Chapter 17

The Pullman

“I hope it doesn't rain on us,” said Max, for want for something to say.

Harriet didn't respond, apparently content between Max and the locomotive. Max didn't mind.

They were racing though the dairy farms of Riverdale, which would one day be renamed Bainham. The tracks led them past a cemetery, dug into the rise on the right. When the train swung left and came around the side of a low hill Harriet finally spoke,

“We had better sit down. There is a bit of a bump on the next set of points.”

The train did rock when it crossed the points a minute later. Then the track skirted Riverdale town, passing behind the post office and drawing alongside a goods platform at the Cook Road Dairy Factory. But the train hadn’t a reason to stop and steamed on resolutely.

Riverdale was by no means the end of the Valley Line, but it was the last major settlement on the valley floor. From there on the headwaters of the Aorere River became true wild country. Here the land was still being broken in and new immigrants were cutting farms from the wastelands left behind by the clear-felling sawmills.

As the locomotive picked up speed and climbed through a high sided cutting away from the town Max found himself wondering for the first time how they were going to get back to the city or where they would spend the rest of the night. He had assumed that they would just return the way they had come. But when he thought about it he knew that there were no trains from Riverdale or Salisbury on Wednesday nights. He lived too close to the tracks to not be aware of the patterns.

Not wanting to ask or appear concerned, he looked at Harriet. She sat with her knees drawn up and her chin resting on her folded arms. He failed to catch her eye behind the goggles and instead found himself wondering at what had passed between them only minutes ago when they stood on the nose of the loco, facing into the night wind together. He had felt like the King of the World, but what had it meant to her? He would need clear communication soon... about him, and her, and about them.

“Thank you Max,” she said, turning her head toward him all of a sudden.

“What for?” he asked, feeling confused. She smiled and sighed.

“For trusting me, I guess. For believing in me.”

“I don't understand,” he responded slowly. She offered another reluctant smile in response and studied her boot for a moment.

“I guess I haven't really let you know me.”

“You could,” he said at once.

“I could,” she said after a moment. The train rumbled on, chugging steam and smoke, clicking and clacking on the joins between the rails. Max knew they were drawing near their destination. “You came on this adventure,” Harriet continued. “And that means more than you know.” Max didn't know what to say. But she spoke again. “Are you ready?”

“For the Salisbury Bridge?”

“It's a Viaduct, Max,” she corrected. Max nodded.

Much higher.

“This time take my hand,” he said, holding it up for her. She looked him in the eyes for a moment... then seized his hand in her own. The sound of the train on the rails changed, becoming hollow, the ground disappeared, and they shot out over the viaduct and its black canyon. Harriet squeezed his hand as they crossed the void, one hundred and sixty feet above the hidden water. The breath caught in Max's lungs, and he didn't let it out until the locomotive wheeshed out a great cloud of white steam as it slid though Salisbury Station on the far side.

There looked to be a little more life in the hotels of Salisbury town. Gold miners, it seemed, never slept. Max felt the push go out of the engine as the train rolled on and entered the yards of the Salisbury Slate Quarry.

“We'll need to move quick when the time comes,” said Harriet, face a-flush with excitement. “Wouldn't do to get caught right at the end.”

The train continued to lose speed as they passed rakes of wagons loaded with slate and other general goods trucks. Then the brakes began a long squeal which ended in the train coming to a complete halt in a great cloud of steam.

“Now!” she said and sprung away to the left, landing lightly on the ballast, half obscured in vapour. Max followed at once. Coming up from a crouch, he set off at a run after Harriet. She led them between the parked wagons. Max felt sure that he would hear a cry of alarm from the engineers at any moment. The mingled fear and excitement reminded him of the times he had been discovered raiding orchards and had needed to make a run from an enraged fruitier. But no call came. Harriet was laughing now, running and laughing, they both were.

She reached back to him, and Max caught her hand. Then catching her, he came into her arms and spun her around. Then stopped, her chin came up, Max's head bent down, and he kissed her willing lips. The world spun on around them.

They came apart panting. Max was about to apologise, but he found her mouth again.

Harriet's hand pressed against the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, holding him close, not letting him go. Her lips were at once soft and willing, then firm and urgent, as if she had so much to say that no words could express.

Max's heart pounded in his chest as she filled his arms; her perfume, her warmth, her nearness, the intimate contact, threatening to overwhelm him as every breath they shared seemed to bridge the gap between who they had been and what they might become together.

* * *

Harriet led Max though ranks of quiet wagons, to the back of the yard, where she showed him the most surprising thing.

“I don't believe it. That's a...” he began while staring at the darkened passenger coach before them. He walked down the long carriage, running his hand over the seven capital letters which

had been affixed to its side in large Roman type print. “...a PULLMAN.”

“A Pullman Palace Car,” confirmed Harriet with satisfaction. “As seen on all the great railroads of Europe and America,” she added with a flourish.

“But how? How did it get here?” asked Max, in mild shock at discovering this icon of rail extravagance at the back of the Salisbury Slate Quarry yards.

“When they came on the market in England, Jeremiah Lavisham, being a man of great pride, just had to have one. He imported this right away, but when it arrived he had no real use for his folly and stored it here.”

“It isn't even on Coast and Main lines?”

“No. He rents the space. But I think he has forgotten all about it. Although I've found a use for her. Come aboard.” With that she pulled herself up the steps to stand on the back landing. A key was produced from one of her pockets, placed in the padlock and turned. She disappeared inside. Max caught up a moment later, entering the antechamber to find her finishing the lighting of two shuttered oil lamps.

“Here,” she said, handing him one. “Follow me.” At once the small lights caught the polished wood panelling of the coach’s interior, making the rich oak and mahogany shine. After the roar of the train ride the inside of the coach was deafeningly quiet.

“Amazing,” said Max, examining the lush décor and bright fittings, as he followed Harriet down the corridor.

“She is a composite sleeper with a small dining lounge in the front. Everything the modern traveller needs. If I had the money I'd buy it for myself,” said Harriet, as she pulled the woollen hat off and shook out her russet hair. Max thought that a strange statement. Surely if she just stuck with Gilbert it would come to her in time. Max dared to hope that her plans for the future weren’t as fixed as he feared.

The heavy velvet curtains on the right wall were all drawn closed while several doors, on the left were likewise shut. Harriet stopped beside one.

“This can be your room.” She pushed the wood panel door open, and Max entered. All the classic Pullman continental luxuries were in place, more polished wood, brass fittings, a leather chair, plumbed wash basin and a neatly turned down single bed. Max hung his light on the silver lamp hook.

“I'm sure it will suit me just fine,” he announced. Harriet leant on his door frame watching him closely.

“I'll be a few doors down. But Max this carriage is my retreat, not my boudoir. Don't come wandering about. If you do... well I'll have my pepperbox.” With a cheeky grin she closed the door and was gone, leaving Max no opportunity for declarations about the safety of her virtue while in his company. He listened to the sound of her moving away down the passage and opening another door. Then it was quiet, apart from the call of a lone morepork and the distant roar of water from the Salisbury Falls. He felt a little cheated of the chance to voice himself a gentleman.

Maybe she didn't want to make him a liar.

* * *

Max woke once in the night to the sound of heavy rain on the carriage roof. He lay and listened for some sound that Harriet was likewise awake. But there was only the rush of the deluge. He spent time imagining her in her room down the corridor, so close. He played silly games of trying to reach out to her with his mind, to will her to wake. The rain poured on. He recalled every word, every aspect of their train ride together; the feel of her arms around him, her head resting against his back, the sensation of her lips on his. He wondered with some disbelief at how quickly things had changed. But he was content.

And drifted off to sleep once more, a smile on his face.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Max groped his way out of bed and pulled back the dark blue drape. A pink dawn lit the world outside his small room. Harriet laughed up at him.

“Get up, sleepy head. You'll miss the train!”

He blinked down at her radiant face and let out a small involuntary groan, which he immediately hoped the thick pane prevented her from hearing. He managed a weak smile and wave.

“Catch me up there,” she called, pointing off up the hillside. “Hurry and don't forget to double check the padlock!” With that she waved and turned away to march off over the gravel. The rain had stopped sometime in the small hours and the world was washed anew. Max rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Any other morning he would have struggled to get himself moving, but he had never been awoken by Harriet Leith before! The usual force of will was not needed today.

After pulling on his boots, he grabbed his jacket and attempted to straighten the bed. Then there was nothing keeping him there and everything calling him away. He pulled the door closed and tested his sleepy legs down the passage. Before springing down the iron stairs to the ground he snipped and double checked the padlock.

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“Thank you for good service,” he said out loud to the Pullman as he strode away.

Harriet was toiling up the grassy hillside in a long skirt and dark jacket.

She must keep a wardrobe on board!

Max splashed some water on his face from the swollen stream at the foot of the hill, before jump-stepping it and beginning the climb. The valley had rained itself out and although it was still early, the sun not having reached them yet, it would be a bright blue day.

A short few minutes later Max had his hands on his knees as the upward trek took its toll. Harriet was beyond the halfway mark now. Puffing, he gave a laugh. There was only one place she could be leading them, their return ticket to Collingwood; the Quartz Range Station.

Unlike Salisbury on the valley floor, the Quartz Range Station was on the main trunk, on Lavisham's Coast and Main Line. For any out-bound train Quartz Range Station was the last stop on the run up from Collingwood, before the big climb over the Perry Saddle and then out to the West Coast.

By the time Max reached what he guessed was about halfway Harriet had disappeared over the brow. He suspected she would already be standing on the platform awaiting whatever northbound train was due. Max surveyed the valley behind him. The Salisbury State Quarry Yards were spread out directly below, with the dark blue Pullman Palace car tucked away discreetly in one corner. Salisbury town and station clung to the limestone edge of the Aorere River gorge, starting where the viaduct, that they had crossed the night before, ended. He could see miners using a long wooden suspension bridge to span the distance between the town and the far bank. Max had heard stories of a good swimming hole somewhere below the town at the foot of a waterfall.

You'd have to time your dip not to coincide with the gold miners upstream washing out their sluice-boxes.

A hoot of a distant steam whistle broke Max away from his observations and echoed around the hills. He quickly renewed his climb. A minute later he peered up the valley and saw the smoke plume of the approaching train. It was the morning commute from Westport, bringing early rising businessmen from the coast and Nelson, for a day of politics in the capital.

When Max finally completed the climb, the hissing locomotive, a handsome A & G Price built 'A' class, 4-6-2 'Pacific' already stood in front of the station, with five haematite red passengers coaches in tow. He staggered around behind the train and mounted the platform as the conductor called the 'all aboard.' Max struggled to catch his breath. Harriet was nowhere to be seen and the landing was emptying quickly.

He was beginning to panic, just a little, when a station orderly rushed up to him, “Mr Skilton?”

“Yes?”

“Miss Leith left this for you.” And he handed Max a single ticket. Max thanked him and headed for the nearest carriage door, the last. “Mr Skilton,” interrupted the attendant again. “To the front if you will? First class.” Max stared at the ticket again, then dashed the length of the train to board the first car, just as the attendants waved their green flags, rang their hand bells and the locomotive released its brakes with a loud hiss and a great gout of steam.

“Coffee?” asked Harriet, when Max found her, sitting at a polished table in the first-class car. She smiled at him sweetly, as he took the chair opposite her.

“Thank you. That was a close thing.” The train was rolling now. He watched her pour dark liquid from the pot between them, into two thick white porcelain cups. Then with quite spontaneous courage and a happy shake of his head, he said; “Harriet you are amazing, and I must add rather beautiful.”

He was at once pleased to notice that she was not at all conceited, for her hand on the coffee pot shook a little at his bold pronouncement so that she had to lay it aside. Instead, she took up his hand, reaching across with both hers to take it. Then she smiled so unabashedly at his attention that his heart swelled still further for her.

And there they sat, looking into each other’s eyes, beholding one another face to face, enquiring of each other with little twitches of the mouth and movements of the eyes and turns of the head, so that they rumbled, totally unaware, over the breathtaking Boulder River viaduct.

Finally, Harriet broke away to laugh into her cup and let the colour rise in her cheeks.

“Breakfast!” declared a waiter, arriving suddenly to place plates of hot bacon, seared half tomatoes, fried eggs and a rack of toast on the table between them.

“I took the liberty of ordering for us,” remarked Harriet, as a second waiter arrived with two white plates, cutlery and napkins. “I hope you don't mind?”

“Of course not,” replied Max, as the waiter offered to add milk to their coffees and did so at their dual nods. “Like I said, you are amazing.”

“Well enjoy then!” she instructed, picking up a fork and stabbing a strip of bacon.

I hope to.

The train steamed easily over the tableland on the Aorere's eastern bank. The clock on the wall of Max and Harriet's carriage, said that it was five past seven, when the first rays of the rising sun shone through their window. With some relief and a little regret Max saw that they would be back to the city and at University in time for their first classes.

A good number of well attired gentlemen, presumably all travelling to Collingwood on business, sat at other tables, also enjoying hearty breakfasts or smoking morning pipes. A number had tipped their hats to Harriet, addressing her as “Miss Leith”, as they passed the table where she and Max ate. Likewise, she greeted at least half a dozen by name. But she did not linger over pleasantries and always returned quickly to Max, who felt like the king of the world.

Soon they were talking together about their studies and then about the upcoming robot battle. A subject on which Max was quickly proving himself uninformed.

“No it's not like that at all,” laughed Harriet, wiping her mouth on a napkin, and leaning forward a little as if to share a secret. “We are actually daring to believe that legs, iron legs, would serve a robot in a melee better than wheels.”

“Well that is beyond me,” reflected Max. “But are you meaning to say that you are going to produce and enter both a combat robot in the League of Robot Wars and a locomotive in the Haast Pass trial, while successfully completing your second year steam engineering studies?”

“Yes sir,” confirmed Harriet at once, with a resolve that Max found instantly compelling. He believed her too. “I agree, it's a lot. But the loco is primarily Father's department and is designed and half built already. The robot is a little more complex, but once the design is finalised, I will be able to practically leave the boys to the build, almost. Thankfully I can use aspects of both projects for credits on some course work. Wait!” she added holding up a hand. “You aren’t from the Murder's Bay Argus are you?” They both laughed and the conversation continued, natural and fun.

Out the window the so-called 'golden hills' of the Aorere Goldfields, through which they passed, were ugly from burning and digging. A few tenuous remnants of native forest dotted the landscape like small islands in a sea of barren land, regrowth tea tree, gorse and prickly ekeeke. On the ridge tops dead trees, their tops burnt away, stood like ghostly white sentinels. Above these, to the east, rose the hard peaks of Brown Cow, Red Peak, The Drop Off and high Mount Hardy.

At one point a great floating dredge could be seen down in the valley, working the river-flats for alluvial gold near Riverdale.

A few mean looking characters stood on the platform at Bungapore, but when they boarded none entered the first-class carriage. Later, from the Slate River viaduct the traveller could look down on the roof tops of Slateford town and also see about the gully enormous white jets of water that shot from the sluice guns to hour-by-hour wash away whole hillsides exposing the precious metals within. The Slateford platform offered up a good selection of city bound travellers, all of whom Max ignored.

For the only person he truly wished to see sat before him. It was the same at Doctor's Creek and The Devil's Boots. Although he did note a couple of times certain pairs of gentlemen who did board and move into the first-class carriage. One in the pair having in his hand and then on his lap a small strongbox, while the second, carried at his hip a very practical looking revolver. Thus, Max observed the movement from the mines to the city banks of the mid-week extractions.

As the train drew into Appo's Creek station the wait-staff returned to quickly clear Max and Harriet's table. Although Harriet hardly seemed to notice, happy as she was in conversation with Max about steam engineering or archaeology.

Now for those who looked; Collingwood city was clear to see in the north-west, and here there was a double rail allowing for steam trams to also ply their trade between Appo's Creek and Central Station.

The namesake creek flowed down from Appo's Flat, brown with pit wash and mine tailings. But about the station were built a good number of fine country manors with picket fences and rows of silver birch and oak. Affording those, such as mine owners and military brass, a gentleman's life, close to the city but at home in the country.

Harriet laughed again at something Max had said and turned her head to look out at the people waiting on the platform. Again, Max studied her handsome profile, the elegant neck and strong jaw, the fine nose and proud forehead, full lips, fiery hair; tied back but spilling in ringlets behind, golden hoop earrings, the amazing green eyes... the green eyes, something was wrong. Harriet remained frozen for a long moment. When she looked back the colour was drained from her face.

“Max, I'm sorry. You need to go, now."

Max was taken completely off guard.

“I'm sorry, pardon?”

“You need to go,” she repeated, looking slightly panicked.

“Go? Go where?” Max was confused and starting to feel hurt.

“Down the train. Into another carriage, just away from me!”

Max stood. She was looking out the window again, he couldn't see at whom. He glared down at her for a moment. Then wrestling his feelings under control said;

“Lady, I am in your debt. Thank you for a wonderful journey.” She remained staring out the window, chin on hand, apparently unhearing. But as Max turned to go he wondered if he saw her eyes beginning to swim.

The train was pulling out of the station and Max was halfway down the aisle of carriage number two, whose pew seats were all full, when the reason for Harriet's sudden coldness was made plainly obvious to him, in tones that even a deaf man could hear.

Gilbert Lavisham, having clearly just boarded, strode toward him, his blue eyes cold, not a single hair on his groomed raven head out of place, powerful in his black suit and pressed white cuffs.

“You are on the wrong train Skilton!” he hissed, barging past Max with the helpful sweep of his brief-case wielding arm. Max turned to watch him go, to watch him depart carriage number two and enter number one, first class, to where his Harriet waited.

Max found a seat in number three.

She had played him for a fool. She had used him and enjoyed the ride, but now, on this very train, they returned to reality. He tasted a bitter gall in his mouth and wished for his black bowler to pull down over his darkened eyes.