The Iron Road Read Online Free PDF Page B

Lady Radclyff rose, folding her hands in front of her. She remained standing, and James had to force his curiosity aside as he continued his swift appraisal of the man he had come to see. Now was not the time to speculate on this unusual pairing.
    Perhaps a hand’s span taller than his wife, which still left him several inches short of James’s six feet, the baronet was of slight build, with fluid graceful movements that belied his years. This was a man who took care of his body. His hair, flecked with grey at the temples, curled forward from a side parting to blend with bushy side-whiskers. He was otherwise clean-shaven. His aquiline features revealed nothing, but James sensed himself assessed. Watching the fastidious mouth thin into a smile, he was fleetingly reminded of a snake.
    Approaching her husband, Lady Radclyff laid one hand lightly on his arm. ‘Gerald, I’ve been telling Mr Santana about my charity committee and he has kindly agreed to let me visit the railway works to see what is needed and how best we may help.’
    ‘Indeed, my dear.’ The baronet covered his wife’s hand with his own. But to James it appeared to be not so much a gesture of affection as a confirmation of ownership. That is most obliging of him. You’ll take Polly with you, and one of the grooms.’ It was clearly an instruction.
    ‘Certainly.’ Her smile was fond. ‘I wish you wouldn’t worry so.’
    He raised her hand to his lips. ‘You’re very precious to me, my dear. I know how much your charity work means to you, but I will not countenance any risk to your safety.’ His gaze flicked briefly to James who recognized the warning and wondered if he might have been wiser to refuse Lady Radclyff’s plea. Of course it would. This job was turning out to be very much more complicated than he had envisaged.
    ‘Now, my dear, you must excuse us. I’m sure Mr Santana is anxious to explain the reasons for lack of progress on the line.’

Chapter Three
    By seven that evening, rain was failing steadily onto already sodden earth. In the shanty, warm, humid air was thick with the smells of wet clothes, unwashed bodies, and boiled meat.
    Lifting the frayed hem of her apron Veryan wiped her damp forehead then turned to the stack of dirty plates and bowls. Cooking for nine men created interminable washing-up. Behind her, sprawled on benches around the table and cursing the weather, the navvies waited impatiently for the little engine that would take them, sitting on the flat-bed wagons, back into Penryn to spend their wages.
    They had started drinking as soon as they returned from the works. Once the meal was finished they had begun drinking again. Normally they were long gone by now. The engine was late. Let it come soon.
    Queenie’s round cheeks were crimson from the heat and her small eyes glittered with satisfaction at the money she was making. ‘Hark at that.’ She cocked her head. Even with the noise the men were making Veryan could still hear the rain drumming on the tarred felt roof. ‘Pissing down it is.’
    Queenie surveyed her lodgers. ‘Their wages is burning holes in their pockets. If that engine don’t come they can’t go nowhere to spend it. Oh well.’ With a sigh of satisfaction she folded her hands under her sagging bosom and settled more comfortably in the chair. ‘’Tis an ill wind as they say. Here, girl! Got mud in your ears have you?’
    As Veryan started, rising wearily to her feet, Queenie held out her tin mug. ‘Get me a drop more whisky – out of the keg,’ she added, lowering her voice. ‘No need for anyone to know about the bottle. Got to keep that for a rainy day. Ha! A rainy day.’ Her voice caught on a hiccup then she belched. Veryan took the mug without a word. ‘Have a drop yourself,’ Queenie urged. Do you good it will.’
    Veryan said nothing. Silence was safer on nights like this. It gave her a kind of invisibility. Handing back the mug with its measure of spirit she turned away. But