The Iron Road

Sliding the bolt across, Veryan lit the lamp then sat on the edge of her bed, hugging herself as she waited for the faint queasiness to pass.

A sharp rap on the door sent shock tingling along her nerves and her heart gave a sickening lurch.

“Open the door, girl. C'mon, hurry up.”

Veryan didn't move. “Won't it wait, Queenie? I just want – “

“No, it won't bleddy wait. Now you open this door, else I'll fetch one of the men.”

As Veryan slid back the wooden bolt, Queenie whirled in.

“He's only dead, isn't he.”

“Who is? What are you talking about?”

“Who d'you think? Ned. He's dead. Stabbed. With your knife.”

Veryan stared at her. He couldn't be dead. Blackness swirled across her eyes. Her head swam. She stumbled to the bed and dropped onto it.

“I didn't stab him.”

“Well, it was your knife Paddy pulled out of 'n. And we all seen you threaten him with it.”

“Yes, I know, but – “

“Look, I don't care one way or t'other. He idn no great loss.” Queenie tugged her shawl tighter. “But we don't want no magistrates on the works. Not when all the men have been drinking, and spirits is banned. Wouldn't do us no good at all, that wouldn't. Getting rid of the body won't be no problem. He's stinking of drink so if he's put on the line ‘t will look like an accident.” She patted Veryan's face with dirty fingers.

“Don't you worry, I'll take care of it. I've looked out for you since your mother died, ‘aven't I?” She put her hand on the latch. “Just one thing: I don't want to hear no more about you leaving the works. Best to forget that. You'd always be looking over your shoulder, always wondering if someone would find out what you done. Best if you stay here with me and make the best of it.”

Later that night, driven by a vicious wind, the rippling curtain of rain beat down on the lifeless body of Gypsy Ned. It pounded the fallen leaves to mush and flattened rust-brown bracken. It gouged channels down the embankment, softened poorly compacted soil, and pooled in the new excavations.

And in the darkness, further down the track where the massive pillars of an almost completed viaduct spanned the tree-lined valley beneath, it trickled into badly mortared cracks. Dripping and dribbling through the rubble, silently, unseen, it washed grit and dust from between the stones. A large boulder shifted imperceptibly, altering the load on a supporting baulk of timber.