Abbeyford Remembered (16 page)

But he was no longer here.

He had gone, and all that was left was her drunken, pathetic father, now the image of the man – his own father – whom he had hated with such venom all his life; on whom he had sought – and achieved – such a terrible revenge!

But his revenge had destroyed them all.

Where was Jamie now? Where could he have gone? Who would know?

Her steps led her automatically to the churchyard set in the centre of the village. She pushed open the gate and went in. Walking among the gravestones, without thinking she began to search for those of her mother and brothers.

“May I help you?” A kindly voice spoke behind her making her jump.

She turned round to see the smiling face of a young curate. “ Oh – I – er – don't quite know.”

“Were you looking for a particular grave?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “I've been away for almost twelve years. I have only just learnt that my mother and younger brothers are – dead. I wondered …”

“Perhaps I can help. I could look in the Parish Register, if you like.”

Carrie nodded. “That would be very kind of you. I'd like to know – where they are.”

“Come along, then,” the young man said briskly and led the way into the quiet dimness of the church and through into the vestry.

He pulled a huge book from a shelf and laid it on the table. “Now, can you give me some details.”

“Well, there's Lucy Smithson and her two sons, Matthew and Thomas.”

“And you've been left about twelve years?”

“Yes.”

His finger was running down the pages.

“Smithson …” he murmured. “Ah now, here's a
Luke
Smithson.”

Sadness swept over Carrie at the memory of her elder brother. “Yes – yes, he died just before I left.”

“Ah – so the names you are looking for would be later than that.” There was a short pause when he said. “ Now here we are – Matthew and Thomas Smithson. Oh dear me, their deaths are listed on the same date. Now, wait a minute, I seem to remember. Yes, were they working on the building of the railway?”

Carrie nodded.

“Yes,
now
I remember. There was an explosion – dynamite incorrectly placed, I believe. There were seven killed, I think.” He counted the names in the register. “Yes, seven. And I'm afraid your brothers were amongst that number.”

“And my mother – Lucy Smithson.”

Again he searched. “Yes – here it is. She died only two months after your brothers.”

Carrie nodded again, a lump in her throat. She could imagine poor, worn-out Lucy, finally beaten by the loss of her two youngest children. Of all of the seven children Lucy had borne, only Carrie now survived.

“Could you also look for a Sarah Smithson? She was my grandmother.”

For several moments his finger ran on down the page. Slowly he shook his head. “No – I can't see any Sarah. There's a
Henry
Smithson. He died eight years ago.”

“Yes. He was – her husband.” Carrie hesitated for he had not been her grandfather. That was Squire Trent.

Suddenly, a thought struck Carrie. “Wait a minute. Go back a little. To the time when Squire Guy Trent died.”

The young curate made no comment, but did as she asked.

“Why, yes, her name is directly after his. She died the following week.” His eyes were upon Carrie, questioningly, but even though the young man had been so kind she did not want to confide in him.

Let the unhappy lovers' secret die with them, and she thought how ironic it was that they had been obliged to live out their lives apart and yet in death their names were close beside each other.

“Can you tell me where my mother and brothers are buried, please?”

“Ah, yes, now where are we?” He looked back at the list again, noted the numbers of the graves and then from the back of the book pulled out a plan of the graves in the churchyard. “ Yes, they're all together over by the yew tree in the far corner.” Again he turned, almost apologetically, towards her. “Their graves are unmarked, I'm afraid. No one requested any head stones and the parish cannot …”

“No, no, of course not,” Carrie said swiftly. Her father would never have thought to spend his money on such things as gravestones! Sooner a bottle of whisky, she thought bitterly.

It was quiet and peaceful under the yew tree in the corner of the churchyard. Probably the only peace her mother had ever known, Carrie thought sadly, and wished she could have done more to make her mother's life easier. The grass was long and the area neglected, but she could just detect the gentle mounds showing where her mother and brothers were buried. At last she turned away, sick at heart that, at the moment, she could not afford to erect headstones either. “ Some day, some day …” she promised the silent earth.

Then intruding into her quiet solitude came the sound of a train whistle as it neared Abbeyford Halt, then moments later it burst into view, puthering clouds of grey smoke. Fascinated, and yet partially appalled by the iron monster thundering through the quiet valley, Carrie watched it screech to a brief stop at the Halt and then, with much chugging, it pulled away and was soon gone, leaving only the tell-tale cloud of smoke drifting over the village.

It was beginning to grow dusk, she had allowed that train to depart without her, and she doubted that there would be another that day. Besides, she was not yet ready to leave Abbeyford. Surely there must be someone here who knew where Jamie had gone. But who?

“Of course,” she murmured aloud and a small smile of fresh hope curved her mouth. “ His stepmother – Lady Adelina Lynwood!”

She remembered Jamie's words all those years before – could almost hear his beloved voice; ‘She's very beautiful and has been very kind to me. I'm very fond of her.'

Jamie would not leave without telling his stepmother where he was going. She would go and see Lady Lynwood, and with that thought her feet began to move eagerly up the lane, then she stopped. It was too late now to walk the several miles from Abbeyford to Lynwood Hall. She could hardly arrive there late at night.

Carrie decided she would stay here in Abbeyford and visit Lady Lynwood the next day. But where could she stay? She could not – would not – go back to the Manor. She wandered down the one village street and found herself outside the cottage which had been her grandmother's. It was empty and cold; she thought, but it offered shelter. There could be no harm in her staying there overnight.

The cottage was lonely, haunted with memories of the old couple who had lived there.

Carrie found a few bits of wood in the coal-house at the back and built a fire in the living-room grate. Though the chimney smoked a little through lack of use, the fire warmed her. She drew the old rickety armchair towards the blaze and banged the cushions vigorously to get rid of the dust, then she curled up in it and despite the fact that it was now several hours since she had eaten, she soon fell asleep.

The morning found her cramped and even more hungry and cold, for the fire had burnt down whilst she had slept.

She splashed her face and hands under the creaking pump in the small backyard and tidied her hair. Then, since there was nothing she could breakfast on, she left the cottage and began the long walk over the hills to Lynwood Hall.

At the Hall, the butler led her into the morning room. Carrie dropped a curtsy and said, “It is kind of you to see me, your ladyship.”

“Please be seated,” Lady Adelina indicated the wide window-seat near her, where she was sitting, some embroidery in her lap.

“Thank you,” Carrie said and moved across the room and sat down. Now that she was closer she could see that Lady Adelina had scarcely altered since the last time she had seen her – over twelve years previously. Her rich auburn hair was just as beautiful with not a trace of grey and her lovely face showed not the faintest line or blemish. She was staring at Carrie, a slightly puzzled expression in her eyes. “Should I know you, Mrs Foster?” she murmured. “ I can't seem to recall …”

“My lady – we did meet once, but the circumstances,
my
circumstances, were very different then.” She trembled a little inwardly, but met Lady Lynwood's gaze with an outward show of fearlessness. “I am Evan Smithson's daughter.”

Hatred and fear swept across Lady Adelina's face, then she touched her forehead with trembling fingers and tried to smile. “ I'm sorry, my dear, it was just a shock to hear his name again …”

Carrie leaned forward, no longer afraid. Lady Lynwood did not resent her, though she obviously felt a deep, abiding hatred for Evan Smithson.

“Why do you hate him so much?”

Lady Lynwood met her clear, questioning gaze. “My dear, it would be very wrong of me to tell you. Just let me say that something he – he did, caused me a great deal of unhappiness. I cannot forgive him – though I know I should.”

“It seems,” Carrie said quietly, “his bitterness and twisted soul has touched many lives – and – brought unhappiness to them all.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“You know he is living in Abbeyford Manor now and calling himself Trent?”

Lady Lynwood gasped. “ No! No, I didn't. We have severed all connections with Abbeyford now – even though it is only a few miles away. We sold Abbeyford Grange – my grandfather's old home – so there is no need for me to visit Abbeyford now. I went there once, just after the railway line was completed, but to me the village has been spoilt.”

Carrie nodded, then said, “Lady Lynwood, the reason for my visit is – to ask you – if – if you know,” the colour rose in her cheeks and her heart beat faster, “ where Jamie Trent is?”

“Jamie?” Lady Lynwood gazed at her for a moment then she smiled. “Of course, he told me. You and he fell in love, but your father and – another man, I forget his name …”

“Lloyd Foster,” Carrie interposed. “ They came between us, and I was tricked into marrying Lloyd.”

“And now?” Lady Adelina asked.

Carrie's shoulders slumped. “ I suppose it's too late. I expect Jamie's married, with a family.”

“What of your husband?” Lady Adelina probed gently.

“He was killed – in India. I have only just returned to England myself. I came straight here – to Abbeyford – but my father, he's too drunk for me to make any sense of him.”

Lady Lynwood's mouth hardened. “He doesn't seem to have found much happiness himself either.”

Carrie shook her head. “But Jamie? Do you know where he is, how he is?”

Slowly Lady Lynwood shook her head sadly. “My dear, I wish I
could
help you. Shortly after you left, he came to stay here at Lynwood Hall for a while. Then he decided he would go right away – so he joined the British Army. I hear from him very occasionally, but it is over two years since I last had a brief letter, so I really don't know where he could be now.”

Carrie felt the tears prick her eyelids. Her disappointment was acute. She had been so hopeful that Lady Lynwood would know where he was.

“I'm sure he's never married, my dear,” Lady Adelina leaned forward and gently touched Carrie's hand. “ He would have written to tell me
that
, I know.”

Carrie nodded but she was not convinced. Two years since Lady Adelina had last had word from him. So much could have happened in that time …

Carrie stood up. “You have been most kind, my lady. Thank you for receiving me.”

“I'm so sorry I cannot be of more help. Where will you go now?”

Carrie shrugged, desolate and lost. “I don't know.”

“May I suggest London,” Lady Adelina said gently. “ I believe there are many headquarters and officers' clubs and so on there. You may be able to get news of him. And if,” she added, “you need help, we have a town house in Mayfair.”

“No – no, I wouldn't presume. You have been so kind already.”

“Well, send me word of your address and if I hear anything from him, I promise I will write and let you know.”

“You are very good, my lady,” Carrie said gratefully.

Lady Adelina smiled. “ He mentioned you only once while he was here. He was very unhappy at losing you, I could see that. I'll do whatever I can to help you find each other again.”

With Lady Lynwood's promise to cling to, Carrie left Lynwood Hall and returned to Abbeyford. She would catch the next train to London – the very next train! There was now no reason for her to stay in Abbeyford any longer.

Passing the Manor, she hesitated. Perhaps she should just see her father once more before she left. Have one more try. Perhaps by some chance he knew more than Lady Lynwood, though she knew it was unlikely.

“Oh, hello,” the woman greeted her in a friendly manner. She was still wearing the same dress she had worn the previous day. “He's sobered up a bit this morning. But he don't remember you comin' yesterday.” She held open the door for Carrie to pass into the dismal hall. “I've been tellin' him, but I don't reckon he believes me. Evan,” she raised her voice shrilly. “ Evan, she's 'ere again. Your girl. Come on,” the woman beckoned her through into a room which had once been the drawing-room. It was large and could have been beautiful, but the furniture was dusty, the paintwork peeling and the carpet worn into holes.

Evan Smithson was sprawling on the sofa in front of a blazing fire. His head turned jerkily, and it seemed to take a few moments for his eyes to focus upon her. He still had the manner of a man in a permanent state of drunkenness, though Carrie could see that today he was a little more aware of his surroundings.

“My God! Is it really you, lass?”

Carrie stood before him. “It is, Pa.”

“Where've you come from? Where's – what's 'is name?”

“Can't you even remember the name of the man you forced me to marry?” Carrie asked bitterly. “ He's dead. He was building a railway in India and he was killed in a landslide.”