Abbeyford Remembered (7 page)

“We divide the men into three gangs. One lot to continue working on the flat bed where we are now, one lot to begin work on the embankment and the third gang to work a cutting through that little incline between the two. That'll not take as long to do as the embankment in the valley and by the time that's finished the line should be nearly ready to join up.”

Evan thought rapidly. He could not fault the scheme but he knew he would be hard pressed to keep tight control over three gangs of navvies working some three miles apart. As if reading his thoughts, Foster said, “Start training two or three to take over as gangers soon. I plan to see this little scheme started and see you have no problems but I'll be away with me lovely bride before it's done.”

Evan found that Foster had spoken the truth about the Abbeyford men. Many were unemployed now and bitterness against the Trents – Squire Trent especially, since it was his gambling debts which had caused their possessions to dwindle – was growing.

“Aw, Evan lad,” Joby Robinson, son of the village smithy whom he'd known in boyhood, greeted him. “The years 'ave proved you right. We should have won our battle all them years ago, not given in just because Wallis Trent called out the yeomanry. Lad, if we'd tried again after he was killed, we'd ' ave won! But you'd gone – disappeared.”

“Aye, I thought it best. I thought I'd not be welcome after the bloodshed that night.”

“Aye, well, 'appen. Straight after, we was all bitter – that's true. But we're worse off now than ever.”

Evan grinned. “Well – I've work for as many as wants it.”

“Aw, lad, that's great.”

“It's hard graft, mind,” Evan warned, “ and since I'm boss, I'll not stand for shirkers.”

“They'll come, we'll all come, lad, and thank you for it.”

So the Abbeyford men – the unemployed, that is – from at first resenting the encroaching railway, now seized upon its arrival as a gift from God. Hungry mouths could be fed once more and a man could have back his pride he had felt to be lost. Yet those who still worked on the Trents' land saw the railway as a further threat to their already insecure livelihood and began to look upon those village men who had become gangers as turncoats.

Abbeyford became a divided village.

There were just two matters left to settle before the new workings could actually begin – the acquisition of part of the Trents' lands, indeed the majority of the land still left in their possession, and Foster's acquisition of Carrie Smithson in exchange for giving Evan Smithson the rest of the contract.

The first came about quite easily, for Foster had prepared well in advance for that very event, though the aftermath was to cause such a turbulence that the ripples would be felt for years to come.

Foster had joined a card school where Squire Trent frequently played. By making himself a good friend to the drink-sodden, sad old man, Lloyd Foster had by now manoeuvred him into a helpless position. To repay his gambling debts to Foster, Squire Trent was obliged to sell off yet more of his land. And with Foster's blarney he made it seem as if he were doing the old man a favour instead of a disastrous disservice.

“Didn't I tell you I could do it?” Lloyd Foster boasted, waving a piece of paper under Evan's nose. “An' all legal-like too!”

“How much have you got?” Evan's eyes gleamed as he grabbed the paper out of Foster's fingers and scanned it eagerly.

“My God!” he exclaimed when he saw the figures written there. “Twice as much acreage as I thought you'd get and at half the price I thought you'd have to pay!” He looked up at Foster admiringly. “ You crafty devil!” he grinned.

Foster laughed and slapped Evan on the back. “An' it's all in your hands now, me boy. ‘Course the land belongs to the Railway Board, they laid out the money, you know that, don't you?”

Evan nodded. “Of course.”

“And now,” Foster said softly, “ the contract's yours.”

“The Board agreed, then?”

“They did too. When I saw them in Manchester last week about that,” he jabbed his forefinger at the paper Evan still held, “I told them I was wantin' to spread me wings and fly like an eagle.”

“And they let you go – without working out your contract?” Evan showed surprise.

“Didn't I tell them you were me right-hand man, that you knew as much about the building of dis railroad as me, and that, as long as the engineer checks everything, they'll have their railroad on schedule, if not before? By the way, they want to see you next week – just to make it all official.”

Evan nodded. He'd had little cause in his life to thank any man for favours, and now he found his gratitude to this man impossible to express. But the irrepressible Irishman needed no thanks. “An' you'll not be forgetting your side of the bargain, now, will you, me boy?” For a moment, beneath the banter, there was the hint of steel.

“No – no,” Evan said swiftly, trying to sound reassuring, but even he could not be sure his wayward daughter would comply.

During the first weeks of autumn Carrie and Jamie, locked in the bliss of their growing love, each living only for the next moment when they would meet and touch and hold each other close, had been oblivious of the world around them. For Carrie it was an escape from the harsh reality she knew into a dream of tenderness and joy she had never believed could exist. Even Jamie, entranced by Carrie – this wild beauty like no other girl he had ever known – forgot, for a time, his drunken grandfather, his sullen employees, the dwindling estate, and the threatening railway over the hill.

Now, cruel reality was crowding in upon their private world.

It was pay-out night and the navvies descended into Abbeyford like a band of marauding Red Indians. They wanted liquor and because Lloyd Foster was an employer who believed that he could extract better work from his men by giving them what they wanted from time to time he had arranged that a quantity of ale was on hand.

So it was a drunken, rowdy mob who ran, whooping and yelling, down the hillside into the peaceful village below, looking for sport of any kind. They were rough, tough men who worked hard and played hard too.

“Come on out, you village wenches,” shouted one banging on the door of a cottage, whilst behind the door a mother clasped her young daughters to her, her eyes wide with fear. “Hush,” she whispered fearful that the girls' terrified whimperings would be heard. “ Be quiet and he'll go away.”

After a few moments, unable to gain any response, the navvy staggered round to the rear of the cottage, where he found half a dozen hens in a run.

“Aha, lookee what we have here. You'll mek me a foine dinner, I'm thinkin',” and he began to chase the birds, which, feathers flying, ran hither and thither, squawking loudly.

“Come here, blast you, you silly critters,” he muttered rolling from side to side, making feeble grasping movements.

“What is it you're doin', Joseph me boy?”

Three more navvies, hearing the commotion, had gravitated towards the noise and now stood, a little unsteadily, watching their friend.

“Tryin' to catch dees stupid birds, so I am!”

“Well, let us be helpin' you.” And the three of them climbed into the chicken run. Drunk though the men were, the chickens were no match for four pairs of grasping hands and very soon all six birds lay in a twitching heap, their necks broken.

“Now – der's one each for us and two over – is dat right? We can sell them other two, I'm t'inkin'.”

“Aye an' do you know what I'm t'inkin', Joseph?”

“No, Michael, and what might dat be?”

“If dis 'ere cottage has chickens, maybe der's others in the village too, eh? What d'you t'ink?”

Joseph blinked, swaying on his feet.

“I t'ink you could be right. Come on.”

Between the four of them they killed fifty-four chickens that night and carried them off in sacks up the hill back to the dwelling-place.

Another small group of navvies smashed the windows of the Monks Arms because the landlord refused to serve them any more ale. So they hurled stones at his windows and then burst into the bar and helped themselves. With even more drink inside them they rampaged down the one village street, tearing up plants from the gardens, damaging fences and gates and hurling stones through windows. Not until dawn began to stretch its pale fingers over the skyline did the navvies stagger back up the hill.

The following afternoon Carrie waited in the abbey ruins for Jamie. She shivered and drew her tattered shawl more closely about her. It was a blustery, cool day with grey clouds scudding overhead.

She saw him approach and ran to meet him as he tethered his horse and dismounted.

“Oh, Jamie – is it only yesterday since I saw you? It seems so long ago.” She flung herself against him and as he put his arms about her she could feel a fierceness in his embrace. She raised her head to look up at him. His eyes were dark with anger and his mouth was set in a hard line.

“Jamie, what is it? Something's wrong, I know it.”

Jamie tried to smile. “ 'Tis naught to do with you, sweetheart. It's those – those railway workers.”

Carrie stiffened and her heart missed a beat. Sure though she was now of Jamie's love for her, still she had not been able to bring herself to tell him of her own connection with the railway. She had not dared to risk spoiling their idyllic happiness.

“What – what has happened?”

“They descended on Abbeyford village last night, an unruly
mob
!” He clenched his teeth. “ They've caused damage to property and stolen hens and frightened the women and girls half out of their wits.”

“Was – was anyone hurt?”

He hesitated then said, “ One girl was raped.”

Carrie groaned.

“The village men – those who are not involved with the railway themselves – are out for revenge. I can see trouble brewing. I'd like to get my hands on the men responsible for those – those drunken louts!”

Carrie shuddered and wound her arms tightly about Jamie, burying her face against his chest. She felt him relax a little. She raised her head and looked up at him. He cupped her face in his hands and looked deep into her violet eyes. “Oh, my darling – what should I do without you now? You are the only one who brings me happiness.”

His mouth was upon hers, their bodies entwined and for the moment all other thoughts were driven from their minds save the sweet passion flaring between them.

When they parted some two hours later, Jamie to return to the Manor and Carrie to run, skipping and jumping with light-hearted happiness, she had almost forgotten his mood of anger and even Jamie was smiling once more as he waved farewell.

“I won't, I won't –
I won't
!” Carrie shouted and stamped her foot.

Only moments before she had been dancing over the fields from her tryst with Jamie, giddy with happiness and her love for him. And now she stood in the centre of the rough shack facing her father, her violet eyes flashing with rage, her hands clenched so that the nails dug into her palms.

“You'll do as you're told, my girl,” Evan spat, grasping her long black hair and wrenching her head back, whilst he raised his other hand to deal her a stinging blow.

“Whatever you do to me,” Carrie said through her teeth, “ you can't
make
me marry Lloyd Foster.”

“You'll obey your pa, my girl,” Evan bellowed again giving her hair a vicious tug, “or …”

“Never – never,” Carrie screamed and twisting sideways, she sank her white teeth into his arm. His hold on her slackened. “You little she-cat! Why, I'll kill you …”

But Carrie did not wait to hear any more threats. She flung herself against the door of the shack, wrenching it open with such force that the rotten woodwork trembled and splintered. But as she hurled herself through the doorway, she came up against something solid – something, or rather someone, tall and broad and strong, whose arms were about her lifting her off her feet and swinging her round.

“Ah, an' if it isn't me darling running to meet me with a welcome I didn't expect.”

Then, as Carrie realised it was Lloyd Foster holding her fast, she began to beat down upon his shoulders and kick at his legs.

“Now, now, this was not the welcome I had in mind.” Still holding her, he glanced towards Evan, who had appeared in the doorway of the shack, holding his arm.

Then behind Foster there came the sound of horse's hooves and all at once Carrie's flailing arms and kicking legs were stilled and Foster felt her body go rigid in his arms. He looked into her face and saw her violet eyes widen with fear. Huskily she whispered a name.

“Jamie!
Oh, no
!”

Lloyd Foster lowered her slowly to the ground and turned to follow the line of her horrified gaze. He saw a young man, tall and broad-shouldered, his skin tanned, his handsome face contorted with anger, leaping down from his horse.

Then Foster saw, as the young man caught sight of Carrie, the rage soften momentarily in his eyes, heard him speak her name in surprise.

“Carrie? What on earth …?” An expression of bewilderment flickered over the young fellow's face as he glanced away from her, towards Evan Smithson still standing in the doorway of the rough shack, briefly took in Lloyd Foster and then returned to Carrie's face.

Carrie, breaking free of the paralysing shock, ran towards the young man, the tears running down her face.

Never, Lloyd Foster thought dully, in all the time he had known her – through all the misery of her hard life and her father's brutality – never had he seen her weep. And now the girl whom, in his own boisterous way, he loved, was running towards another man, her arms outstretched, crying out to him with an impassioned plea. “Jamie, Jamie – you must take me away with you. You must save me. He's trying to make me marry Lloyd Foster. Tell him …” She flung herself against him and clung to him, but Jamie Trent, like a man in a daze, merely stared over her head at Evan Smithson and Lloyd Foster. “ Tell him I belong to you.