Abbeyford Remembered Page 4

  Slowly Evan shook his head, his mouth set.

  “Then I’ll bid you good-day, Mr Smithson.” She slapped the pony with the reins at the same moment Evan let go of the animal’s head.

  “Good-day, my lovely Adelina,” Evan murmured softly, more to himself, for the gig was already bouncing away from them over the rough track. His eyes followed its progress.

  “Pa?” Luke and Carrie spoke together. “ Who was that?” “ Who are they?”

  For a moment Evan did not answer, his eyes still upon the disappearing vehicle.

  “Lady Adelina Lynwood.”

  Carrie gasped. So that was Jamie Trent’s stepmother.

  “And the girl? Who was the lovely girl?” Luke, with unusual boldness, persisted, his eyes too following the two women.

  Evan shrugged. “Her daughter, I suppose.”

  Luke, still gazing up the track, began to cough, his thin body shaking. The sound seemed to break Evan’s reverie. “ What you doin’ home so early, eh?” he asked roughly.

  “ ’T was Luke,” Matt piped up. “ ’Ee’s sick.”

  “Sick?” Evan scoffed. “We’ve no time to be sick, boy. We’ve a railway to build!”

  Carrie flared angrily. “Don’t be so heartless, Pa. Can’t you see he’s ill – like – like …” She bit her tongue and glanced hastily at Luke, but he was oblivious to them all, his gaze even yet straining for sight of the gig, even though moments before it had dropped down a slope and disappeared from view.

  “Ill – me foot!” Evan gave a click of exasperation, and his resentful gaze included not only Luke but his two younger sons also. “ Why she can only bear me wreckling sons, I dunnot know.” Then his eyes rested upon Carrie. “ Still, there’s you, me lass, ain’t there.” He pinched her cheek with a rough gesture which was the closest Evan Smithson would ever come to a sign of affection. “Mebbe you’ll be the one to help me get what I want, eh?”

  Without further explanation Evan strode away, his strange words bringing an inexplicable chill to his daughter’s heart.

  The following day Carrie was unable to slip away over the hill to Abbeyford to meet Jamie Trent. Luke stayed in the shack, too ill to drag himself to the railway site, and Carrie, whilst wanting to nurse her brother, chafed inwardly at her enforced captivity. She was unusually impatient with him, fretting for fear Jamie would misinterpret her absence and would think that she no longer wished to meet him, when in truth her heart yearned for sight of him.

  Luke lay on the straw shakedown with only an old coat as a cover and stared at the rough boards of the roof, his thoughts far away from the harsh surroundings. Carrie had a shrewd idea what – or rather who – filled his thoughts and this was confirmed when Luke said pensively, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful girl.”

  Carrie sniffed derisively. “Huh! Anyone can be beautiful if they’re rich. She looked right uppity to me.”

  Luke raised himself on his elbow. “ How can you judge when you dunna know her?”

  “Then how can you judge?” she retorted sharply.

  “I …” But whatever he had been going to say was cut off by an attack of coughing, after which he lay back exhausted.

  “There, you see, you go upsetting yourself and making yourself worse.”

  “I just wanted to know – who she is – that’s all,” Luke said weakly.

  “Yes – yes, all right,” Carrie soothed, contrite now that her arguing with him had brought on a coughing fit. “I’ll – see if I can find out more about her, but try to rest now.”

  Luke closed his eyes and slept.

  So it was three days before Carrie’s flying feet took her over the hills once more to Abbeyford.

  As she topped the hill overlooking the village she scanned the fields anxiously for sight of Jamie – but she could not see him. Then she was running pell-mell down the hill towards the squat cottages where her grandparents lived. She had decided to visit her grandma each time she came to see Jamie, thereby establishing some kind of alibi for herself should her Pa ever hear of her visits to Abbeyford and question her.

  The old woman’s eyes glowed as she saw Carrie again. “My dear child, come away in!”

  After she had spent a pleasant half-hour chatting with the old lady in the kitchen of the small cottage Carrie grew restless, anxious to be off now in search of Jamie. Then she remembered her promise to Luke.

  “Grandma, a fine carriage came by the railway the other day. Pa said it was Lady Adelina Lynwood.”

  The pleasure died on Sarah Smithson’s face, her eyes were suddenly once again wary and pain-filled and her shrunken lips trembled. “Oh – was it?” she murmured guardedly, now avoiding her granddaughter’s eyes when moments before she had gazed fondly into Carrie’s face.

  “Yes. There was a young girl with her – a year or two older than me, I should think. Who would she be, Grandma?”

  Sarah sighed heavily, then said. “I suppose it would be her daughter, Francesca.”

  “Oh, is she a Trent, then?” Carrie asked, interested in anyone who might be connected with Jamie.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Sarah said flatly, “ No – she’s Lynwood’s daughter. I – used to be quite friendly with Adelina – Lady Lynwood – once. She came from America and had a daughter by Lord Lynwood before she was married.”

  Carrie gasped, but listened.

  “Then she left Lynwood. They quarrelled – and she married Wallis Trent. But it was not a happy marriage. He was a hard, cold man who treated his employees – and I guess his wife too – as possessions and bent everyone to his will.” She sighed as she remembered. “Then there was unrest amongst the farm workers.”

  Carrie nodded, compressing her lips. “Led by Pa?”

  Sarah glanced fearfully at her but was obliged to nod agreement.

  “Then I suppose,” Carrie continued, guessing the end of the story before Sarah had finished the telling of it. “When Wallis Trent was killed, she was reunited with Lord Lynwood. How romantic!”

  Sarah murmured bitterly, “ Romantic, you call it, eh? Real life is not at all romantic. It’s cruel and harsh and …” She stopped, startled at herself for unleashing her own emotions which had been stifled for many years. “ I’ve said too much,” she muttered roughly. “It’s time you were going, girl.”

  Surprised by her grandmother’s swift change of mood, Carrie left. She had found out what she wanted to know and now she wanted to meet Jamie. She took the lane towards the Manor House, but the only sounds were the twittering of the birds in the hedgerows and the rustling of the creatures in the long grass. The sun was hot on her head and her bare feet became covered with the dry dust from the lane. She drew level with the Manor House and stood at the gate leading into the stableyard. Everywhere was still and silent – no sign of activity in the yard, no sound of stamping, restless horses in their stalls. No stable-boys cleaning up the yard – which it needed badly, Carrie thought. Even the gate was off its hinges.

  As she stood staring at the neglected yard a man appeared round the corner of the stables. He walked with a shambling gait, weaving first right, then left. Drunkenness was no stranger to Carrie. She frequently saw its effects upon the navvies after every pay-out. And her pa, too.

  As the man neared her, Carrie could see he was elderly with white wispy hair. His complexion was florid, almost purple, and his eyes bleary. He was grossly, uncomfortably overweight, and his ageing suit – once of fine material and well cut – now scarcely fitted him.

  This must be Jamie’s grandfather – Squire Trent.

  He caught sight of her standing there watching him and he stopped and blinked, as if trying to focus his vision. Then he lurched towards her until he was standing in front of her. His gaze was fixed upon her face, then his mouth sagged open as he whispered brokenly. “Sarah!”

  Carrie smiled uncertainly. “My name is Caroline – Carrie – Smithson.”

  “Caroline – Smithson? No – no, you’re Sarah – my lovely Sarah!” He
stretched out his arms and made as if to catch hold of her, but Carrie stepped back quickly.

  “No – no, don’t be afraid. I’ll not …” he hiccupped and then belched noisily, “ hurt you, Sarah. I’ll not hurt you again.”

  “My name is not Sarah, it’s …” Carrie stopped as the realisation struck her swiftly. Her grandmother’s name was Sarah. Maybe her likeness to her grandmother was such that this old man, in his befuddled state, had turned back the years and mistaken her for Sarah Smithson.

  But why, Carrie wondered, should Squire Trent address her grandmother in such a familiar, intimate manner?

  Now he was rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, miserably confused. “Caroline – not Sarah, not my Sarah? Then who are you. Why do you look like my love?”

  His love? Carrie recoiled. Surely he could not be referring to her grandmother, that shrunken little old woman, careworn and with lines of bitterness engraved by the years upon her face?

  At that moment there was the sound of a horse’s hooves in the lane and Carrie saw Jamie cantering towards them. He slid from his mount and ran towards her, his dark eyes afire.

  “Carrie – you’ve come, at last!”

  Oblivious of his grandfather’s presence he stood close to her, taking both her hands in his and raising them gently to his lips. The old man forgotten, Carrie gazed up into Jamie’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, excitement making her sound breathless. “I couldn’t come – before. It was Luke – my brother. He was ill and I had to – look after him.”

  Jamie was smiling down at her. “I wondered why you did not come. But everything’s all right now you’re here.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, their eyes still locked in a timeless gaze.

  “Mus’ be going,” the old man muttered and shuffled away, his shoulders sagging with disappointment, but neither Carrie nor Jamie even glanced in his direction.

  “Let me stable my horse and we’ll go for a walk,” Jamie said and Carrie nodded.

  A little while later, their fingers interlaced, they were walking side by side up the lane towards the shady intimacy of the wood. Once beneath the sheltering trees, Jamie stopped and gently took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. His lips brushed her forehead, her closed eyes and then found her mouth with a tender sweetness which thrilled her fast-beating heart. Never had she known such gentleness in a man. Certainly she had never seen it in her father, nor even in Lloyd Foster, who, despite his open admiration and desire for her, was brash in his approach.

  Jamie’s hands smoothed her long black hair and ran down her back coming to rest on her slender waist. Responding to his ardour, Carrie slipped her arms about his neck and pressed herself against his lithe, strong body. They could feel each other’s heart beating through the thin clothes they wore this hot summer day.

  Breathless they drew apart, their eyes afire with their new, overwhelming emotion.

  “Oh, Carrie,” he said softly, his fingers tracing the outline of her face. “ My lovely, lovely Carrie,” and he drew her once again into his embrace.

  Much later they emerged from the wood, happiness shining from their faces.

  “I must go back,” Carrie murmured, but her words held no firm intention.

  “No – stay. I can’t bear to let you go now that I’ve found you. I didn’t know one could fall in love so quickly.” His eyes caressed her, making her heart sing. Never had she felt this way about any man before. So this was love and for Carrie, with her strong character, it was deep and lasting. “I didn’t know it could be this way either,” she whispered.

  An hour later, Carrie, fearful her father’s wrath would prevent further clandestine meetings with Jamie, said, “I really must go – but I’ll try to come again tomorrow.”

  “I could come to your home …”

  “No!” she said sharply, and then for fear her brusqueness had given offence, she put her hands upon his chest and stood on tiptoe to kiss him gently. “Not yet – I don’t know what my folks would say. I don’t want to tell them – yet.”

  Jamie smiled indulgently. “Yes, that’s how I feel. I want it to be our own secret from all the world.”

  “Where – where shall I meet you?” she asked.

  Jamie pointed. “How about the abbey ruins, mid-afternoon?”

  Again he kissed her and then she was running up the hill out of Abbeyford.

  Chpater Three

  “ ’Tis time we started on that little bit of a cutting to the north of the village and on the embankment through the valley itself, me boy.”

  They were standing at the edge of the woods, just above the Manor, overlooking Abbeyford village.

  “Aye,” Evan Smithson grinned. “Have you got the way-leave yet?”

  Lloyd Foster rubbed his chin and laughed. “ Yes – and no.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Yes, I’ve got the way planned, but not the ‘ leave’,” and Evan joined in his laughter. “But I’m workin’ on it, m’boy. The old man and me – we’ve got dis nice game o’ cards goin’. Running up a peach of a debt to me, the man is.” He shook his head. “Poor ol’ divil, ’tis breakin’ me heart, so it is!” But his grin belied his words.

  Evan snorted. “ Dunna waste your sympathy on him! He dunna deserve none.”

  Foster’s eyes surveyed the line his railway would run. “And way over there,” he mused, “to the south of the village, where there’s that natural pass between the hills, we could have an unstaffed halt. Abbeyford Halt. I don’t reckon it needs a station, for it’ll only serve Abbeyford and Amberly.”

  Evan nodded with satisfaction. “Aye, an’ it’s still his land we’d be tekin’.”

  A girl was climbing the hill towards them, her head bent so as to avoid stubbing her bare feet on the rough ground.

  “Isn’t that me darlin’ girl?” Foster narrowed his eyes against the bright sun.

  Evan’s mouth tightened. “Aye, it’s Carrie. What the devil’s she doin’ here?”

  Silently they watched her approach and it was not until she was almost up to them that she lifted her head and saw them.

  She stopped and the joy disappeared from her face, her eyes darkened with fear and the smile faded from her lips as Evan stepped towards her menacingly. “ Where’ve you been, girl?” Roughly he grasped hold of her arm.

  Carrie winced but clenched her teeth against crying out. “To see me grandma,” she lied glibly. Evan shook her. “Who gave you leave?”

  “No – no one.”

  “You stay at home where you belong.”

  Carrie wrenched herself free and rubbed her arm. She turned to face him, her eyes blazing with anger now. “Home! You call that – that hovel – home?”

  Evan’s blow was swift and well aimed and before Carrie had time to spring back his hand had met her cheek like the crack of a pistol shot.

  It was then that Lloyd Foster sprang forward, one arm went round Evan’s throat in a vice-like grip, the other arm holding his arms behind his back. Evan gasped for breath as Foster, his mouth close to Evan’s ear, all sign of joviality gone in a moment, muttered, “Don’t you ever lay a finger on dat girl again, me boy. Not while I’m around. D’ya hear me now?”

  Evan’s face grew purple and he began to choke whilst Carrie watched in amazement at the sudden change in Lloyd Foster’s manner.

  “D’you hear?” he asked again, jerking his arm even tighter around Evan’s throat. Evan’s ‘yes’ was little more than a squeak.

  “Dat’s better,” Foster released his hold and turned to Carrie, his face still unsmiling. “ You’d best be off home, me lovely. I’ll talk to yer da.”

  Carrie glanced once at her father – once was enough to read the malice in his eyes.

  She turned and ran.

  For a few moments Foster watched her until she disappeared amongst the trees, then he turned back to Evan. He laid his hand on his shoulder, now in a gesture of friendship. “Ach, I’m sorry about that, me boy. But –
I have dis feeling for dat girl of yours, don’t you know?”

  “She’s still my daughter,” Evan said gruffly, more angry to have been made to look foolish in front of Carrie than over the physical hurt Foster had momentarily inflicted.

  “I know, I know,” Foster’s tone was placating now, his hand still on Evan’s shoulder. “But I have this plan in me mind. Maybe I’d better be telling you about it.” He paused and then went on. “Ye see, I want that girl of yours. I’ve a mind to wed her.”

  He let his words sink into Evan’s mind before he went on again. “And I want to strike out for pastures new. England’s too small. There’s a whole world out there waiting – just waiting for me railroads. You see, me darlin’ boy, what I t’ought was dis. If you’ll give me the hand of yer lovely daughter in holy matrimony, we’ll be away across the seas to make our fortunes. And,” he stood back facing Evan as he delivered the final coup, “And I’ll be givin’ you the contract I hold to build the rest of this railway! Now, what d’you say to that, me boy?”

  Evan stared at him for several moments in total disbelief. “ You’ll give me the contract?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why in hell’s name should you give me anything?”

  Foster spread his hands wide and cast his eyes heavenwards in a gesture of mock despair. “An’ haven’t I been tellin’ you, you’ll be givin’ me your daughter. An’ to my way of t’inking, I’ll be getting the best o’ the bargain. Oh,” he rolled his eyes, “to see dat lovely girl dressed in silks and satins. She’ll be like a queen, she will, to be sure.”

  Evan’s eyes glittered suddenly and he turned his gaze away from Foster to look down at the village of Abbeyford.

  “Then,” he murmured more to himself than to Foster, “ it’ll be me building the railway across his land!” There was silence. Then Evan turned and held out his hand to

  Lloyd Foster. “ It’s a bargain!”

  Foster clasped Evan’s hand delightedly and his ready laugh rang

  out across the hills.

  Carrie waited in fear for the return of her father that evening, trying to think of a way to avoid him. The shack was so cramped that unless she were to go somewhere right away there was no escape.