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She hesitated, reluctant to take the final step of commitment. It was not difficult to understand, and he waited in silence.
“This is gathered from things Mr. Dalgarno has told me in the course of conversation,” she began, her eyes steady on his face, watching and judging his reaction. “Little pieces of information I have overheard . . . and now actual papers which I have brought with me for you to read and consider. I . . .” She looked away for the first time. “I took them . . . stole them, if you like.”
He was careful not to express shock. “I see. From where?”
She raised her eyes. ?
??From Mr. Dalgarno’s rooms. I am worried for him, Mr. Monk. I think there is fraud being practiced in the building of the new track for the railway, and I am very afraid he may be implicated, although I am certain he is innocent . . . at least . . . at least I am almost certain. Sometimes even good people yield to the temptation to turn the other way when their friends are involved in something wrong. Loyalties can be . . . misplaced, especially when you owe much that is good in your life to someone else’s generosity, and trust in you.” She looked at him intently, as if to judge how much he understood.
Some far memory stabbed him at the thought, but he kept his face blank. He could not tell her how acute was his feeling for just that kind of obligation, and the pain of failure.
“Is it a fraud from which Mr. Dalgarno might profit?” he asked levelly.
“Certainly. He is a junior partner in the company, so if the company made more money then he would also.” She leaned forward a fraction, just a tiny movement, but the earnestness in her face was intense. “I would give everything I have to prove his innocence and protect him from future blame, should there be any.”
“What is it exactly that you have overheard, Miss Harcus, and from whom?” There was something in the mention of railways that stirred an old memory within him—light and shadows, unease, a knowledge of pain from before the accident. He had rebuilt his life since then, created something new and good, recognizing and piecing together the facts of himself he had discovered, and the shards of memory that had returned. But the vast mass of it was lost like a dream, somewhere in the mind but inaccessible, frightening because it was unknown. What detection had shown him was not always pleasant: a man driven by ambition—ruthless, clever, brave, feared more than liked.
She was watching him with those intense, golden-brown eyes. But she was consumed by her own discomfort.
“Talk of great profit which must be kept secret,” she answered him. “The new line is due to be completed very soon. They are working on the last link now, and then it will be ready to open.”
He was struggling to make sense of it, to understand why she should imagine dishonesty. “Is it not usual to make a large profit from such an undertaking?”
“Of course. But not one that must be kept secret, and . . . and there is something else which I have not yet told you.”
“Yes?”
Her eyes searched his face minutely, as if every inflection, no matter how tiny, were of importance to her. It seemed she cared for Dalgarno so profoundly that her concern over his involvement was more important to her than anything else. A misjudgment of Monk could be a disaster.
She made her decision. “If there has been fraud, and it is to do with the purchase of land, then that would be morally very wrong,” she said. “But if it concerns the actual building of the track, the cutting through hills, which is sometimes necessary, or the building of bridges and viaducts, and something is done which is not right, a matter of design or materials, do you not see, Mr. Monk, that the consequences could be far more serious . . . even terrible?”
A memory stirred in him so briefly he was not even sure if he imagined it, like a darkness at the edge of the mind. “What sort of consequence are you thinking of, Miss Harcus?”
She let her breath out in a sigh, then gulped. “The worst I can imagine, Mr. Monk, would be if a train were to come off the rails and crash. It could kill dozens of people . . . even hundreds . . .” She stopped. The idea of it was too dreadful to allow her to continue.
Train crash. The words moved something inside Monk like a bright, vicious dagger in his mind. He had no idea why. Certainly a train crash was a fearful thing, but was it any worse than loss at sea, or any other of a dozen disasters, natural or man-made?
“You understand?” Her voice came to him as if from far away.
“Yes!” he said sharply. “Of course I do.” He forced his attention back to the woman in front of him, and her problem. “You are afraid that some fraud in the construction of the railway, whether in the land used or the materials, may cause an accident in which many people could lose their lives. You think it possible Mr. Dalgarno may share the blame for this, even though you believe it extremely unlikely that he would be morally guilty. You would like me to find out the truth of the matter before any of this happens, and thereby prevent it.”
“I am sorry,” she said softly, but she did not lower her gaze. “I should not have questioned your understanding. That is exactly what I would like. Please . . . before you say anything else, look at the papers I have with me. I dare not leave them in case they are missed, but I believe they matter.” She reached for the bag at her feet and picked it up. She opened it and took out fifteen or twenty sheets of paper and leaned across, offering them to him.
He accepted them almost automatically. The first one was folded over, and he opened it. It was a survey map of a large area of countryside, most of it with many hills and valleys, and a line of railway track marked clearly through it. It took him a moment or two to recognize the names. It was in Derbyshire, on a line running roughly between London and Liverpool.
“This is the new line Mr. Dalgarno’s company is building?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. It goes through some very beautiful land between mining districts and the big cities. It will be used a great deal for both goods and passengers.”
He did not repeat his comment about quite normal profit. He had said it once. He looked at the next paper, which was a map of a much smaller section of the same area, and therefore in greater detail. This time the grid references were on the corners, the scale below, and every rise and fall of the land was written in, and in most places the actual composition of the soil and rock beneath the surface. As he stared at it he had an odd sense of familiarity, as if he had seen it before. And yet as far as he knew he had never been to any part of Derbyshire. The names of the towns and villages were unknown to him. One or two of the higher peaks were identified, and they were equally unknown.
Katrina Harcus waited without comment.
He looked at the next sheet, and the next. They were deeds to purchase stretches of land. He had seen such things often before. There would be many of them necessary in the construction of a railway. Land always belonged to someone. Railways had to stop at towns if they were to be any use, and the way in and out lay through areas that were bound to be built upon. It was sometimes a long and difficult matter to acquire a passage through.
Some enthusiasts believed the rights of progress overruled everything else. All structures across the path of the railway should be demolished, even ancient churches and abbeys, monuments to history, great works of architecture, private homes. Others took the opposite view and hated the noise and destruction with a violence that did not stop short of action.
He flicked back to the first map again. Then he realized what it was that had jolted his memory, not the land at all, but the fact that it was a surveyor’s map. He had seen such maps before, with a proposed railway line penciled through them. It had to do with Arrol Dundas, the man who had been his friend and mentor when he had left Northumberland as a young man and come south, the man to whom he had owed just that kind of loyalty of which Katrina Harcus had spoken, the debt of honor. Monk had been a banker then, determined to make his fortune in finance. Dundas had taught him how to look and behave like a gentleman, how to use charm and skill and his facility with figures to advise in investment and always earn himself a profit at the same time.
