The Trainmasters (17 page)

“But I do worry about him so,” she said.

“Your devotion is admirable,” he said evenly, but wondered why she was so devoted to her father.

“There’s a question on your face,” she said, noticing.

“You’re very perceptive,” he said. “Or else I am very obvious,” he smiled.

“You are not obvious, Mr. Carlysle,” she said, returning his smile. “Anything but. However, do you care to tell me what your
question’s about?”

“Actually,” he said, “I’d rather not.”

“Then it’s about me?” she asked quickly.

“A safe guess,” he said. “You are a very intriguing woman, Mrs. Lancaster. There’s much about you that excites curiosity.”

“Perhaps I could satisfy some of your curiosity… if you told me what you were curious about?”

“Perhaps,” he said to her, “I prefer to remain curious.”

She smiled, then said, “You know, Mr. Carlysle, you excite my curiosity, too.”

He nodded his head in acknowledgment, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t wish to pursue that line of conversation.

She, too, sensed it was time to move to another topic.

“How do you find this country so far, Mr. Carlysle?” Kitty Lancaster asked.

“You’d like my impression after only two weeks?”

“I’d think your impression after two weeks would be especially strong… unclouded by details.”

“Strong? Perhaps, though not deep,” he said. “Or wide.”

“No,” she agreed with a smile. “Neither deep nor wide.”

“I like what I’ve seen so far,” he said cautiously. “I’m glad I came.”

“And why did you come to this country?”

“What do you mean?”

“You appear on our doorstep with one thousand shares of Pennsylvania stock—and the blessings of that old scoundrel Sir Charles
Elliot. Those facts have made me exceedingly curious about you.”

“Do you know Sir Charles?” John asked.

“I’ve been to England with my father,” she said. “I met Sir Charles there. Father and Sir Charles got along famously. And
I got along famously with him, too, I might add.”

“I’m not surprised. I also know Sir Charles well.”

“But,” she said, raising a finger and pointing it at him half in good humor and half in accusation, “he is still an old scoundrel.
And”—she moved her finger closer to John—”he gave you the thousand shares.
Why?
That old scoundrel would do nothing like that unless he expects something at least as substantial in return.” She withdrew
the finger. “Are you his spy?” she asked with a smile.

“You don’t think I’m his spy, do you?”

“No…”

“I’m not his spy,” he said, but then he thought he should amend that. “Or at least I’m not a spy in the usual way that word
is understood. But Sir Charles did ask me to act as his agent… in order to make sure that the Pennsylvania is a success.”

“Sir Charles thought that you could do that?”

“He thought I could help.”

“And do you think you will help?”

“Of course.”

“And the shares came with only that condition?”

“There were other conditions.”

“But you don’t care to tell me about them?”

“I don’t.”

“Perhaps you will allow me to guess?”

“Clearly, you have already guessed,” he said, smiling. “If you would like to inform me what you have guessed, by all means
go ahead.”

“Sir Charles has a daughter, Diane. I know her,” Kitty said. “And I like her. She is very good. Very kind. And very sweet.”

“I also liked her,” he said softly.

“Is Diane not the other reason you are in Philadelphia today? Were not the thousand shares insurance that you would never
become Sir Charles’s son-in-law?”

John looked at her with greater admiration than ever. “You are perceptive,” he said. His eyes were lit with amusement. And
chagrin.

“It had to be some such explanation,” Kitty said, shaking her head. “My, my, poor Diane. He must have been very worried about
her indeed to have to give you a thousand shares of our stock. Ours is the best railroad in this country.” And then she caught
his eye.

“And then there’s you. The old scoundrel must have thought a great deal of you to feel he had to pay you off so royally…”

“You make it sound like a bribe,” he said.

“Some people would believe it was a bribe.”

“In fact, my relationship with Diane had not really progressed far enough—”

“Oh, come, Mr. Carlysle,” she interrupted. “It had progressed far enough, or else you would have arrived in Philadelphia without
a penny.” Her hand went up to her mouth in a gesture that indicated that she knew deep secrets. “Actually,” she whispered,
“Diane was in love with you.”

“How can you say that?” he snapped.

“Because she told me.” Kitty laughed. “In a letter. We have corresponded since we met eight years ago.”

“God,” he said, shaking his head in exasperation. “Women! So that’s how you guessed about the reason for the shares.”

“I knew there was someone coming from England—she didn’t reveal your name. But then you arrived. And who else could it be?”

“God,” he repeated. “So how long have you known?”

“Oh, not long!” she said. “Only just now! Don’t get angry, or start thinking that I know all your secrets. I know nothing
about you, really, except what I have told you.”

He laughed. “You already know me better, I fear, than I can handle.”

“Than you can handle?”

“That’s another line of conversation I’d rather not pursue.”

“All right,” she said with a smile, “I’ll wait until you can handle me.” As she said that, she inclined toward him.

“That is not what I said, Mrs. Lancaster,” John said, blushing like a boy.

“Oh?” Her smile widened, and her face grew radiant.

And then she moved slightly closer to him. He stretched his hand toward her, and his fingers touched her cheek, lingering
there while they each took several breaths.

“Call me Kitty,” she said, after he had finally removed his hand.

“All right, Kitty,” he said.

As John expected, Graham was not with the two other boys when they arrived at Sturdivant’s. But Alex and David wanned up to
Kitty instantly, so John had no hesitation about leaving them in her care.

After they had collected enough gear and clothes to hold them for a few days, he and Kitty took the boys to her home. And
then John returned to the rail yard and Edgar Thomson’s private car.

Before he left Sturdivant’s, John left a note for Graham with the room clerk. In it he explained where he was going and instructed
Graham to look in on Mrs. Lancaster as soon as he could.

His tone was not friendly.

An hour before Kitty Lancaster had brought John Carlysle back to Sturdivant’s Hotel, Graham Carlysle had stood in his hotel
room looking over the clothes hanging in the wardrobe. He had been standing there for some time, unsure about how to dress
for his engagement that evening with Teresa O’Rahilly. He was taking her to dinner, to the theater, and then to a dance hall.
His impulse was to wear his best, most tasteful things, for he liked dressing like a gentleman. He liked to look cool and
poised.

But he didn’t know what Teresa would wear. And he didn’t want a severe mismatch between them.

Could an Irish refugee girl living on her wits in a strange city have the style and the grace to turn herself out looking
like a lady? He didn’t have an answer to that question.

It did not occur to him, as he stood undecided before the wardrobe, that Teresa had dressed the day before so that she would
look like a nice but down-on-her-luck young lady, and that she could just as easily turn herself into an attractive young
woman dressed for an evening on the town.

He was certain she would not have the bad taste to make an appearance that would shame or disgrace him. She would never arrive
as, say, a waif or a whore—Teresa was much too smart for that. But there were vast nuances between whore and waif and lady;
and Graham had no notion as to exactly how Teresa would look.

Graham Carlysle’s appetite for fine clothes, elegant women, and the pleasures of city nightlife were a learned rather than
inherited characteristic. His father was a man of the daytime and of the outdoors, who enjoyed above all else hard work under
the open sky. Thus he adored his work supervising the building of railroads. His hobbies were hunting, fishing, riding, or
just plain strolling down country lanes.

Consequently John Carlysle greatly disapproved of Graham’s nighttime activities. And there had been many bitter fights with
Graham about them, all of which had so far remained unresolved, for John could not bring himself to take the ultimate step
of excluding Graham from his household —partly because he did not feel that Graham was committing an ultimate sin against
himself and the family and partly because John felt that he needed his oldest son close by him. In fact sometimes John thought
Graham’s behavior was nothing more than youthful exuberance and high jinks. John was convinced that the Carlysles—strangers
in a new land, with no wife and mother to hold the family together—
had
to stay together.

Graham was by no means a burden on the family’s resources. He financed his personal activities himself, for he was a skillful
poker player, amazingly so for such a young man. Part of his skill, of course, came from his clever exploitation of his age.
Older players were astonished that someone so cool and capable could be only a few months over twenty. They expected weaknesses
and impulsive mis-plays of which Graham was never guilty.

Graham knew that the conflict between his father and himself would not continue forever, but he did nothing to immediately
change the situation. Nor did his father. And although Graham’s skill with cards gave him access to pleasures that would otherwise
have been denied to him, he also knew that if all went well, his father could set him up in a good career with the railroad.
Graham’s education at the University of Glasgow had prepared him for that, and it was not something he laughed at or ignored.
He just didn’t want it
now
.

Graham Carlysle would be loose and wild, but he could also be as solid and practical as his father.

Flipping through the clothes hanging in the wardrobe, he finally decided to follow his first instincts and wear his best —a
dark navy blue broadcloth suit, a white linen shirt, satin waistcoat, silk cravat, and boots of soft pigskin. Not quite as
an afterthought, he slipped a small, slender knife into a sheath in his right boot, not because he expected trouble or danger—Philadelphia
was more civilized than most of Liverpool or Manchester—but because it gave him comfort to do so.

When Graham met Teresa not far from the Walnut Street Theater, he almost didn’t recognize her. The Teresa he recalled was
a pallid-faced girl dressed in gray, shy and sober and helpless-looking. But tonight Teresa was no longer that. She had transformed
herself into a lively, radiant, resplendently beautiful, but very proper young lady, one who would not at all seem out of
place in an orchestra seat of the theater, or in the drawing room of one of the old Philadelphia families. She wore a dusty
pink satin dress with a full skirt. Across her shoulders she had draped a wide, ivory colored woolen shawl. And she held in
her hand a tiny silk handbag that was a shade darker than mother of pearl.

His fears about her were clearly unjustified. She was, he realized, breathtaking. He stopped and stared at her for a time,
letting his heart drink her in.

When Teresa saw him, her eyes lit up, and she rushed over to where he was standing.

“Graham!” she said, smiling and stretching her hand out to him, obviously delighted to see him.

“Miss O’Rahilly,” he said formally, with a profound nod of his head. “You look fabulously lovely this evening.” It was not
a mere compliment. He was marveling at her transformation … or rather her ability to transform herself.

Her smile grew wider. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m delighted that you approve.”

“Approval is hardly the word, Tess,” he said.

“I wanted to look as fine for you as I expected to find you,” she said.

“That you have done, girl,” he said. He could not take his eyes off her.

“And there was more than that,” she added. “I’m not often taken to plays; and I love them more than I love my own life, I
think. So I wanted to show you how grateful I am.”

“That you have also done,” he said, offering her his arm. “But let’s find someplace where we can dine,” he said. “And while
we eat, I’d like you to tell me about yourself. I’m very curious about a girl from—” he stopped, searching for a word that
was not insulting, “from deep in the Irish countryside.”

“From the bogs and the mires? Is that what you mean, Graham?” she asked with a light, silvery laugh.

“All right, have it your way, from the bogs,” he said, laughing with her. “I’m curious how a girl from the bogs could have
developed a love for plays. And I’m also curious about how a girl from the bogs developed such good taste in clothes.” He
was not, however, curious about how she afforded them; he was aware of the way she earned her living. But that, in his present
state of dazzlement, did not disturb him.