Abbeyford Remembered (10 page)

His words were like a knife in her heart, robbing her of all the belief she had held of Jamie's love for her. Her last memory of him had been as he had rushed past her and ridden off, ignoring her cry of desperation.

Somehow she found herself, as if in a dream, as if the events were happening around her and she had no will, no power to prevent them, agreeing to marry Lloyd Foster.

The marriage was performed – like Luke's funeral – hurriedly, early in the morning with only her father and mother present, besides Lloyd Foster and herself. Lloyd was dressed in his fine clothes whilst the bride stood, a pathetic, unhappy creature in her ragged skirt and shawl, making her promises in a mechanical tone.

As they came out of the church, far above them, unnoticed by any of them, a rider sat on his horse beside the ruined wall of the abbey.

Jamie Trent narrowed his eyes and though the distance was too great to recognise the tiny figures moving away from the church, somehow in his heart he knew their identity. He had returned that morning, riding through the night and going straight to the abbey ruins with the vain hope of finding Carrie waiting for him. He knew that, if she wanted to see him, that was where she would be waiting.

He watched, motionless, his eyes following the group of figures as they moved along the lane, lost from sight for a time amongst the hedgerows and then appearing again as they climbed the hill out of Abbeyford.

Jamie closed his eyes and groaned aloud and then turned his horse towards the Manor.

In the stable, hanging by the neck from a rope round a beam was the stiff, cold body of Squire Guy Trent. Jamie leaned his head against the rough wood of the door and gave way to total despair.

Foster could hardly get Carrie away from Abbeyford quickly enough. The Railway Board had accepted Evan as the new contractor, and with the marriage between Foster and Carrie, the private bargain struck between Evan Smithson and Lloyd Foster was complete. Carrie had no belongings to pack and so, only hours after their wedding, they were climbing into a pony and trap after a brief farewell to her mother and younger brothers and moving off down the rough cart-track to start a new life. Evan Smithson watched them go, his arms folded across his chest, a smile of satisfaction on his face.

Now for the railway!

As the trap rattled along the lane, suddenly a man stepped out into their path a little way ahead. Lloyd Foster pulled hard on the reins and brought the vehicle to a standstill.

‘Jamie!” Carrie whispered. Then she turned pleading eyes upon Lloyd. “Please – let me – speak to him? Just – for a moment.”

Lloyd hesitated and then sadly nodded his head in agreement, his heart heavy as she scrambled down so eagerly from her seat beside him and ran towards Jamie Trent. He did not reach out his arms towards her and his stillness stopped her flinging herself against him.

“Jamie?” There was uncertainty in her tone, but only for a moment, for then she saw the wealth of misery in his eyes, which matched the ache in her own heart. He loved her still! He had come back for her – but too late!

“I thought you'd gone – for good,” she whispered.

Jamie shook his head, and his voice when he spoke was low and hoarse with emotion. “No – no. I went to Manchester to see the lawyers. To see if I could save my land.”

“And – did you?”

He shook his head. “And I lost something far more precious in my absence. Oh, Carrie,” he reached out and touched her cheek with his fingertips. “ Why did you not believe in me? Didn't my letter convince you …?”

“Letter?” Carrie's voice was shrill. “ What letter?”

“I left a letter with Luke telling you where I'd gone. Telling you I'd be back for you.”

Carrie closed her eyes and groaned. “ Oh, no,
no
! Jamie – Luke's dead. He was hurt. There was a fight between your farmworkers and the navvies. Lloyd,” she gestured with her hand behind her towards the man sitting so silent and still in the trap, unable to hear their words and yet torn with jealousy to see them together, “tried to save him, but he died three days after. Jamie, he murmured about a letter – I couldn't understand. And there was no letter on him, I know …”

Grim-faced, Jamie said bitterly, “Your father must have found it.”

Carrie gasped and the picture of Evan Smithson bending over Luke's still form as she had returned to tend his wounds flashed across her mind, his hand, as he stood up and turned towards her, inside his own coat pocket. In that moment Carrie hated her father.

“So, he's got what he wanted,” Jamie said. “My land, Grandfather's death – and you married to Foster!”

“Your grandfather?”

Jamie's head dropped. “ Yes – I found him this morning. He must have been dead a – couple of days. He – he'd killed himself.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Carrie whispered, horrified. “I'm so sorry.”

There was nothing left to say. Their emotions were too deep for words. Gently, Jamie took her arm, turned her round and led her back to Lloyd Foster.

As Jamie helped Carrie into the trap the two men's eyes met. There was no animosity between them, more a look of understanding and mutual pity, for whilst one had lost her, the other had not won her love. There was an unspoken request in Jamie's eyes. ‘ Take care of her, be good to her', and an answering promise in Lloyd Foster's, yet not a word was spoken.

Lloyd Foster slapped the reins and the trap jerked forward. Twisting round, Carrie watched Jamie's figure grow smaller and smaller as she was carried away from him.

Just once, he raised his hand in a final farewell.

They travelled for several days, stopping at wayside inns, making for London.

That first night, their wedding night, she sat in the bedroom, tense and fearful, waiting for him to come to her. She sat by the window, shivering and staring out into the darkness, seeing nothing, but determined to stay as far away from the big double bed as she could. She kept her eyes averted from it, trembling at the thought of what she must endure.

Carrie was no maiden, afraid of the unknown. Her fear lay only in that, having known the joys of loving with Jamie, she must now submit to the passions of a man she did not love.

They had been welcomed into the inn by the beaming landlord, who, though she could see the question in his eyes, politely ignored the incongruity of a well-dressed gentleman accompanied by a gypsy girl.

“I'll be wantin' a
double
room,” Lloyd Foster had said firmly, and Carrie had felt a twinge of revulsion at the thought of what was to happen that night. “An' mind the bed is clean and warm for my wife, an' a fire in the grate.”

“Of course, sir. Mary Ellen,” the landlord had shouted to one of the kitchen maids, “ away and prepare the room, girl – the
best
front bedroom.” He had turned back to Lloyd. “And you'll be wanting refreshment, sir, I don't doubt. Now we have a nice roast veal, and some of the best wine this side the Channel, sir.”

Bowing, he had ushered Lloyd and Carrie to high-backed bench seats in a secluded corner. Two brass candlesticks with lighted candles stood on the table. They sat opposite each other and waited for their meal to be served. Carrie's violet eyes were dark, the soft candlelight highlighting her beauty, but she was unaware of her own appearance. All her senses prickled at the nearness of the man sitting so close, his knees accidentally touching hers beneath the table. Though the meal was such as she had never tasted before – tender veal, sparkling wine which tickled her nose as she raised the glass to her lips, a sweet of delicious meringue and fresh cream, and coffee, real, steaming hot coffee, fresh and fragrant – Carrie could not enjoy it. She felt as if she could never enjoy life itself again.

Now, as she sat in the bedroom, she felt such a loneliness that she had never before known. Always, she had fought for survival. She had been the strength her weaker brothers – and even her mother – had leaned on. And now, plucked from their midst, even with the promise of security and comfort, she felt bereft. Torn away from all she knew, all that was familiar and – worst of all – torn from the very first man with whom she had fallen in love …

The bedroom door opened with a scrape and she jumped and turned to see Lloyd Foster standing in the doorway. He came in and closed the door behind him and stood looking at her. The silence between them lengthened until it grated on her nerves. She turned back to gazing out of the window, even though she could see nothing through the blackness. She was acutely aware of him standing behind her. She felt a shiver down her spine as he crossed the room and moved close to her.

He reached out and touched her shoulder and she flinched from his touch. He sprang away as if burned. “ So, that is how it is to be, is it?” His voice was low with emotion. “ Rough I may be, but I'm no ignorant brute. But you're my wife, and, by God, you'll be my wife!”

Gone was his joviality. There was no mistaking the steel in his voice. Carrie shuddered. She had heard it before, but never directed at herself until this moment. He turned and strode from the room, banging the door behind him. As she heard his feet clatter down the stairs, Carrie could only feel relief.

Lloyd Foster made his way to the saloon bar, where he drank steadily through the night until drunkenness dulled his frustrated passion for his bride.

The following day, much to Carrie's surprise, Lloyd Foster seemed to have recovered his usual cheerful spirits. He laughed loudly with the innkeeper, tipped the stable boy lavishly for looking after the horse and was courteous towards Carrie. She avoided meeting his gaze and so did not see for herself the pain deep in his eyes, hidden by his outward show of good humour. She was quiet, withdrawn into her own private misery, repulsing all attempts Foster made to reach her.

They travelled on, Carrie sullen and silent, Foster singing Irish folksongs at the top of his loud and surprisingly tuneful voice. They stayed in a pleasant hotel in London, though where Foster slept Carrie never knew nor cared to enquire, for each night she slept alone.

He took her to the shops and insisted she should buy herself a trousseau, but Carrie had no idea how a lady should dress and was at the mercy of the dressmaker. All manner of clothing was laid before her, such items as she had never seen, let alone possessed. Flannel vests, cotton chemises, petticoats, corsets, cotton drawers, white thread stockings, coloured silk stockings, kid gloves, silk gloves, morning dresses and afternoon dresses of silk cashmere, black silk skirts and bodices, two evening gowns and a white lace ball gown, so beautiful it took Carrie's breath away. Shawls and cloaks and hats, even a parasol edged with lace. Neat button boots and shoes for day and evening wear which Carrie's feet had never known.

“I can't accept all this,” she hissed at Lloyd Foster, gesturing towards all the garments being wrapped by the willing assistants.

“Ah, so you can find it in you to speak to me,” Lloyd said, his mouth smiling but his eyes reproachful. It was the first time she had spoken to him since their marriage – except to answer his questions in sullen monosyllables. “And you will accept it. It is a husband's duty to provide for his wife, is it not, now?”

Her violet eyes flashed – the first time she had shown any spark of life since leaving Abbeyford.

“I'll not be
bought
!” She glared at him, standing facing him in the centre of the fashionable shop, her hands on her hips.

“Oh, an' I love you when you're angry,” Lloyd Foster's booming laugh rang out, causing the dressmaker to ‘tut-tut' and her young assistants to giggle to each other. Carrie stamped her foot, causing the girls to give little shrieks of horror. It was the behaviour they were not accustomed to seeing in their shop – not the behaviour of a lady!

“
I'm
serious – even if you're not,” Carrie cried angrily.

“Oh, me darlin', I was never more serious in the whole of me life.” The hint of steel was in his eyes again. He took hold of her wrist, and though he only held her lightly with one hand, she could feel the strength in his fingers. “You will accept these gifts, my lovely
wife
!” The accent on the last word was audible only to Carrie.

Thwarted, she flounced out of the shop and stood waiting for him in the street outside. He sauntered out in due course, now seeming quite unperturbed by her outburst.

As they walked along she stole a glance at him. Wherever he was, she thought, he seemed at ease. Whether it was amongst the navvies, covered with dust, or with Squire Trent playing cards, or here in the fashionable quarter of London, he was equally at home and – amazingly – accepted. Whilst she felt a misfit, a dirty, dishevelled gypsy with no manners and no idea of etiquette.

She was quiet now and as they walked along she looked about her at the shops, at the grand carriages, at the coachmen and footmen in their smart liveried uniforms, and at the noblemen and fashionable ladies inside the carriages. Lloyd walked at her side, smartly dressed as ever in a well-cut suit, a brightly coloured waistcoat, his watch-chain looped across his broad chest, and swinging a cane.

Suddenly he reached down and took her hand and drew it through his arm. She could feel the curious glances of the passers-by and the colour rose in her cheeks.

“You see, me darlin',” Lloyd was saying in his lilting brogue. “I want to see you dressed in fine silks and satins. You've the beauty of a fine lady already, me darlin', all you're needin' is the fine feathers. Do y'hear me now? There's so many places I can take you. Now, wouldn't you like to play the fine lady?”

Carrie was silent.

She supposed she should feel gratitude to him for his generosity, but she could not forgive him for having aided her father in tricking her into this marriage, tearing her from the arms of her lover. But as the days passed into weeks and months, she found she could not help being caught up in the excited bustle of the vast city. The shops fascinated her, the fancy carriages, the beautifully dressed ladies in the silks and velvets. She even had a maid of her very own now – a young girl who helped her dress her hair and bedeck herself in her new finery.