Abbeyford Remembered (4 page)

“I – er …” Carrie hesitated. Now she wanted to keep the fact that she was linked with the railway a secret from Jamie Trent. He could not welcome the railway which threatened the Trent farmlands – nor the people who built it! “ We're staying, just temporary, over the hills there.” She waved her hand vaguely in a northerly direction.

“May I escort you home? It's a long way and my horse will carry the two of us easily.”

Carrie drew breath sharply, torn between the desire to remain in his company, close beside him on horseback and the wish to keep her identity a secret.

“I'd – be very glad of a ride, Mr Trent, but I don't like to trouble you …”

“It's no trouble, Miss Smithson.” His voice was low and his eyes were upon her face. “It will be my pleasure.”

He lifted her easily on to his brown mare and mounted behind her. His arm circled her waist lightly, her shoulder was warm against his chest and she could feel his breath on her cheek. The horse moved on at walking pace, down the hill and then following the winding path of the stream. Carrie, acutely aware of the whole time of his closeness, glanced up towards the Manor House – his home – as they passed before it.

“That's where you live, ain't it? It's a lovely house.”

When he didn't answer at once, she glanced up at him, her eyes only inches from his face.

“It – could be,” he said guardedly, offering no further explanation. Carrie bit back the questions on her lips, sensing that she could not probe into his life. Glancing again at the square, solid Manor House, she saw now that on closer inspection there was an air of neglect about it. The windows were dull, the paint peeling. The garden was overgrown with long grass and weeds. She didn't know what to say, so they rode in silence until Abbeyford was far behind them. Then Jamie Trent seemed to relax. He smiled down at her. “Are we taking the right direction? You still haven't told me where it is you're staying.”

“Oh – er – about two miles further on. Are those fields yours?”

Again the frown was fleetingly across his handsome face. “ Yes, and I'll see they stay that way.”

Carrie's heart pounded. The railway! She guessed he referred to the railway trying to encroach upon his lands. But his brown eyes were looking down into her face, quite unaware that she belonged to the railway people.

“Tell me about yourself, Miss Smithson – Carrie, isn't it?”

She nodded. “ There's not much to tell,” her voice was husky. What could she tell him? Of her family's gypsy existence? Of their harsh way of life? About her father? No, no, she couldn't mention him – or the railway! And yet, that
was
her life!

He was smiling, interpreting her reticence as natural shyness. “Oh I'm sure that's not so. You're – you're a very pretty girl.”

She smiled a little shyly – she was unused to such gentle compliments.

“Please – tell me about your family?” she asked softly. Again his face darkened, but because it would be churlish to ignore such a direct request, he said slowly, “My parents are dead. So, too, is my grandmother – my father's mother. My own mother died giving birth to me. Now there's only my grandfather, Squire Guy Trent and myself.”

“Oh, but I thought your mother …” Carrie stopped, shocked that she had allowed her chattering tongue to slip.

“What?”

“No matter – please go on.” But now her mind was in a turmoil.

“My father was killed in 1819 when I was only small.”

“How – did it happen?” Her heart beat fast. She was almost afraid to hear his answer and yet she had to ask, she had to know.

“Oh, there was much unrest amongst the workers at that time, so my grandfather says, and one man who seemed to have a vendetta against the Trents led the villagers in revolt.”

Carrie was not sure what the word ‘vendetta' meant, but she could guess! Now she was silent.

“They threatened to march upon the Manor if my father did not give them better wages.”

“And – and did they?” she asked faintly.

“Aye,” Jamie Trent answered grimly. “But my father had been forewarned of this. My stepmother and my grandfather had, whilst out riding, come across a secret meeting of the village men in the abbey ruins. My father called out the yeomanry and as the village men marched upon the Manor the soldiers galloped down upon them.”

A vivid picture of the crippled old man – her own grandfather, she believed – flashed before her eyes. So that was how Henry Smithson had been maimed. And the revolt had been led by Evan Smithson, her own father.
He
was the man of whom Jamie spoke as having a – a vendetta against the Trent family. She frowned, vaguely remembering something else. It had been when her grandmother had been telling Evan that Wallis Trent – Jamie's father – had been killed that night. Now, what was it her father had said …?

“Was there a fire at the Manor?” she turned her violet eyes towards Jamie. His face only a breath away, his lips so close to her hair.

“Why, yes,” there was surprise in his tone. “ How did you know?”

“Oh – I – er – well,” Carrie was flustered. There she went again, letting her curiosity outrun her. Why, why, did she not think before she spoke? “ You said – you said they were marching on the Manor – I suppose they meant to do it damage – and fire …”

“Yes,” Jamie agreed. “One of them – the leader – escaped, mainly, I believe, because my stepmother went to warn the villagers.”

“Your stepmother?” Now it was Carrie's turn to show surprise.

“Yes. She did not agree with my father that the yeomanry should be called out. She tried to prevent the bloodshed.”

“How very brave of her.” Carrie said swiftly, and then once more regretted her hasty words. Perhaps Jamie had believed his father to be in the right.

“Or foolhardy – whichever way you like to look at it.” His tone, gave nothing away.

“And – which way do you look at it?” she asked boldly.

She felt the sigh rise in his chest and then upon her hair. “ I cannot judge. There was much bitterness. I understand my father was a hard man – hated by the villagers. Perhaps there was cause – I don't know. He was trying to rescue his favourite stallion from the burning stables. The animal was wild and killed him.”

Carrie remembered now – that was what her grandmother, Sarah Smithson, had said.

“And your stepmother?”

Jamie smiled and there was a gentleness in his eyes. “ She's Lady Adelina Lynwood now. She's very beautiful and has always been very kind to me. I'm very fond of her.”

Adelina! Her father had spoken of her as if he had known her. But so he might have done, for she had been Wallis Trent's second wife and therefore mistress of the Manor for a while.

Now it was Jamie's turn to ask probing questions. “ Your grandparents are Sarah and Henry Smithson?”

“Y-yes,” Carrie answered guardedly, her heart beating fast again.

“Strange,” Jamie murmured. “I had not heard of their son. He must have left home many years ago.”

“I don't know,” the words came out in a rush. “I didn't even know he came from hereabouts until the other day.”

“Really? Has he never talked about his family or …?”

“You can put me down now, Mr Trent, I can walk the rest of the way. It's only over the next hill.”

“Oh, please allow me to take you …”

“No, no,” Carrie said, wriggling a little as if to slide from the horse. “ Me Pa, if he sees me with you, he'll like as not beat me.”

“Oh, I see.” Suddenly Jamie grinned making his usually serious face seem boyish and mischievous. “ I wouldn't like that!”

“Nor would I!” Carrie retorted with feeling and grinned back at him. Their shared secret meeting seemed to bring them close.

He dismounted and held up his arms towards her and she slid from the horse's back into them. He did not release her immediately but stood looking down at her.

“Carrie – oh Carrie,” his voice was suddenly husky. “You've the loveliest eyes I've ever seen …”

Without warning his arms were strong iron bands about her and his mouth was hot upon hers. Readily Carrie responded to his kisses, her heart pounding fiercely. At last they drew apart, their eyes shining, their hot breath mingling, startled by the suddenness, the newness of this emotion.

“I'll – see you again?” he whispered.

Carrie, innocent of all guile, nodded, her mind in a turmoil. Hastily, suddenly afraid they'd be seen, she broke away from him and ran up the hill.

“Tomorrow?” he called after her. She paused in her flight, turned and waved. He returned her wave and then she was running up the hill again, her feet hardly touching the ground, her heart singing. At the top she turned. He was sitting astride his horse now, but still watching her.

He waved again and she lifted her hand in farewell, then Jamie turned his horse and cantered back towards Abbeyford.

When he was a small speck in the distance, Carrie turned and began to walk slowly down the other side of the hill towards the railway workings.

Carrie's mood of joy was short-lived. As she neared the bank overlooking the railway workings she saw her three brothers climbing towards her.

Luke, the eldest, was in the centre, leaning heavily upon the two younger boys, who themselves looked scarcely to have the strength to help him. All three were thin, their clothes ragged and they were covered – clothes, skin and hair – in the grey dust from the stone they had hewn since early morning. It was early for them to be coming home, and Carrie ran to them in alarm, fearful that Luke must have been hurt in some accident.

“What is it? What's the matter?” she cried anxiously, swiftly taking the place of Tom at Luke's side.

“ 'Ee's bin coughin' 'is guts up!” volunteered Matt, and as Carrie searched the thin, sickly face of her elder brother, her heart gave a lurch. There was a thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. She'd seen that before. One of the other children, who had died of consumption a year back, had coughed up blood!

“Dunna let on to Pa,” Luke gasped, “that we've come away 'aforetime.”

“ 'Course I won't,” Carrie replied with affectionate impatience and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “What d'you take me for?”

As they neared the shack, a handsome gig pulled by a high-stepping pony and carrying two women came lurching down the cart-track towards them. The older woman, holding the reins, pulled the pony to a halt beside Carrie and her brothers. Carrie stared open-mouthed at the two women – ladies without doubt. She had never seen such finery – silk dresses and bonnets, with delicate lace trimmings. The older one, whom she presumed to be the younger girl's mother, was still a beautiful woman, with smooth skin, green eyes and lovely auburn hair arranged to frame her face. The younger girl, too, was undoubtedly pretty but there was a discontented pout to her mouth and a coldness in her blue eyes. She twirled the parasol she held and sighed with boredom. The older lady was returning Carrie's gaze with equal interest, almost as if she half-recognised the girl and yet could not recollect where or when she had seen her before. But Carrie was quite certain that she had never before seen this lovely lady – she would not have forgotten!

“Are you belonging the railway?” the lady asked, her voice low and sweet with a slightly strange accent. American, Carrie thought, for she remembered a Yankee who'd worked as a navvy for a time had spoken the same way.

“Yes, ma'am.” The courtesy came naturally to her lips. “Me Pa's the ganger.”

The lady's eyes were puzzled.

“He's in charge o' the navvies – workmen, ma'am,” Carrie explained.

“Oh, I see. Then is he the man who plans the way the railway should go?”

“Not really. That's the contractor or the engineer an' surveyor.”

“Then I guess it's one of them I want to see. Could you tell me where I might find them?”

“Well …” Carrie hesitated and glanced at Luke.

Her brother's eyes were fixed, mesmerised, upon the young girl sitting beside her mother in the gig.

“Luke, do you know where Lloyd Foster might be?”

Luke did not answer. Carrie prodded him gently. “Luke …?”

He jumped. “What?”

“I said do you know where Lloyd Foster is?”

Luke, his eyes still fixed upon the girl, said, “I dunno – oh, down near the bed, I think.”

“That's the railway workings, ma'am,” Carrie said.

“Thank you, I …”

At that moment there was a rattle behind them and the shack door flew open.

“What the devil …?” As Carrie heard her father's voice raised in anger, she saw the lady's eyes move from Carrie's face to look beyond her. The lovely woman's green eyes widened and her lips parted in a shocked gasp. Her face turned pale. She must have pulled, involuntarily, upon the reins, for suddenly the pony whinnied and shied, tipping the little gig dangerously. The young girl gave a delicate shriek of alarm whilst her mother fought to control not only the animal but also her own runaway emotions.

Carrie felt Luke shake off her supporting arm and move forward to help, but already Evan Smithson had moved swiftly and calmly to the horse's head and Luke's gangling figure stood uselessly by, his gaze once more returning to the girl's face.

Evan, stroking the horse's nose, grinned up at the woman in the gig. Carrie watched, fascinated.

“You!” the woman breathed. Words seemed to desert her, for she just said again, as if she could not believe it, “
You
!”

“Aye, m'lady. It's me.” Then, almost insolently, he added, “I'm gratified you ain't forgotten me.”

The colour was returning to her face. “As if I could!” she muttered bitterly. Then her glance rested briefly upon Carrie and her brothers. “Are these your – children?”