The Trainmasters (42 page)

“There’s a man here to see you, ma’am,” Bridget announced to Kitty Lancaster. Kitty was then sitting on the grass under a
large, old maple in the small garden behind her father’s house. She had a book in her hand and she’d been trying to read it.
But it had been unlooked at for over an hour. She would have much preferred being at her father’s side advising him and taking
a personal part in his decisions and actions.

“A man?” Kitty asked. “Who?”

“You know him, ma’am. It’s Mr. Carlysle.”

“The elder Mr. Carlysle?” Kitty asked.

“That’s right, ma’am. Not the one that was shot.”

“Ask him in, please,” Kitty said, trying to appear calm.

“In the garden?”

“Yes, please, Bridget. I’ll see him here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bridget said. And then she went to fetch John Carlysle, while Kitty tried to set her face and hair in order.
But she had no success, for it was a warm and muggy afternoon, and she had not expected a visitor, much less
this
visitor. Her face was shiny with perspiration, and her hair was an absolutely hopeless tangle.

And her clothes! She was wearing a thin summer frock, tiny stripes of white and the palest blue. But she was also wearing
scarcely anything under it because of the heat and the fact that she did not plan to go out that day.

He’ll think I’m naked!
she thought.
He’ll think I’m without shame!

Before she could go to her room and change, John was standing there in the doorway! She stood to greet him, instantly, painfully
aware that the sun was behind her, slanting through her, throwing her body beneath the thin dress into silhouette.

Suddenly she knew how flowers must feel—and they
did
feel, she was convinced of that. Suddenly she knew the embarrassment of flowers.

“Good afternoon, Kitty,” he said, smiling.

“Hello, John,” she said, returning the smile. “I’m surprised to see you in Philadelphia. But I’m delighted you’ve come,” she
added quickly.

“There’s a long story,” he said as he approached her, his eyes looking up and down her, drinking her in, “and I’ll tell it
to you shortly. But meanwhile,” he was now close enough to offer her his hand, “I’d like to…” His voice trailed off as he
took both her hands in his.

“Yes,” she said softly, closing her eyes and drawing the hands to her lips. Then she released them and glanced down at the
grass, a little more shy and girlish at that moment than she usually thought of herself.

“Would you like to sit down?” she asked, still feeling a little awkward. “I’ve been relaxing here on the grass. Would that
be all right with you?”

“Perfect,” he said. And then he gave her his hand again in order to help her take her place. He sat down next to her with
his back propped up against the maple. Now they were at right angles to one another, and Kitty was only a yard away from him.

As he settled down, she studied him, noting especially the lines of anxiety and exhaustion in his face.

“You’re very, very tired,” she said, concerned. “Are you all right? Are you ill?” For a moment she had had a flash of alarm
that he was in Philadelphia because of his health.

“Oh, no,” he said, appreciating her concern. “Nothing like that. I’m in Philadelphia purely for business reasons. I’m here
at this moment because I want to be with you.”

She drew in a long breath.

“I’ve thought about you, too, John. A great deal.”

“Yes, I can see that, Kitty.” He paused. Then he said, “And I’m very glad of that.”

“But you
are
exhausted,” she said, changing to a subject that she could more easily handle, though she also very much wanted to hear more
of what John had started to say. “And you must be hungry and thirsty. Can I get you anything?” Before he could reply, she
called out, “Bridget! Bridget! Come out here, please.”

“I’m neither hungry nor thirsty,” he protested. “Really. Don’t have your maid—”

“Here she is now,” Kitty interrupted. And then she said to Bridget, who was walking toward them, “Bridget, dear, would you
please ask the cook to put together a few things for Mr. Carlysle to eat? And bring him something to drink with that, too,
please?”

“I’m truly not hungry,” he protested again, uselessly.

“Thank you, Bridget,” she said, and Bridget went off to do her bidding.

“You have impressive powers of will, Kitty,” he said, smiling again. “Or else bloody-minded stubbornness.”

“If you won’t take care of yourself,” she said smoothly and calmly, but with gleaming, sparkling eyes, “then I will.”

“Should I be grateful?”

“Why not?” She smiled ravishingly, but playfully, too. It was easy to be playful with him.

“Or should I spank you?” he asked, moving swiftly, effortlessly, and joyfully into the game.

“Definitely not. Spanking’s for naughty children.”

“I know… And you’re
not
a naughty child?”

“For taking care of you when you wouldn’t do it for yourself?” she asked, her eyes locked with his. “Am I a naughty child
for that?”

“No. You are definitely not a child.”

As he said that, she could see his eyes roam up and down her, not lasciviously, but lovingly.

“You were going to tell me how you came to be in the city today,” she said, in order once again to deflect the direction of
the conversation.

“Later,” he said. There was something on his mind he would not be deterred from. “Before that I have a more pressing concern.”

“Yes?” she said, cautiously, desperately curious to know what it was.

“I spent several hours with your father this morning.”

“Then you heard about Will Patterson?” When she said that, she suddenly realized that she had not once thought about her father
or Will Patterson from the moment that John Carlysle was announced.

“I know the story,” he said. “You don’t have to repeat it.”

“It’s shocking news, isn’t it?” she asked, aiming for another deflection Which she didn’t achieve.

“I talked about that at some length, Kitty,” he pressed on. “And I’m sure you and I’ll have much more to say about it to one
another. But that’s not what I must discuss with you now.”

“Yes?”

“I talked to him about you.”

“Yes?”

“I asked him if I could court you.”

“And?”

“Here I am.” He smiled a gentle teasing smile.

“I want that,” she said.

“You want ‘that’?” He smiled. “Am a ‘that’?”

“
You
, John,” she corrected instantly. “I want
you..
. I think.”

“You ‘think’?” he teased again. “Do you know? Can you say it?”

“Would you stop teasing me, John Carlysle!” she flashed. “You know damned well that I love you, you …”

She caught herself.

“I know that,” he said. The smile had now vanished. He was deadly serious. “And I love you, Kitty. That’s why I came.”

Then she reached across the space of grass that separated them and was in his arms.

“I’ve wanted you badly,” he said, “ever since I saw you last in Gallitzin.”

She did not answer him. His arms and hands and lips and face made talk irrelevant. They held each other tightly for a moment,
but a short time later, Bridget reappeared with a tray of snacks and a pitcher of tea. John ate and drank not to please her,
Kitty realized, but because he was every bit as famished as he looked.

“I suppose I owe you an apology,” he said after he had finished.

“An apology? Why?”

“For accusing you of bloody mindedness,” he said. “For blaming you for trying to force all this good food on me.”

“You
weren’t
teasing?” she asked.

He laughed, a full rich laugh.

“Weren’t you?” she persisted.

He laughed again. “I’m not going to answer that,” he teased back. “1 think it’s time for mystery.”

“You’re impossible,” she said and kissed him again.

And then he told her the story he had told her father earlier that day.

When he nearly reached the end of the story he stopped and looked at her. It was the point when her father stopped him to
ask him to explain his reasoning. But that was not why he stopped now.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head as though to shake out cobwebs.

“And so Collins went running?” she asked to prod his memory.

“Yes,” John said, pondering. “And I sent two men to follow him, to find out who he ran to… One of the men was my son Graham.
The other is Francis Stockton.”

“Francis?” she asked blank-faced, tense.

“I decided not to tell your father the names of my scouts and trackers.”

“You didn’t want to bring up Francis’s name?”

“Right.”

“But you’ve brought up Francis’s name with me?”

“Yes,” he said. “I know a little about Francis and you. You can’t blame me for being curious about him and—” he looked at
her, “you.”

“No,” she said and turned her face away from him for several moments.

“I like him,” John said. “Did you know that?”

“Yes? Good. I’m happy about that. He isn’t hateful.”

“Then why did you break off from him?” John blurted.

“Why must you know that?”

“I—”

“He was much, much more to me, John,” she said before he could finish his thought, “than any other man I’ve known, even my
husband, rest his soul. But much, much less to me than you are. So please don’t be jealous. You don’t have to be.”

And then he smiled. “Do I look jealous?”

“Fiercely.” She was not smiling.

He looked surprised. “I’m…” he stumbled. “I’m … sorry, then, for that.”

She softened then and brightened. “Oh, John,” she cried, and took him in her arms. “You’re such a darling! Of course you are
scarlet vermillion with jealousy. And I adore it! I love you for your jealousy. It shows you’re afraid of losing me.”

“It does?”

“Of course.”

He held her after that for a long time. Then he laughed. “Then I’ll savor my jealousy of Francis Stockton like a fine wine,”
he whispered.

Thirteen

On Tuesday morning Edgar Thomson became president of the Pennsylvania Railroad. And on Tuesday afternoon, Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt
visited the new president. He came breathing fire and threatening all manner of destruction and litigation upon everyone connected
with the Pennsylvania Railroad.

His contention was that he had been defrauded, which could not be denied. It was Vanderbilt’s further contention that it was
not just Patterson’s obligation to make the stock good, but the railroad’s, since Patterson had been acting as the railroad’s
legitimate agent.

Thomson sat through the wealthy man’s tirade, listening but not committing himself one way or the other to Vanderbilt’s demands.

Then Thomson excused himself, leaving John Carlysle to entertain Vanderbilt, and went to consult the Pennsylvania’s legal
counsel. The lawyer told Thomson that a case could be made stating the railroad was not obligated to make good Patterson’s
frauds, but should the matter come to judgment, the railroad would likely lose.

So the lawyer suggested negotiating a settlement. Perhaps, he said, the Commodore would take fifty cents on the dollar? or
even thirty?

Thomson meditated on that. But he also meditated on a more important matter—that of the identity of their chief enemy.

Could it be Vanderbilt? or his friend Drew? or both together? he asked himself. Would either of them have Come here today
if he were involved in an intrigue or a conspiracy? Perhaps they would in order to disguise their intent, although Vanderbilt
seemed too direct for such a Machiavellian ploy.

If Vanderbilt had no responsibility for the troubles, he’d be a good man to have on the railroad’s side. Especially if he
could be persuaded to help us fight off the stock manipulation and the short sales.

Thomson was absent from his office for perhaps forty-five minutes. When he returned, he found Vanderbilt and Carlysle engaged
in heated but friendly conversation. Vanderbilt had tremendous physical presence. In spite of that, he in no way overshadowed
John Carlysle. John, Thomson was pleased to note, was dealing with Vanderbilt as a peer.