The Trainmasters (43 page)

But when Thomson entered the room, Vanderbilt instantly turned the full force of his more than ample personality from John
to the new president of the railroad. “Thomson, you’re back,” Vanderbilt said. “What have you brought for me from your law
twister? Good news I hope?”

“He thinks you have no case,” Thomson said evenly, as he resumed his place behind his desk. “He believes the Pennsylvania
line bears no responsibility to make good on any illegal acts of William Patterson.”

“What?” Vanderbilt shouted. “No case? Why that’s insane, by God! It’s absolutely unacceptable. I won’t stand for it. I won’t
listen to it. If that’s your position, then I’ve no more time to spend with you.” And he stood as if to storm out.

“Wait, please,” Thomson said, still icily calm, “until I’ve finished. You will give me that courtesy, won’t you?”

And Vanderbilt, with a great show of reluctance, took his seat. But his reluctance was clearly all part of his performance.
He expected Thomson had more to say to him, and he had no intention of leaving just yet.

“Well?” he asked impatiently.

“As I perceive it, you stand to suffer because of your association with my railroad.”

John Carlysle noted his use of “my.” It was the first time he had heard Thomson speak of the Pennsylvania Railroad as if it
were his own possession.

“I do not intend,” Thomson continued, “to let you suffer from that association if I can prevent it.”

“And so,” Vanderbilt said, with scarcely hidden sarcasm, “you are prepared to offer me a settlement.”

“The lawyer suggested that,” Thomson said.

“And?”

“I’m not going to do it.”

Vanderbilt just stared, without comprehending what he was hearing.

“You’re not going to do that?” he asked finally. “You’re not going to fight me?”

“No. I’m going to make good on the stock.”

Vanderbilt just stared again. He didn’t know how to deal with this situation… In fact, he was beginning to suspect that Thomson
was hiding something from him.

He was right. Thomson was. But not for long.

“I’m going to issue you good stock,” Thomson repeated. “And that will serve you as valid collateral against the loans that
Patterson contracted. If you somehow recover the money, then you will naturally return the stock to us and not to him.”

“Fat chance that that will ever happen,” Vanderbilt said.

“I agree,” Thomson said. Then he turned away from Vanderbilt and lifted his eyes up to the ceiling. He kept his focus there
for the space of several long breaths.

Finally, he said, “There’s something else you should know about that stock.”

“What’s that?” Vanderbilt asked, more than a little suspicious.

And Thomson told Vanderbilt about the massive short sales. After that, he asked John to tell the Commodore about the accidents
and labor troubles the railroad had recently fallen victim to.

Vanderbilt listened to both men without comment until they had finished. But his face showed great interest, and even excitement.
He was like a detective assigned to a fascinating and difficult case. He lit up with curiosity and eagerness. Then he spoke,
“You’ve got somebody plenty smart mounting a major attack on this railroad.”

“That’s right,” John said. He had so far spoken little when both Thomson and Vanderbilt were present together. But now he
decided that it was the right moment for him to begin taking part. “Someone has sold our stock short,” he continued, “after
making sure that the railroad has suffered enough misfortunes to cause its stock to decline.”

“And that means,” Thomson said, “that the stock I’m making available to you may prove to be practically worthless.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Vanderbilt asked cautiously, suspiciously.

“For a time,” Thomson replied coolly, “I thought you were the one who was doing us all the damage.”

“Me?” Vanderbilt laughed. “I ain’t that smart,” he said, falling into the rough, uneducated speech that he sometimes used
when the effect might suit his ends. “Someone like your man Carlysle here,” he pointed. “That’s a man who could of done shit
like that—somebody that’s got his eddi-cation and upbringin’ in Europe. But me? I’m just a sea captain who’s made a little
money by investin’ and workin’ hard.”

“You’re too modest,” Thomson said.

“I don’t know what to make of your assessment of me,” John said. “Should I be flattered… or should I challenge you to a duel?”

“Neither, Mr. Carlysle,” Vanderbilt said with an amused snort. “Neither. It was a sincerely meant compliment.” He looked at
Thomson then, but he dipped his head in John’s direction. “I’ve heard some talk about the goings on up at your tunnel construction
site in the mountains. And I realized after some talk with your man Carlysle here that he was the one who managed the affair
up there. So while you was away talkin’ to your law twister, I twisted outta him a little bit about what he did up there.
And, by God, I’m impressed by him.

“But like I said, a man who could do that could engineer the shit that’s gone wrong with your railroad. But don’t get me wrong.
I’m not saying that
he
did it.”

And then Vanderbilt turned his full attention back toward Thomson. “So why
did
you tell me about the stock going bad?”

“Because I want to stop that event from happening. And I think you can help us stop it.”

Vanderbilt dragged his fingers through his thinning hair. “You think I can help you?”

“Yes,” Thomson said, “especially now that you have cause to.”

Vanderbilt smiled. “You’re putting on me a little polite blackmail and extortion?”

“Nothing that nasty,” Thomson said. “It’s much simpler. If we stick together, we all stand to save ourselves considerable
amounts of money. Even John here owns a fair amount of Pennsylvania stock.” He looked at John. “A thousand shares, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. A thousand.”

“Enough to hurt if it goes bad,” Vanderbilt said, sympathetically.

“Any amount is enough to hurt if it goes bad,” John said.

“Yer damned right!” Vanderbilt acknowledged. Then he turned instantly serious. “You know, I’m already tied up in ships… and
in the Nicaragua thing.” He directed these last words to Edgar Thomson. “I don’t have much slack now to be playing with a
railroad.”

Since 1849 Vanderbilt had been one of the chief promoters of a scheme to build a canal across Nicaragua. A route that would
allow ships to bypass South America had for a long time been seen as necessary… and it would clearly now reap enormous profits
for its owner, especially in view of California’s growing prosperity. But until recently, such a canal was out of the question.
No one knew how to build it. Now, however, the explosion of engineering and construction technology had made such a route
possible — if expensive. Current estimates for the Nicaragua Canal placed costs at $32,000,000. There was also competition:
Many powerful people favored the Panama route.

“I am well aware of your commitments in Central America,” Thomson said. “I won’t ask you to extend yourself in any … financial…
way to us. What I’m after from you is your knowledge, skill, and experience.”

But by now Vanderbilt was persuaded. “Yep,” he said, with a strongly affirmative nod of his head. “You’re right. I’ll see
what I can do.”

“I
must
know who is doing the stock manipulation.”

“Yep. I’ll check into that. It’ll be a few days.”

“We don’t have a great deal of time,” Thomson reminded him.

“It shouldn’t take me long,” Vanderbilt said. “I just have to ask around on Wall Street a bit… discreet like.”

And then he gave Thomson a sharp look. “But what makes you think I’m
not
the one that’s after you?”

Thomson grinned. “You came right away to try to make good on the bad stock,” he said, repeating for the others the thoughts
he had had earlier. “Since I didn’t know about that before you came, it seemed to me a good reason to take you out of suspicion.
But if you were shooting at larger targets, then you wouldn’t have said anything about the bad stock. You would not have come
to me. You would have treated it simply as a small loss on the way to a large gain.

“I can’t imagine anyone so Machiavellian that he would do what you did in order to remove himself from suspicion.”

“Yep,” Vanderbilt agreed. “You’re thinkin’ clear.” And he
was
thinking, too. A moment later, he put his own thoughts into words. “I wasn’t the only one that took that bad stock as collateral.”

“I realize that,” Thomson said.

“Dan’l Drew was the other.”

“Yes.”

“Are you thinkin’ he’s the one?” Vanderbilt asked.

“He’s
your
friend,” Thomson said carefully. “Would a friend of yours do such a thing?”

“Yep. He’s my friend,” Vanderbilt said. “But Dan’l would do anythin’ to make a killin’.”

“So where is your own loyalty?” Thomson asked. Then he added pointedly, “My friend.”

“I’m loyal to my stock. And to my possessions.”

“Good. Then we might have a chance to get out of this thing without being hurt too bad.”

Vanderbilt rose to go. “I’ll say good-bye to you now. But I’ll see you in a few days.”

Thomson and John Carlysle rose, too, to see him out.

“And you, Carlysle,” Vanderbilt said. “If Edgar Thomson gets tired of you, call on me. I’ll find good use for you.” Then he
looked at Thomson. “I might even just steal him from you,” he said.

The previous evening, Monday, during supper at Edgar Thomson’s home, John and Kitty had informed Kitty’s father that the two
of them were considering a more serious and long-lasting relationship. Neither John nor Kitty offered to commit themselves
beyond that rather diplomatic statement.

Nor did Thomson expect anything more. Their announcement did not come as a surprise to him. He liked and respected John Carlysle
greatly. He could imagine no one whom he’d rather have as a potential son-in-law. And, deep within his soul, in chambers he
would scarcely dream of entering, wounds were beginning to heal, wounds that had opened and festered over a year ago when
Kitty had become dangerously involved with Francis Stockton.

After supper John and Edgar retired to Thomson’s study. And there, helped along by brandy and cigars, they talked late into
the night.

In time their talk touched on Francis Stockton. From John’s point of view this conversation only added to his own feeling
of mystery about what had actually occurred between Kitty and Francis. And yet, on the face of it, Thomson actually opened
up to John about that affair more than he had ever opened up to anybody, including himself. Thomson actually admitted to John
what he already knew, that it was the reason why Thomson hated Francis.

And yet, John was left with the undeniable feeling that there was more to the tale than he was being told. And so he was left
in a quandary. Should he pursue the matter further? Or should he leave the whole thing alone, as something past and, hopefully,
dead?

John, for his part, didn’t hide from Thomson that he had fears of his own about the relationship between Kitty and Francis.

“But,” John said, “Kitty says that there’s nothing between them now, and 1 believe her.”Then John gave Thomson details concerning
the mission he had assigned to Stockton and his son Graham as well as his reasons for choosing to place such great trust in
Francis.

“I would never have done what you are doing with that man,” Thomson announced.

“Do you think he’ll betray us out of jealousy? Because he sees me as a rival for Kitty?”

“I think he would betray us for the sport of the treachery. His rivalry with you would simply make the sport more piquant.”

“I don’t agree,” John had said.

And Thomson had no reply to that.

The next day, not long after Cornelius Vanderbilt had left, Francis Stockton appeared at the Pennsylvania’s headquarters.
When it was announced to John that Stockton was outside waiting for him, John was with Edgar Thomson in Thomson’s office.

“So,” Thomson said to John with a mischievous twinkle. “Here is your Francis Stockton.”

“I’ll go take care of him, then,” John said, making as though to leave.

“No, no,” Thomson said. “Bring him in here. I’m sure he’ll have news that I will want to hear, too.”

John gave Thomson a look. “You won’t…” His voice trailed off.

And Thomson smiled at that. “I won’t try to make a fool of him,” Thomson said, “or be overtly aggressive. Is that what you
couldn’t bring yourself to say?”

“Something like that.”

“No, John. Nothing like that. I promise to be on good behavior. And I promise to restrain myself from treating him like Benedict
Arnold… until I see compelling evidence otherwise.”

Francis Stockton was ushered in. He was predictably ill— at-ease when he saw both men. But Edgar Thomson proved to be perfectly
courteous and clearly eager to hear his story.

Could it be, John thought—and hoped—that Thomson is now satisfied that Kitty is in good hands? Could it be that whatever wounds
he himself suffered might be starting to heal? John had already come to realize that Kitty was not the only one who had suffered
from the relationship with Francis. Her father also had been hurt. And the nature of the hurt constituted another mystery
for John.