The Trainmasters (20 page)

Graham stumbled and fell. And lost consciousness.

When he awoke, Teresa was holding his head in her lap. Her back was propped against a partly formed marble funeral obelisk.

Words started to form on his lips, but she placed her fingers on his mouth. “Hush,” she said. “Rest a minute.”

But he shook away her hand. In spite of the flaming pain in his side, he had to know about the Keans.

“Are they …?”

She stroked his head, combing his wet hair back with her fingers. At last she answered him. “Ben is dead. Matthew is only
unconscious, I think.”

“God!” He looked at her, asking for more information.

“You stabbed Ben in the heart or lungs. A lot of blood came out of his mouth.”

Graham raised his head a little. “I can’t… !” he said. “I didn’t… !”

“I know,” she said, stroking his face. “Don’t try to explain. This was not your doing.”

“But…” His head sagged back into her lap. “Then we must go and…”

“Hush. You’ve lost blood… a lot of blood. It seems to have stopped now, but I don’t know whether we can risk moving you.”

“We can’t stay here.”

“No, we can’t,” she admitted. “But I don’t know what else to do.”

“And we can’t wait for help,” he said, raising himself painfully up to a sitting position.

“Don’t do that,” she said. But he ignored her; he struggled to his feet.

“There,” he said, trying to smile, “I’m not as injured as I look. Let’s go.” He lurched toward the alley.

“You’re mad, Graham Carlysle,” she said and shook her head in exasperation. But she offered him her arm to lean on. And he
realized then for the first time that she had somehow bound his wound. She had either done a good job dressing it, or else
he was lucky, because the blood did not start flowing again.

Then he pulled her to a halt. “What about them?” he asked. His voice shook, and his words were slurred with pain. “Shouldn’t
we tell someone about this? Shouldn’t we tell a law officer?”

“Graham, darlin’, your mind’s not clear. Don’t waste your thinking on such thoughts. Leave the thinking to me for now.” She
urged him to take a step forward. One foot moved. Then the other followed.

“So what are you going to do now?” he asked, staring at his legs move as though he were more than a little surprised that
they were obeying him.

“I’m going to find a way to get you taken care of. Did you have something else in mind?”

Seven

Kitty Lancaster woke to the racket of loud pounding at her door. She opened her eyes, saw that it was still dark in her room,
and closed them again.

“Mrs. Lancaster!”

Kitty did not want to acknowledge whoever it was that was tearing her away from her sleep. So she covered her head with her
pillow. The pounding continued, albeit muffled and far away.

“Mrs. Lancaster!!”

She knew who it was. It was Bridget, her maid. Damn her. What could she want at this hour?

The pounding grew louder, in spite of the pillow.

“
Mrs. Lancaster!!
”

“All right. All right. I’m awake,” Kitty said and tossed the pillow onto the floor. She sat up
. Damn! Damn. Damn
.

“Yes, Bridget,” she called. “What is it?” She drew the covers up about her and waited for Bridget to open the door. When the
maid appeared, she was carrying a lamp.

The girl wore a tattered pink robe over her nightgown, and she was white-faced and breathless.

“Mrs. Lancaster,” Bridget said, “you had best come downstairs. There’s been trouble.”

“What kind of trouble, Bridget?” Kitty asked.

“A young man and a young woman, ma’am. He’s been shot. She’s waiting downstairs. He’s outside still, in a hansom.”

“Why should that concern me?” Kitty said, trying to sound in control. Actually, she was quickly growing intrigued. And even
as she spoke, her feet were moving toward the floor and her slippers.

“The young man, ma’am, he’s the brother of the two boys you’ve taken in.”

“Oh, my God! Graham Carlysle! Shot?” Kitty rose to her feet. “And the woman? Who is she?”

“I didn’t get her name, ma’am. She’s Irish like me.” Bridget paused. “But she’s a young lady with class,” she went on, “if
you know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure that I do, Bridget,” Kitty said. “But come, show me. And first hand me my robe, would you please?”

Bridget fetched Kitty’s robe and helped her slip it on.

“Thank you,” Kitty said, already on her way through the door.

Kitty was more confused than anxious. Graham Carlysle was definitely a young man whom she had a strong desire to meet, although
she never would have thought they would meet under these circumstances. Kitty wondered who this girl—an Irish girl—was and
what role she played in Graham’s life.

The girl was downstairs in the entrance hall restlessly pacing back and forth. She was in a state of utter and complete disarray.
Her face was scuffed and grimed, and her hair was caked with mud and plastered hard against her skull. At one time, she had
been dressed nicely, but now her clothes were filthy and torn.

And yet she carried herself proudly and becomingly. Beneath her grime she was clearly a ravishing beauty. Kitty also saw intelligence
in her eyes, and great sensitivity.

Kitty’s heart went out to her. “Oh, you poor thing,” she said the moment she saw her. “What has happened to you?”

The girl looked at her with tragic eyes for a long moment before she spoke. “You are Mrs. Lancaster?” she asked at last.

“I’m Mrs. Lancaster.”

“I’ve come to you, Mrs. Lancaster,” the girl blurted out, “because I don’t know anyone else to turn to.”

“I’m very surprised to find you at my doorstep, miss. And I’m wondering how you ever found your way to me. God knows what
I will do about you, but you’re welcome to be here.”

The girl’s eyes filmed with grateful tears. “Thank you, Mrs. Lancaster,” she said.

“Bridget tells me you’ve brought Graham Carlysle.” Kitty said. “And that he’s been hurt.”

“Yes. He’s outside in a cab.”

“I should tell you that I’ve never met the young Mr. Carlysle,” Kitty said. “But he is by no means a stranger to me, either.
Is he hurt badly?”

“I don’t know,” the girl said. “He was shot, but I bandaged the wound, and the bleeding has stopped.”

Kitty stifled her impulse to ask how he was shot. Instead, she started across the hallway. “Then we should go to him,” she
said. And she led the girl to the door.

Outside, it was still raining hard. Kitty thought momentarily of covering herself, but decided not to waste the time. So she
dashed out the door, down the steps, and across the slate sidewalk to the waiting cab. The girl followed close behind her.

Kitty nodded to the driver, and then opened the door on the carriage. Graham was slumped across the seat, asleep or unconscious.

The girl touched Kitty’s shoulder. “Let me,” she said, and Kitty stepped aside. Teresa climbed the step and knelt on the floor
of the cab facing the boy.

“Graham,” she said, shaking him gently with her hand. “Graham, wake up.”

He stirred and opened his eyes.

“Tess?” he asked.

So that is her name
.

“Can you move?”

He looked at her. “I think so.”

“We’ll help you.”

For the first time Graham noticed Kitty. He stared at her, recognizing her, but not remembering where or how they had met.

“Give me your hand,” Kitty said, reaching into the cab. Graham reached out to her. And slowly, they helped him into the house.
After a moment, Kitty decided to take him into Charles’s study. There was a long, comfortable, upholstered leather sofa Graham
could stretch out on. They led him to the study, and then helped him onto the sofa. After that, Kitty sent Bridget out to
pay the cab and then to fetch a doctor. The Lancaster’s regular physician did not live nearby. But there was a Doctor Fleming
who lived a few doors away and who had a good reputation.

While she left the girl to remove the bandages she had improvised and to comfort Graham, Kitty went to the kitchen and put
a large pot of water on to boil. Then she returned to the study.

Graham’s eyes were closed, and his face was pale and clammy and twisted with pain. The girl, Tess, was seated on the floor
next to the sofa, wiping his brow with a cloth. She had already cleared clothes and bandages away from the wound. It looked
clean, and the bleeding had not started up again when they had moved him.

Tess tilted her face up toward Kitty. There were tears in her eyes.

“How is he?” Kitty said.

“I don’t know,” the girl said. “His breathing is regular. But he lost a great deal of blood.”

“Dr. Fleming will be here soon. He is a very competent physician.”

I’m grateful… I can’t tell you how grateful ;.. for taking us in. I wouldn’t have known where else to turn.”

“I’m glad I was here to help,” Kitty said and reached out to lay her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “But you can do something
for me,” she said.

“Yes, of course.”

“You can tell me your name, first of all.”

“Teresa.”

“And how Graham was shot?”

Teresa was reluctant to talk about the incident. Yet she briefly explained how she and Graham had been pursued, and how the
fight had happened.

As the story unfolded, Kitty grew more curious than ever about Teresa O’Rahilly. What had been her connection with Ben Kean?
Why had he chosen to pursue and harass her to the point of chasing her and Graham down a lonely alleyway?

In fact, Kitty had had some acquaintance with the Keans; they lived not far from the Lancasters. But Kitty did not know them
well, and aside from the occasional shared social function or a chance meeting on the street, she had little to do with them…
There had been ugly rumors about Ben, she remembered, but she had never had reason to pay much attention to them.

“And you are sure the man, Ben Kean, is dead?” Kitty asked when Teresa had finished.

“His heart had stopped,” she said through tight lips. “There was nothing I could do for him.”

Kitty turned away from her a moment, lifting her hand to her brow. “Well,” she said at last, “there’s nothing to be done about
that for the time being….” And then she remembered that there was another man involved. “But his brother is all right?”

“He was stirring when we left him.”

“Good. Thank God there is no one else”

“We didn’t cause this fight, Mrs. Lancaster,” Teresa said. “We did all we could to avoid it.”

“I know that, Teresa,” Kitty said. “I know. I believe you.”

Graham groaned, and Teresa spoke to him softly.

After he closed his eyes, Kitty spoke again to Teresa. “But tell me, Teresa, how did you ever find me?”

“After the fight,” Teresa said, “we went first to Sturdivant’s Hotel to see if Graham’s father was there. But I found he had
left. There was a note to Graham that he had gone suddenly away on some railroad matter and that you had taken the two younger
boys… So I decided to come to you.”

“That was very smart,” Kitty said.
And very risky
, she thought. She was quite aware that many women would not have done what she was doing, the story of the good Samaritan
notwithstanding.

“And so here you are,” Kitty said with a sigh. “What an incredible day,” she went on. “First the tunnel collapse, and then
a young man I’ve never met is shot and now appears on my doorstep.”

“What tunnel?” Teresa broke in, suddenly apprehensive. She knew about Kitty Lancaster’s connection with the railroad, and
she knew where her brother worked.

“The tunnel at Gallitzin,” Kitty said.

“Oh, Lord Jesus!” Teresa said. And then she broke into a slow, long sob.

“Teresa?” Kitty asked.

“I have a brother who works in the tunnel,” she said.

“A brother!”

“Was it the entire tunnel that collapsed?” Teresa asked.

“Oh no, thank God. It wasn’t the whole thing.”

“Do you know what part?”

“One of the headings off the eastern shaft. I don’t know which one.”

“Egan worked out of the eastern shaft,” Teresa said, holding back sobs with great effort. “Were many killed?”