Off the Rails

by Beryl Kingston

  Rufus was too cheerful with drink to realize that he was treading on dangerous ground. ‘Oh, she’s his fiancée,’ he said. ‘They’ve just got engaged. He was telling me all about it.’

  ‘Engaged?’ his father said, eyebrows disappearing into his hair. ‘Never heard the like. Most unsuitable person I ever saw. Looks like a governess. I can’t imagine what Sir Mortimer will have to say about it. Does she have a name, this person?’

  Rufus dithered but he could hardly disobey his father by not answering his question – not now the conversation was under way. ‘Millicent,’ he said ‘Millicent Smith.’

  The eyebrows disappeared completely. ‘Smith?’ the noble lord said and his voice was shrill with outrage. ‘Smith?’

  ‘She’s a deuced fine gel, sir,’ Rufus said, trying to make amends. ‘Frightfully jolly.’

  ‘Jolly!’ his father said. ‘My dear boy! She’s common.’ Sir Mortimer would certainly have to be told about this and the sooner the better.

  20

  THE NEXT MORNING, while most of his guests were sleeping off their excesses, George Hudson woke at first light. Despite the enormous success of the grand opening, Mr Meek’s spiteful jibe still scratched in his brain and, as always when he felt he’d been unfairly put down, he needed to work to restore his sense of importance. He wrapped his dressing gown around him and strode off to the library, where he took Nathaniel’s huge railway map from its long drawer and spread it out across the table. Just the sight of it restored his equilibrium, all those long dependable double lines, drawn in red ink where his railways already ran, and in pencil where the lines were being built or still in planning. It was admirable. He traced the route from York to London with his finger, through Normanton to Sheffield and Derby and then on to Rugby. I’ll complete the South Milford to Altoft section as soon as it can be done, he thought, and then I can link up with the North Midland Railway. That should have been done long since. And I must send a letter to Mr Stephenson and ask him to dinner. We hardly had time to talk about anything yesterday and his proposal for a route to Scarborough and Whitby is very sound. Needs following up. A line like that would do a deal of trade.

  Let Meek and his nasty-minded cronies say what they like, he thought, as he sat down at his desk and reached for pen and ink. I’m the man who gets things done – and I’m a damned fine Lord Mayor, what’s more, which nobody can deny. Why shouldn’t I be Mayor two years running? All that fuss about it being unconstitutional is just a lot of rot. If you’ve got a good ‘un, stick with him, that’s what I say, and damn the constitution.

  By the time the letter was written, Lizzie had come waddling in to see where he was and to tell him that breakfast would be served in half an hour and that the post had come.

  It was a very satisfactory post, for the first three letters were singing his praises for throwing such an enjoyable party and the fourth was from Harrow school saying they were pleased to offer his son George a place in the school.

  ‘There you are, George,’ he said to his quiet son, who was sitting beside his mother eating bacon and kidneys as neatly as he could and concentrating hard. ‘When you’re thirteen, you’ll be going to Harrow. What do ’ee think of that?’

  George swallowed the latest mouthful, wiped his mouth with his table napkin and said he was gratified.

  ‘And so you should be, boy,’ his father boomed. ‘Cost me a deal of money has that. So see you’re worth it.’ Then he thought he ought to pay attention to his other children. ‘Sit up straight, John, I don’t like to see you all a-slouch. It’s bad for the spine. Then if you’re a good boy I’ll send you to Harrow too. And you an’ all, William, when you’re old enough.’

  ‘What about me, Pa?’ Ann said, tossing her newly brushed ringlets at him and flirting her eyes because she knew he liked it. ‘Am I to go to Harrow too?’

  ‘You,’ he told her, making eyes back, ‘are to have a rich husband what’ll keep you in fine style and give you everything you want. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?’ Then, having distributed largesse to all four of them, he went back to spearing his kidneys and picked up the morning paper to see what they had to say about his grand opening. And it had better be good.

  Over on the other side of town in the sunlit warmth of their pale green breakfast room in Shelton House, Mr and Mrs Cartwright and their now extended family were all talking at once. There was so much they wanted to say and it all had to be said that very minute. Mary wanted to know when her Milly was going to get married and scowled when Felix said he didn’t know because he had to ask his father’s permission first and his father was away visiting a cousin for the next two months, so she asked if she could be a bridesmaid and carry the flowers and clapped her hands when Milly said yes; Nat asked whether Felix was going to be his ‘really truly brother’ and clapped his hands when he was told he was, declaring to anyone who was actually listening that he’d always wanted a really truly brother; and Milly laughed at them and said she couldn’t really believe it ‘even now’ and her grandmother laughed at them and said she’d never heard anything to equal it and Nathaniel begged them to speak ‘one at a time’ and none of them took any notice of him. Felix was in a state of such overpowering happiness that he could barely put a sentence together without blushing and Jane smiled and smiled because her two babies were so gloriously, transparently happy with one another. And wasn’t that exactly what she’d said was going to happen? And as if all this weren’t enough, they had three more days to enjoy themselves before Milly and Felix and her dear Nathaniel had to go back to their work.

  ‘’Tis a beautiful day,’ she said, when they finally paused for breath. ‘Let’s take a drive out into the country and have us a picnic. What do ’ee think?’

  They had two picnics, because the weather held for them, and they dined well and noisily every evening, and when the happy lovers finally kissed them goodbye and left for their short drive to Longfield Hall, Jane was still stupid with delight at what had happened. Oh, she thought, life is so good.

  Milly and Felix took such a long time to say goodbye to one another when they reached Longfield Hall that Nathaniel’s coachman, who was waiting on his seat, discreetly looking in another direction, was forced to dismount and remind the young gentleman that he had a stagecoach to catch and that if they didn’t get back to the Star and Garter in good time it would go without him. And as he was due to appear in court the following afternoon, Felix sighed and agreed to get back into the carriage.

  It was a long lonely journey back to London and the overnight stop at Rugby only served to increase his loneliness, for the food was poor and the bed was extremely uncomfortable. He felt weary and decidedly grubby when he climbed back on the coach early the next morning. I must take a cab to Charlotte Square and get washed and changed before I go to court, he thought. It wouldn’t be at all proper to appear there in his present dishevelled state.

  He was surprised to be greeted at the door of the house by his father’s butler, Mr Jennings.

  ‘Sir Mortimer’s compliments, Mr Felix,’ Mr Jennings said. ‘I am to tell you he would be obliged if you would join him in the library.’

  ‘Now, Jennings?’ Felix asked.

  ‘As soon as you arrived, sir. Those were his instructions.’

  It sounded ominous but Felix did as he was told. He could wash and dress later.

  His father was sitting at his desk, busily writing. ‘Yes?’ he said without looking up.

  ‘You wished to see me, Pater.’

  The pen was wiped and put on its stand, the page dusted dry, the chair swivelled until they were facing one another. ‘I do indeed, sir,’ Sir Mortimer said. ‘Sit down.’ And when Felix had perched himself rather precariously on one of the chairs beside the library table, he gave him a discomforting look and went on. ‘I have been hearin’ some extremely disquietin’ reports of you, sir.’

  As an answer seemed to be expected, Felix swallowed and provided one, as politely as he could. ‘I am sorry to hear that,
Father.’

  ‘I trust you are, sir, and that the matter will be remedied.’

  He knows about Milly, Felix thought, and his heart shuddered. But he didn’t say anything for there didn’t seem to be anything he could say. Instead he concentrated on staying calm and not showing any emotion. His father’s long nose was pinched white with anger and his expression was so cold it was turning the air to frost. It was several chilly seconds before he spoke again.

  ‘You were seen at some vulgar celebration in York, I believe.’

  ‘The opening of the York and North Midlands Railway,’ Felix told him, speaking with deliberate calm in his gentle barrister’s voice. ‘It was a very grand occasion.’

  ‘That,’ his father said, ‘is of no concern to me. The unfortunate matter we have to discuss is the company you were keepin’.’

  Felix tried to deflect him. ‘I was there as the guest of Mr Nathaniel Cartwright,’ he said, ‘who is one of Mr Hudson’s principal engineers and a man of some standing.’

  Sir Mortimer flicked that information aside with his long white fingers, as if it were of no consequence at all. ‘I was told, by a reliable source,’ he said, freezing the air between them, ‘that you were in the company of a highly unsuitable person.’

  ‘I was with Mr Cartwright’s stepdaughter, sir.’

  ‘In the company of a highly unsuitable person to whom you claimed to be affianced. I trust you were in your cups, sir, and unaware of what you were sayin’.’

  Felix steadied himself before he answered. ‘I was perfectly aware of what I was saying, Father,’ he said. ‘Miss Smith has agreed to be my wife, so, yes, we are affianced.’

  ‘You will pardon me, sir, until you have asked my permission and it has been granted, you are no such thing. Let me tell you here and now, I have absolutely no intention of agreein’ to an alliance with a tradesman’s daughter. You will terminate this engagement forthwith.’

  ‘I cannot do that, Father. I love her and I have given her my word.’

  ‘Love!’ his father sniffed. ‘Love has nothin’ to do with the case. We are talkin’ about marriage, which is a matter of breedin’ and society and family obligations. If you love the gel you may take her as your mistress until you tire of her, providin’ you are disceet about it, but marriage, sir, marriage is quite another thing. And marriage with this “person” is out of the question. I trust I make myself clear.’

  ‘Perfectly clear, sir,’ Felix said, straightening his spine, for battle had now been joined. ‘However I must tell you that I intend to marry Miss Smith no matter what you might say. I love her and mean to make her my wife.’

  Sir Mortimer’s anger was hard as ice. ‘In that case, sir,’ he said, ‘you leave me no alternative. If this marriage goes ahead, I will disinherit you.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  ‘Your folly does you no credit,’ Sir Mortimer said, breathing deeply to control his anger. ‘However, I am nothin’ if not fair. I will make no decision for the moment. I shall be visitin’ with my cousins in Norfolk probably for the rest of the Season. You have until August to come to your senses and be done with all this foolishness. Is that clear?’

  Felix agreed that it was, stood up, stiffly, and left the room. He felt as though he’d been pole-axed. But there was work to be done and little time in which to prepare for it. He went to his room to wash away the dust of his journey and dress himself in his working clothes, acting automatically as if what he was doing was nothing to do with him. When he was respectably ready, he sat down at the table and wrote a short controlled letter to the one person who would know how he was feeling. Then he went out to call a cabriolet to take him to court.

  Jane was rather surprised to receive such a serious letter. In fact, she had to read it through twice before she could make any real sense of it. Something had happened, that much was clear, for he said he would be coming to see her in a day or two and then went on to hope that Mr Cartwright would be at home ‘because I would be much obliged if I could ask his advice on a matter of some urgency’.

  She wrote back at once to tell him he was welcome at any time but that Mr Cartwright would be away until a week Saturday ‘on account of he is working on the Altofts Junction’. Then she worried, and went on worrying until a week Saturday had arrived and Nathaniel was home and Felix had written again to tell her he would be arriving on the three o’clock stage that afternoon. She was waiting in the inn yard at the Star and Garter, fidgeting with impatience and anxiety for twenty long minutes before the coach rumbled in, and as soon as she saw him stepping down and walking towards her she knew her fears were horribly justified. He looked drawn and much too serious, almost like a different young man, as if he’d aged by several years since she last saw him.

  ‘Oh Felix, my dear,’ she said, reaching up to kiss him. ‘What is it?’

  He told her baldly. ‘My father has forbidden our wedding.’

  Thoughts crowded into her head, angry and disturbing – that Sir Mortimer was a heartless brute, that her poor Milly would be heartbroken if the engagement was broken – but she didn’t give them voice. That would have been unkind. Instead she took Felix’s proffered arm and walked him out of the yard. ‘Let’s have ’ee home,’ she said, ‘and we’ll see what Mr Cartwright has to say.’

  Nathaniel was waiting for them in the parlour and rang the bell at once for tea to be served. Then, when the kettle had been brought up and the tea made, steaming and comforting, they sat in their comfortable chairs around the empty hearth, drank their first soothing cup and listened while the tale was told.

  When it was finished Nathaniel put down his cup and sat for several seconds deep in thought. ‘It seems to me,’ he said at last, ‘that you are faced with an impossible choice. Either you obey your father and break off your engagement to our Milly or you marry Milly and lose your inheritance. We spoke of this earlier, as I daresay you remember. However speaking of a thing and having to face it are two very different matters.’

  ‘That,’ Felix agreed miserably, ‘is the case in a nutshell. For the life of me I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Have you told Milly what has happened?’

  Felix winced. ‘No, sir,’ he admitted.

  The next question was probing but kindly spoken. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to,’ Felix said. ‘It would upset her too much.’

  ‘But if you decide to break off your engagement you will have to tell her, will you not? Should she not be forewarned?’

  The idea made Felix shudder. ‘What am I to do?’ he said.

  ‘I cannot tell you, Felix,’ Nathaniel said. ‘It is your decision and yours alone. You are the only one who can make it. However, it does seem to me that if you cannot bear to forewarn our Milly, which is something that does you much credit, then you are already more than halfway to your decision. But it is your decision.’

  There was another very long silence, while Jane and Nathaniel waited and Felix looked at the carpet and battled with his thoughts. Eventually he lifted his head and looked at Jane. ‘I can’t not marry her,’ he said. ‘You know that, don’t you? I simply couldn’t. I love her too much.’

  She got up, took the two paces between them in one stride and bent to kiss him, first on one cheek and then on the other. ‘Follow your heart,’ she told him. ‘’Tis the one thing what never lets ’ee down. All the rest is merely money and property. Here today and gone tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said and smiled at her. It was the first time he’d smiled since his arrival. ‘I will.’

  ‘In that case,’ Nathaniel said, ‘I will give you a bit of advice which you are free to take or not as you wish. You say that you have until the end of the Season to tell your father what you have decided to do. Very well then. My advice to you would be to marry as soon as you can but to say nothing to your father until the day he has specified, which is to say, the very end of the Season. That way you would allow time for his temper to cool and for you and Milly to get accusto
med to married life before you have to see him again.’

  Felix was much easier now that he’d made his decision. ‘I will go to Longfield Hall first thing tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘I think I should tell her as soon as I can.’

  So the carriage was ordered for him and he left to visit his darling as soon as he’d finished his breakfast. He was pale and anxious, but determined.

  Milly was walking in the grounds with her two charges, a pretty straw bonnet on her brown curls and the book of fairy stories in her hand. She’d just promised them that their first story should be ‘Puss in Boots’ when she heard feet pounding towards her. She turned her head to see who it was and was lifted with pleasure at the sight of him.

  ‘My dear heart alive,’ she laughed as he came panting up beside her. ‘You’re in a rush this morning, Mr Fitzwilliam.’

  ‘I’ve something to tell you,’ he said. ‘Could the girls read their story without you, do you think?’

  ‘No,’ Maria said, pouting. ‘We could not. Miss Smith reads us our story. Always.’

  ‘Not this morning she doesn’t,’ Felix said firmly. ‘She’ll read to you in a minute but we’ve got something to discuss first.’ And he took Milly by the elbow and walked with her until they were out of earshot. They were both tense, he because of the enormity of what he was going to propose, she because she was afraid he was going to say the engagement was over. When they finally paused under the shade of one of the great oaks, he was completely out of breath.

  She waited, looking up at his anxious face, her heart struggling like a bird in a cage. ‘You’ve spoken to your father,’ she prompted.

  ‘He has forbidden our marriage,’ he said, and told her everything that had happened.

  Her heart crumbled with every word he said. It was over. Hadn’t she known all along that it was bound to be once his father found out? ‘Have ’ee seen Mr Cartwright?’