beaten any more. But Bessie is selling herself for drink, and he’s left to fend for himself. I can’t just walk away and leave him. What sort of a life will he have?’

  ‘Bleddy awful. But she is his mother. He might not want to leave her. And what if she doesn’t want to let him go? She’d have us for child stealing.’

  ‘Tom, if she goes on the parish, they’ll put him in the children’s home. What if she takes up with another navvy? What will happen to him then?’ She straightened, facing him squarely. ‘If he wants to come, will you take both of us? I’ll pay our fares,’ she added quickly. ‘I’ll leave money with Bessie to cover his wages. Tom, I have to offer him the chance. Then it’s up to him to choose.’

  ‘You’re lovely,’ he murmured. ‘Of course he can come. I’d miss the little b –’ He stopped just in time. ‘– little tacker something awful.’

  The warmth in her eyes made his heart swell. ‘You truly are a kind, decent man, Tom Reskilly.’ Wiping her hands on a rag, she crouched beside the boy. ‘You know everybody will be leaving here soon, Davy?’

  He looked over his shoulder. ‘Can I go with you?’

  Tom and Veryan exchanged a glance. ‘That would mean leaving your mother,’ Tom pointed out.

  The boy’s head drooped like a flower too heavy for its stem. ‘She won’t care.’ He wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘I don’t want to stay here no more.’

  Veryan swept the child into her arms and Tom saw her blink back welling tears. ‘We’d love you to come with us. Wouldn’t we, Tom?’

  Leaning forward, Tom ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘We’re going a long way, boy. We’re going to make a new life in a new country.’

  Davy looked up at him, a smile lighting his tear-streaked face. ‘Cor! When?’

  ‘Now.’ Tom glanced from the half-prepared meal to Veryan. ‘You’re not doing any more of this. Meet me back here as soon as you’re ready. I’m going to fetch one of the horses before someone else gets them.’

  Veryan pulled off her makeshift apron. ‘Come on, Davy. Let’s wash your face and hands, then you can help me pack.’

  Twenty minutes later she left her little hut for the last time.

  Seeing the horse tied up outside, Davy raced across to the shanty. Veryan followed, carrying her meagre belongings wrapped in a thin blanket protected by a piece of tarpaulin to keep everything dry. It wasn’t a big bundle nor, despite the books, was it particularly heavy. She squared her shoulders. That was just as it should be. They were going to make a new, better life and leave the past behind.

  Holding her breath against the stench that gushed out as she opened Bessie’s door, Veryan glanced round, relieved not to see Queenie. She placed the money wrapped in a twist of paper on the filthy pillow beside Bessie’s matted head. She had thought about leaving a note then realized it was pointless. Bessie couldn’t read. Unconscious and snoring loudly, Davy’s mother didn’t stir.

  As she re-entered the big shanty she saw Davy sitting on the top bunk while Tom stuffed clothes into his pack. Davy looked both nervous and excited. She knew exactly how he felt.

  ‘You pick up any clothes for the boy?’ Tom asked.

  She shook her head. ‘There’s nothing fit to take. We’ll buy him some new things when we reach Penryn.’

  Davy’s eyes were huge and his grin reached almost to his ears. ‘Cor! Can I have –?’

  ‘What’s that horse doing out there?’ Queenie waddled in. ‘Where you been, girl? The veg should be on cooking by now.’ She dropped heavily into her chair. ‘C’mon, girl. Move yourself. I’ve had some terrible day.’

  ‘Ready?’ Tom grinned at Veryan as he lifted Davy down and slung the pack over his shoulder.

  She nodded, reassured by his solid presence. He would never let her down. She held out her hand to Davy. ‘Ready.’

  ‘Here,’ Queenie shouted, as they reached the door. ‘What’s going on? Where do you think you’re going?’

  Looking up at Tom, Veryan smiled. ‘Canada.’

  Outside in the sunshine, ignoring Queenie’s shrieks of rage, Veryan watched Tom throw Davy and the bundles up onto the horse’s back. Then, falling into step alongside him as he led the horse out of the shanty village, she slipped her hand into his.

  Sir Gerald Radclyff stood at the window looking down across the park to the stranded locomotive lit by the late afternoon sun. He raised the crystal glass and swallowed a mouthful of fine wine. A dead end in front, a broken bridge behind. Tossing back the rest of the wine he tugged the bell-pull.

  ‘Have the carriage brought round, Hawkins. I feel lucky tonight.’

  Seated alongside Chloe in the cab, James leaned forward to look through the gates.

  ‘No wonder he made me promise not to visit,’ Chloe murmured. The drive was overgrown, the lawns unkempt, the flowerbeds full of weeds. The house itself was of pleasing design, but peeling paintwork and windows half-covered with ivy and Virginia creeper proclaimed years of neglect.

  James took her hand. ‘Are you looking forward to moving back in?’

  ‘I won’t live there again. In fact, I’ve decided that as soon as the transfer of ownership to me has been completed, I shall sell it.’

  ‘What if he reneges on the agreement?’ James was thoughtful.

  Chloe smiled. ‘He won’t. He gave me his word. Besides, he has too much to lose.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to sell?’

  Turning to hi
m she nodded. ‘Quite sure. It’s funny, when I needed comfort or mental escape I used to think about this house. But I don’t need that any more. Anyway, if you’re going to be working abroad, I want to be with you.’

  ‘You don’t want to have somewhere of your own to come back to?’

  She smiled at him. ‘Why would I want to come back? There’s nothing for me here. My home is where you are.’

  ‘Dearest Chloe.’ Raising her hand to his lips, he tapped on the cab roof and when the little door opened, told the driver to take them back to Falmouth. After the flap closed, he turned to her again. ‘We’ll have dinner. Then I think you should get an early night. The next few days will be very full if we are to finalize matters before we leave for Spain.’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘I’m so looking forward to it.’ After looking out of the window for a moment she turned back to him. ‘It’s strange, but for weeks I felt quite ill. I suppose it was the strain. Yet though I’ve had no proper rest, and the last few days have been busier than ever, I …’ Her cheeks burned and though shyness forced her gaze down, she refused to let it stop her tongue. ‘I’m really not at all tired.’ There was a short silence.

  ‘Chloe?’ He tilted her chin, and what she saw in his eyes made her heart leap. ‘Are you sure?’

  She raised her eyes to his. ‘Oh yes, James.’ She smiled. ‘Quite sure.’

  The End

  For more information about

  Accent Press titles

  please visit

  www.accentpress.co.uk