The Enginemen, Chapter 9/2

Chapter 9 (continued)

He awoke late, and drew back the curtains. It was grey outside, the wind seemed to have subsided but there was a steady drizzle. James began to regret his decision to stay the extra day, wondering if he should abort his return to the castle and make straight for Abergavenny station, but by the time he’d finished the greasy breakfast Mrs McQueen had served him, hovering as she watched him eat, the clouds had lifted a little and the rain had eased. The appearance on the dot of ten o’clock of the sombre shape of Archibald Trefusis decided him. He would return to Raglan and get rid of this presence as fast as he could, and try to pick up the relaxed atmosphere of his visit the previous day.

The cab driver was still dressed in yesterday’s attire and had clearly not shaved that morning, black stubble now adorning his coarse facial skin.

“Ah, Mr James Peplow, how good to see you again this morning. I trust you have been well looked after by my friend, Mrs McQueen.” These pleasantries were given, at least in James’ interpretation, an ironic edge. The taxi driver gave the woman who’d accompanied James to the door one of his grisly smiles.

James nodded and got into the cab. Mrs McQueen gave him and Trefusis a last conspiratorial smirk, and the taxi driver switched on the engine. It spluttered and died. He tried a second time, James’ heart sank, now he was trapped in a broken down vehicle. Then he thought, I’ve an excuse to escape, look for another cab, only to be frustrated as the ancient vehicle, at the third attempt, coughed back into some semblance of life. They jerked their way out of Monmouth’s deserted Sunday streets and drew up in the car park of the castle, where only a couple of cars were standing this dull overcast day.

The time had come which James had been both dreading and looking forward to. In order to get rid finally of this limpet of a cab driver he had to pay him off and he feared now the reckoning would come, he’d find himself victim of a rip-off which he should have insisted on challenging much earlier. He enquired somewhat nervously about the taxi fare for the two days.

Well, Mr Peplow, Raglan to Monmouth last night, finding you lodgings, and back again this morning, I reckon a fiver would be good value, don’t you think?”

James was startled, it was indeed good value, far cheaper than he’d been expecting. He stumbled out words of grateful thanks.

“Mr Peplow, it was my pleasure to look after you. Can I take you anywhere else when you’ve finished your visit here?”

The words sounded fine, but James still felt uncomfortable in the man’s presence. He now felt obligated to the man, he had been good to him, yet he felt somehow that the man was insincere, sinister even, that he was somehow sneering at him behind his mask of solicitous servitude.

“No, please. I don’t know how much time I’ll stay. And anyway, I have the number of the taxi driver from Abergavenny who brought me here,” he lied somewhat unnecessarily.

“Are you sure? I can wait as long as you like. I can look after you.”

James summoned up his last ounce of resistance. He had to be decisive now, or the man would never leave him in peace.

“No, Mr Trefusis, you’ve been too good to me. Please do not let me detain you.” And with that he proffered his hand, somewhat reluctantly, and shook the cab driver’s hand to demonstrate that he intended their parting to be final.

“Come again, Mr Peplow, I’ll look after you properly next time.” The undertaker shook his head ruefully. “Next time I’ll bring one of my larger cars, not this old rattletrap although she’s served me well for many years.” And he went, at last.

Without the benefit of sunshine, the castle looked threatening. The Great Tower glowered over the dark moat, leaning drunkenly where it had been undermined during the siege by Fairfax’s troops in the Civil War. As he trudged round the deserted courtyards, he became aware of the extent of the damage and read from his notes how the ruination had been deliberate, an act of war rather than nature’s gradual erosion.

An hour passed and a few more souls were wandering haphazardly through the castle enclosure. Three figures were approaching and two, children he now noticed, peeled away from the woman, presumably their mother, and entered one of the dungeons in a tower half open to the elements. He followed them and noticed suddenly with a pang how handsome the boy was. He had a cascade of blond curls, flawless bronzed skin, no spotty youth this. He must have been about fourteen, perhaps fifteen, no more. His appearance gave the lie to the awkwardness of adolescence. His sister, perhaps a couple of years younger, was no match for his beauty, she was following her brother, poking into the crevasses, tugging at fronds of weeds sprouting from the rough stonework, peering out of the window slits at the damp rolling countryside.

The boy, despite his age and the inclement weather, was merely dressed in shorts and a brief vest-shirt which left his arms and shoulders bare. He moved around the glistening stones with a graceful agility. James leant on a stone wall, a level above the dungeon floor, and watched the couple as they pursued their childish curiosity. Then the boy began to parry with his sister, at first playfully. She tried to repel him, but he put his hands round her neck and pretended to squeeze, she shouted at him to stop. This seemed to inflame the lad, and he grabbed her wrists and pinioned them behind her back, forcing her against the tower wall. He noticed a trickle of water running down the stones and pushed her against it, causing the girl to cry out and struggle, but the more she fought him, the tighter he held her and laughed at her discomfiture.

James saw that the mother was nowhere to be seen and felt the horseplay had gone too far, the girl was clearly now angry and scared and the beautiful boy was bullying her unmercifully. He felt he had to intervene. He called down to the pair,

“Young man, you should leave your sister alone, you’re hurting her.”

The boy looked up, startled at the intervention. He did not relax his grip, he just laughed, then shouted,

“Go away, old man. Stop watching us, you f***ing pervert.” He suddenly let go of the girl’s wrists and grabbed at her skirt, pulling it up to expose her knickers. “What are you staring at, you filthy old man. Do you like little girls? I’ll tell my mother you’ve been following us around, that you’re a f***ing paedophile.” And with that, the handsome youth let go of the girl, only to stick two crude fingers in the air at him, his beautiful face now contorted in mock anger.

“Go away, what are you waiting for?” The boy turned his back and suddenly dropped his shorts and underpants baring a pair of shapely buttocks at James, then pulled them back up quickly and turned again to face him.

“There, are you satisfied now, you c***? Was it boys you like? Get lost!”

James was shocked by the filth emanating from the boy’s lips. He felt himself growing hot and embarrassed and slunk away from the scene, as if the boy’s words had struck home, were true.

Although released, the girl had made no attempt to escape from the dungeon.

“See, she likes it.” He grabbed the girl again, clasped a hand over her mouth and pushed his other hand down the loose neck of her dress until she was squirming under his assault.
James fled. ‘How dare he,’ he thought, ‘how could such a young boy know such filthy language’ and he heard the youth cackling with raucous laughter in the distance. He heard squeals from the girl, whether in anguish or excitement he did not stop to verify, he felt guilty at leaving her at the boy’s mercy but he could not face the ignominy of the boy’s unjustified accusations. Only then did he notice that it was raining steadily and he was getting soaked.

He resumed his trudge round the windswept castle battlements, but inside he was seething. The contrast between the outward beauty of the youth and his despicable bullying behaviour irked him, he could not eradicate it from his mind. The stark contrast of the youth’s athletic godlike torso and the sudden crude obscenity when he thrust his bared buttocks contemptuously at James disturbed him greatly. He wanted to expunge it all from his thoughts, yet that upsetting and perverse image was printed on his mind and would not be chased away.

The rain was now pouring relentlessly, the sky was uniformly grey and James realised that the few visitors he’d noticed earlier were nowhere to be seen. He’d had enough, although he’d thrown a plastic mackintosh round his shoulders. It gave him little protection and he decided to cut short his stay. He shook himself and fixed the flimsy garment to keep the elements out as best he could, and walked back to the car park intending to ask the woman at the information desk to ring a taxi firm for him, but the kiosk was deserted. Then he noticed that Trefusis’ black cab still stood in the yard, the rainwater running down its careworn flanks. There was little alternative, he needed to get back to Abergavenny station and return home as soon as possible, he would have to throw himself willingly on the mercy of this unpleasant man once more.

As he made this decision, he saw the boy, sister and mother also walking towards the exit. Both females were swathed in raincoats and hoods, but the boy was still wearing only shorts and vest, the latter now almost transparent, clinging to and outlining the contours of his shapely body. James nipped behind the information kiosk, he wished for no further encounter with the youth as he feared renewed accusations and further humiliation. It passed his mind that this callous youth would have no compunction in making a formal complaint to the police and have him arrested just for the sport of it. Despite this, James could not tear his eyes away from the lad, he was mesmerised by him. He watched them walk to their car, one of the couple left, and as the mother unlocked the vehicle, he watched as the boy stripped off his sodden vest and stood for a short while bare-chested in the rain. Before climbing into the car, the boy suddenly turned towards the kiosk and put his hands on his hips and made as if to drop his shorts, grinned with sudden mischief, and got into the car. James realised that he knew where he was lurking.

James still did not show himself until the family car had drawn out and accelerated slowly away from the castle. Then he walked towards the black cab and saw that Trefusis was seated at the wheel, watching him approach with an air of self-satisfaction. He knew James Peplow needed him and he was ready. The man climbed out of the taxi, opened the passenger door and bowed in an exaggerated and obsequious manner to James.

“Ah, Mr Peplow, how good to see you again,” he intoned in his most unctuous and grating voice. “You wish to return to Mrs McQueen’s for a further stay?” His question was full of sarcasm, he knew from the conversation earlier that morning in the cab exactly what Peplow’s intentions were.

James sat back in the cab and shut his eyes.

“No, Mr Trefusis. Abergavenny railway station.”

“Well, Mr Peplow, sir, what a turn-up for the books, leaving so soon, is the noble sir already replete with our hospitality? Or has some unfortunate occurrence led to sir’s decision to abandon his plans so early?”

James Peplow started at this latter suggestion, he could not have known about his encounter with the youth; surely that unpleasant episode was known only to himself, the boy and his sister. James felt uneasy, it was as if Trefusis had guessed what had occurred and once again he felt deep embarrassment and hoped it was not apparent to the obnoxious man.

The cab driver said nothing, but seemed to be smirking to himself as he switched on the ignition and the ancient vehicle once more attempted to come to life - a process made even more protracted by the dampness that had obviously infected the taxi’s engine. At length they were off and James lay back, refusing to look at the route they were taking. He could have been anxious, checking all the way to ensure that the driver was taking him there directly and not swindling him by going via a deviant route. He had given up caring now, whatever he said or did would make no difference. Trefusis was in control and would impose his own will. He might as well accept his fate.

It was therefore with some surprise and relief that James found himself deposited in the station yard some twenty minutes later and being asked for the fare which was some five shillings less than the outward journey the previous day. It was as if Trefusis was mocking him by implying ‘you were in my power and I could have taken advantage of you, but see, whatever you thought, I was fair, I humoured you and your needs. You just needed to relax and accept my ministrations.’ James was relieved, paid the man and was obliged to thank him. “I’ll be seeing you, then,” was the cab driver’s parting shot shouted from the window as the old London taxi stuttered out of the yard. James shook himself and sensed a weight lifting from his shoulders, he adjusted his clothing and felt clean at last.