The Trainmasters (54 page)

“She can go with him,” John offered.

“Diane? Never. There are only two poles to her life, John: London and country houses. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t think
she would suit you.”

“And she would suit him—the way he is?”

“Like hand to glove. She will remain in England, and he will travel… But there, life as man and wife
will
be interesting.” He laughed. “I wonder what would happen if she actually lifted up her roots and tried to live in Siam. Or
Nepal. Or in a villa in Bali.”

A steward appeared, carrying a tray with a tea service on it. “Would either of you gentlemen care for a cup of tea?” he asked.
They both told him they would.

After the steward departed, Sir Charles, sipping his tea, caught John’s eye. “You were telling me,” Sir Charles said, “of
your marvelous adventures in the Pennsylvania wilderness.”

“I thought I’d already told you all there is to tell,” John said with a smile, “a dozen or so times.”

“Perhaps you have. Perhaps you have. But have pity on a failing old man”—as he said this he raised his hand, which was trembling
uncontrollably—”and tell it to him again.”

“All right. All right,” he said. “Where shall I begin?” And then as an aside he whispered, “This is like bedtime stories for
boys.”

“I heard that, boy!”

“I intended you to,” John said, straight-faced. “So where would you like me to begin?”

“Deep in the wilderness, at the country home of George Kean.”

“It was a home in the country,” John corrected, “but not a country home, Sir Charles, as you know that term.”

“Yes, I understand that. So go on, tell me what happened.”

And John repeated for Sir John the story of the raid on the powder wagons and the rescue of the captives. And then the ride
to Tyrone, and the train trip that very nearly ended in disaster.

When John finished telling him how George Kean had surrendered rather than risk being blown off the earth, Sir Charles held
up his hand to make John pause. “Wait there for me,” Sir Charles said. “Stop.”

“Yes?” John said. “Something doesn’t make sense?”

“Actually, no,” Sir Charles said. “I’m flabbergasted that that slip of a girl would stand there as calm as you or I and watch
that fuse burn down to the bomb. That took some kind of courage.”

“She is some kind of a courageous girl.”

“And from the bogs and mires, is she?”

“Do you mean is she Irish?” John asked. “Yes… and I must say proud of it.”

“Amazing.”

“I have to add, of course, that the Keans had plans to hang her. So that gave her no little encouragement to do what she did.”

“Still, it took nerve to do that.”

“Well, if that’s what it took, then that’s what she had.”

“And you think she and your son will stay together?”

“I’ll wait and see. I certainly wouldn’t mind having her in the family. She’s a bright girl and educated, in addition to everything
else you’ve heard about her. And she’s a smashing beauty as well. She and Graham might do well together.”

“What of the Keans?”

“They have been charged by the magistrates in Philadelphia. And there will be a trial. I’d guess they will go to jail for
a good many years.”

“We’ll see,” Sir Charles said, doubtfully.

“Oh?”

“My experience of these things is otherwise,” Sir Charles said. “If, as you say, George Kean is a powerful and well-to-do
man, then he doubtless has the political and financial wherewithall to ensure that he suffers very little for his crimes.”

John considered that, then shrugged. “At any rate, his spirit is broken. Observing him on the trip back to Philadelphia would
convince anyone of that.”

“Possibly. But the man sounds damned resilient. I’d be interested to hear about George Kean in a year or so.”

“I’ll keep you informed.”

“And did the other teamsters cause any trouble after the Keans were captured?”

“None. We’ve had no further trouble with them at all.”

“Ahh,” Sir Charles said, “that doesn’t surprise me. But there is another thing that does intrigue me.”

“Yes? What’s that?”

“There were two more men in your little merry band, my Robin. What were their names?” He paused to recall the names. “Ah,
yes, it was Stockton… and another Irishman. What happened to them?”

“When?”

“While your train steamed away from Tyrone,” Sir Charles said. “According to my recollection, Stockton and the other man were
directed to report to you on the movements of the Keans.”

John smiled. “Oh, that!” he said, laughing. “Francis got lost.”

“Lost?”

“Right. Francis became lost in the wilds of Pennsylvania. He thought he knew from their original direction where the Keans
were heading. So Francis tried a shortcut to get in front of them. But it turned out to be rather the reverse of what Francis
expected.”

“So he failed you?”

“Oh, no. He simply made an error. Francis is full of confidence in himself and in his abilities. Now and again his confidence
is misplaced. And in the event, even if he had managed to keep the watch on the Keans, there was little he could have done
to prevent what happened.”

Sir Charles nodded, then turned the full force of his steely, gray-green eyes on John. “And now, Mr. John Robin Hood Carlysle”—John
laughed hard at that—”I have one final question for you.”

“I’ll answer it if I can,” he said, with a mocking laugh.

“About that bomb that the girl had lit, the one in the saddlebags.”

“Yes?”

“Would you have let her go through with it?”

“Let the fuse run its course?”

“Yes.”

“Certainly, Sir Charles. I would have happily done that.” Then he laughed again. “Earlier, I’d worked that fuse so its other
end came nowhere near the gunpowder.”

Sir Charles opened his mouth, closed it, then said, “And the girl wasn’t aware of that?”

“No. She thought the bomb would detonate.”

“Does she know the truth now?”

“She doesn’t. And I’ll never tell her.”

“I’ll keep that secret between us,” Sir Charles said, smiling. “But I do want to meet that girl.”

“You will, Sir Charles. You will.”

Then John rose to his feet and turned toward the bow and Kitty. “But now it’s time for me to see my bride… in case she has
ideas about a date for the wedding.”

“You do that,” Sir Charles said. “And I will stare at the sky…and dream of beautiful, young, and unattached women.”

Mr. Daniel Drew, after spending a few pleasurable minutes on the trading floor of the New York Stock Exchange— not to trade
in stocks which was conducted by his lieutenants, but to observe the action—walked the short distance to his favorite tavern,
the Tontine, on Beaver Street. Once inside he made his way through the lunchtime crowd to the comer table that was reserved
for him.

There he was met by two oi” his lieutenants, Mr. Will Sutherland and Mr. Leonardo Grimaldi. Sutherland was young, hollow cheeked,
eager, and hungry looking. Grimaldi was older, more distinguished—with a mane of silver hair swept back from a high, noble
forehead—and fleshier, with the air of a man who has achieved in life what he set out to achieve. Grimaldi emigrated from
northern Italy, and he claimed a proximate relationship with the Grimaldis who were the royal family of Monaco.

When Drew approached the table, both men rose to greet him.

“I’ve just come from the exchange floor,” Drew said, waving them back to their seats, starting up immediately with the subject
foremost on all their minds. “And I like what I see there.”

Sutherland and Grimaldi smiled at one another, basking in the pleasure the great man took in their work.

“You’ve both done good for me,” Drew went on. “And when this business is finished, you’ll see your rewards. That’s a promise
I’m sure to keep.”

There were, of course, more than a few promises that Daniel Drew did not keep. But no one at the table would have seen fit
to mention that unhappy truth.

“There has been considerable activity all week in Pennsylvania stock,” Sutherland said.

“And the stock has started to slide,” Grimaldi said. “It’s down to forty-eight now. And I’ve heard from two or three of my
informants that some of the larger holders of Pennsylvania will be offering large blocks tomorrow or Monday— hoping to cut
their losses.”

“Excellent, by God! Excellent!” Drew said. “By midweek the stock will have fallen to forty-three or forty-four.” He looked
at Sutherland. “Don’t you agree?”

“I’m dead certain of it.”

“Excellent. Excellent. Then on Thursday or Friday we’ll start purchasing in small blocks, so that we can begin to make delivery
on the stock we’ve shorted. But,” he cautioned, “go slow on this. No large blocks. I want to make sure there’s a real panic
in Pennsylvania stock. That’s when I’ll make my large move.”

“We understand perfectly,” Leonardo Grimaldi said.

*   *   *

After Drew had finished his lunch and was sitting alone over a glass of brandy—Sutherland and Grimaldi having returned to
the exchange floor—a recent acquaintance of his approached the table.

When Drew looked up and saw who it was, he cursed inwardly: The man’s name was Tom Collins.

“Afternoon, Mr. Drew,” Collins said, with a deference that verged on abjection. As an accomplished liar himself, Drew was
well aware that the man’s manner was a façade. And so he ignored it.

“Collins,” he asked, “what brings you here?”

“This is where I was told I could find you.”

“That you have accomplished,” Drew said. “And I’m willing to wager that that isn’t all you intend to accomplish during the
next few minutes.”

“That’s true, Mr. Drew,” Collins said humbly. “I have a few items of business that I trust you can spare the time to discuss
with me.”

Drew looked at him. It was a long, hard, assessing stare. Then he said, “I don’t see any reason why I should have any more
business with you, Collins. You have been paid for your work.” He raised his hands a little off the table, turning his palms
up. “What more have you and I to discuss?”

“Well, sir,” Collins said, lowering his eyes, “that the affair of Mr. Gibbon—”

At the mention of Gibbon’s name, Drew raised his face up, suddenly intensely alert. Then he lifted a hand in warning. “Do
not—” he stopped, then resumed. “Do
not
ever mention
that
name in my presence.”

“Well, yes sir. Of course, sir,” Collins said. “Anyhow, after I completed and accomplished your instructions in that matter
so that the person in question would never be able to testify as to his connection with… certain other people…”

“Yes? Go on,” Drew said, with growing impatience.

“I decided to examine some of the personal records of the person in question… in order to ascertain whether or not some of
these might also implicate certain other gentlemen.”

“I see,” Drew said, gradually becoming aware of the place that Collins was leading him. “And I take it that your search achieved
some kind of success.”

“It did.”

“And, I take it, you are prepared to provide some evidence to that effect.”

“That I am,” Collins said and produced from a pocket of his coat two pages. “I’d be pleased if you would take a glance at
these,” Collins said. “Though,” he added, “you should know that these two only represent a small portion of the… materials
that are now in my possession.”

“I would never dare to fault you, Collins, by suggesting that they are,” Drew said. Then he scanned the two documents quickly
and handed them back.

“So what are you proposing?” Drew asked, tight lipped, angry.

“Well,” Collins drawled. The deference was no longer in his voice. “I don’t plan to fall into the same trap that the man whose
name I daren’t mention did. So I’ve placed these documents in the care of a trusted friend…”

“I wonder to what lengths you went to find a friend who would trust you,” Drew said.

Collins sailed blithely on, however, refusing to take notice of the dig. “And in the event that some accident or other befalls
me, then my friend has instructions to reveal these documents to certain people known to you.”

“A sensible move,” Drew said.

“And I have also written a narrative account of events in which I have participated, including the names of people who gave
me my orders.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“And that, too, is in a safe place. Its existence would be revealed should I meet with an accident.”

“I can see that you are a man who puts his trust in careful preparation,” Drew said. Then he snapped to the point. “So what
do you want from me, Collins?”

“Not a great deal, Mr. Drew,” he said, spreading his arms like a statue of Jesus crucified. “Very little in fact, considering.”

“Tell me,” Drew said.

“All right then, I’ll do that,” Collins said, warming up to a job he found wonderfully pleasurable and exciting. “First of
all, as you know, Mr. Drew, I am—have been—a labor contractor. I’d like to continue in that profession.”

“You would, would you?” Drew’s brows raised into fine, joyful arches at that.
Praise the Ijjrd!
he thought to himself.
have just the perfect job for Tom Collins: the Isthmus Railroad! Across Panama! Yellow fever! Malaria!