Abbeyford Remembered (6 page)

“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.

But Evan appeared in a very jovial, hearty mood, surprising not only Carrie but her mother and brothers too. Far from berating her further, he kept glancing at his daughter and grinning as if sharing some secret with her. Carrie and her mother exchanged looks and Carrie lifted her shoulders in a shrug, signifying that she, too, was mystified by her father's unusually good mood.

Since her father had not questioned her any more about her visits to Abbeyford, Carrie's desire and love for Jamie, which daily grew stronger, made her risk another visit the following afternoon.

She followed the lane up towards the Manor and as she rounded a bend she saw ahead of her the gig belonging to Lady Lynwood. Seated in the stationary gig was Lady Adelina and her daughter, Francesca, and beside the vehicle nearest the girl was Jamie Trent on horseback. He was smiling down at Francesca, who, with her head thrown back and laughter on her lips, was the picture of elegant loveliness.

Carrie felt an almost physical pain in her breast. Jealousy swept through her in an overwhelming wave, making her feel quite dizzy. Quietly she crept through a gap in the hedge and moved silently along until she was level with the gig, though hidden by the hedge. Now she could hear their conversation.

“We have not seen you of late, Jamie,” Francesca was saying in a purring tone. “You have neglected us shamefully, has he not, Mama?”

Peering through the leafy hedge, Carrie saw Lady Lynwood smile gently. “I guess you've been real busy on the farm, Jamie?”

Jamie nodded and there was a trace of grimness in his tone. “I'm afraid so. We're losing workers to the towns, to say nothing of the land we've lost.”

“Oh, Jamie, I'm so sorry. Is there anything we can do to help?”

Jamie shrugged and sighed. “No. I don't reach the age of twenty-five – when I can take over completely – for another two years. If only no more goes before then, we may pull through.”

Carrie closed her eyes and almost groaned aloud. Lloyd Foster and her father planned to take more land from Jamie, she knew. But these thoughts were driven from her mind again as she saw him lean down towards the gig and take Francesca's hand in his.

“I must go, my dear. I'll try to visit soon –I promise.” He raised her gloved hand to his lips.

“Now don't go breaking that promise, Mr Trent, or I shall be mightily put out!” The girl teased, laughing up at him flirtatiously.

Carrie knew nothing of the ways of Society, of coquetry or gentle, meaningless, flirting, so her heart twisted with pain and jealousy. There was something between that girl and her Jamie! Jamie rode off in one direction and Lady Adelina slapped the reins, and the gig moved off in the other. Carrie saw Francesca turn round to wave again to Jamie and saw his return wave and she closed her eyes to shut out the picture.

She sat down where she was, behind the hedge at the edge of a meadow and tore angrily at the long grass with her fingers. How dare he? How can he make love to me one moment and then be so affectionate towards that girl? Hate began to grow in Carrie's heart for the girl she hardly knew. A few moments later she sprang to her feet and ran and ran until her lungs were bursting, up the lane, through the wood to the abbey ruins. Only then did she sink down against the crumbling walls, panting and sobbing.

Impatient with herself for shedding tears, Carrie rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Gradually her misery turned to anger against Jamie. She waited and waited. An hour went by and still he did not come. When at last she saw his horse appear out of the trees and canter towards her, even the sight of him, which caused her heart to beat a little faster in spite of her anger, could not wipe away the picture of him with Francesca.

“Where've you been? You're late,” she greeted him crossly. “I've been waiting an hour or more.”

“I'm sorry, my darling.” He came to her and tried to take her in his arms but she pushed him away.

“I'm not your slave, your plaything to be picked up and put down just when you feel like it!”

“Carrie, Carrie …”

“I saw you with – with –
her
!”

Jamie frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“With Francesca. Mighty friendly you seemed to be!” Carrie stood, her hands on her hips, her feet planted wide apart, her violet eyes flashing now, her wild hair flying, quite unconscious of how lovely she looked – a natural, untamed beauty.

Jamie gazed at her admiringly. “My dear,” he said softly. “Lady Lynwood was once my stepmother, and Francesca and I are like brother and sister.”

“Huh! It didn't look like that to me!” Carrie retorted. “ Fluttering her long eyelashes at you, making up to you. You forgot all about meeting me here, didn't you? Didn't you?”

“Carrie, my dear love. I've come at the same time as always. It's only three o'clock. You must have been early.”

Then she remembered. She had been so distressed by the scene in the lane that she had completely forgotten to pay her usual visit to her grandmother's cottage before coming to the abbey ruins to meet Jamie.

Suddenly her anger evaporated and she flung herself against him, throwing her arms about him. “ Oh Jamie, I'm sorry. Forgive me.”

“My darling girl. There, there,” he said, stroking her hair and, gently tilting her head back, he kissed her ardently.

Carrie felt him lift her into his arms and carry her the short distance towards the one small cell-like room left whole in the abbey ruins. They squeezed through the small opening. Inside it was dim and quiet.

They kissed with growing passion, lost in their own secret world, their embrace all the sweeter after the misunderstanding between them. His fingers gently unfastened the buttons of her coarse blouse and caressed her. Swept away on a tide of love they gave themselves to one another in mutual desire. Jamie's lovemaking was so gentle and thoughtful that – virgin though she was – Carrie felt no pain, only an overwhelming need to give herself to this wonderfully considerate man.

Afterwards they lay in each other's arms, the tempest of their ardour subsiding to a calm feeling of closeness.

“I know so little about you,” Jamie murmured, his lips warm against her neck, “and yet I know that I love you, my dearest Carrie.”

She ran her fingers through his brown hair. “ You're the first man I've loved,” she told him, almost shyly.

“I know,” he whispered, “ and I'm glad – so glad.”

“My first love and my last love.”

“Oh, Carrie, Carrie,” and his mouth found hers again. “We must be together always. Marry me, my darling. Be my wife.”

“Yes – oh, yes,” she breathed and closed her eyes. There could be no greater happiness on earth, she thought, than this moment.

The weeks of that hot, ardent summer faded into autumn. Lloyd Foster made ready to begin work on the cutting needed about a mile north of Abbeyford and the embankment through the valley itself.

“We take on more men, Evan me boy,” he explained. “ See the village men. If what I hear is true, they'll be only too glad of the work. Seems the Trents only employ a few now and the next estate – Lord Lynwood's, is it?”

Evan nodded.

“Well, he employs men from his own village – Amberly. Is that right?”

“Yes, but I'd have thought he'd have employed Abbeyford men on the land Lord Royston left his daughter Francesca.”

“Is that the pretty girl with an older but still lovely lady I see riding about in a foine carriage?”

“Aye. Lady Lynwood and her daughter. They were lookin' for you some time back.”

“Were dey now? Now isn't that the greatest shame I missed meeting them? But, then, they can't hold a candle to me darlin' Carrie's lovely face. Ah – if she had dose fine clothes an' a carriage, wouldn't she be the grand lady too, I'm t'inkin'?”

“Takes more'n clothes and carriages to make a lady of someone,” Evan growled, bitterness clouding his eyes. “Takes birth and breeding.”

Foster laughed. “An' what would me navvy ganger be worryin' about that for, eh?”

“There's things you dunna know, Foster, even yet!” Abruptly, Evan Smithson changed the subject. “I'll see the village men – but then what?”