Abbeyford Remembered (21 page)

“Oh, please let me pass. I am a nurse. Please let me reach the Captain.”

“ ’Ere, who are you pushing?” snapped one stretcher-bearer. At that
moment the burly figure of the Captain of the ship appeared at the top of
the gangway.

“Let her through,” he bellowed. “ She’s one of Miss Nightingale’s
nurses.” Then he pointed to the running men below, to the Major and his
two followers. “And stop those men coming aboard!”

Five or six of his own crew plunged down the gangplank and with
bloodcurdling yells they rushed towards the Major and his men. She saw
Jeremy Richmond stop and hesitate. Then he glanced up at Carrie, who had
now reached the top of the gangway and was standing close beside the
burly, protective figure of the Captain.

He shook his fist but once, and then, as the sailors drew nearer, both he
and the two soldiers turned and ran.

Relief flooded through Carrie so that her legs gave way. She felt the
strong arm of the Captain about her waist, but it was only offered as a
comfort, a support.

“Let me help you, ma’am,” he said politely.

“Oh, Captain, how can I ever thank you? You don’t know how much you’ve
helped me.”

“I think I do, ma’am,” the big man said quietly.

“You – you do?” Carrie was surprised. As the Captain led her below to the
comfort of the cabin she had so recently vacated, though this time no
longer any man’s prisoner, he explained. “I watched you, ma’am, all that
first day, tending they poor fellows, the wounded soldiers I have to bring
by the thousand.” He shook his head. “Ma’am, it fair breaks my heart to
see it and I’m given no help to tend them, no help at all. I was right
glad to see you come aboard, ma’am. Then I thought it strange that the
Major ordered them put ashore in the dark of night, but I made no
argument, seein’ as how it was gettin’ them to hospital the quicker. Then,
when they was all ashore, he starts chafin’ me to go about and start back
for the Crimea. Well,” he shrugged his huge shoulders, “I had no reason to
linger, and the conditions bein’ right, I did as he bid. It wasn’t until
we was a day at sea that I learnt you was still aboard. I swear that’s the
truth, ma’am. I had no part in his plan.”

“I believe you, Captain,” Carrie said softly. His actions a few moments
ago had told her this fact.

“I thought there’d been a genuine mistake, that you’d fallen asleep after
all the long hours you’d worked. You deserved some rest, if you don’t mind
my sayin’ so, ma’am.”

Carrie smiled.

“I said to him, ‘Shall I put back to Scutari, Major, and take the young
lady ashore?’ ‘No, my man, you will not,’ ses he in that haughty way of
his. ‘ There’s been no mistake, I assure you’. Well, I didn’t know what to
think. An’ then a member of my crew said the cabin door was locked, an’ I
didn’t know whether you’d locked it against intruders or what was goin’
on. Then when we docked at Balaclava and he hustled you ashore, I could
see you wasn’t goin’ willingly, so as soon as I saw you runnin’ towards
the ship just now, I knew you needed my help real bad.”

“Captain, I can’t thank you enough!”

“Well, ma’am, it’ll be a week or more till we can sail back to Scutari. I
have me orders – not,” he bent forward in a confidential whisper, “that I
always agrees with them, but there it is. I’m not allowed to sail till I
have a shipload of wounded and sick, so I can’t see but that you’ll have
to stay aboard. But I’ll see you come to no harm, ma’am, I promise you
that. You and that there Miss Nightingale are doin’ a fine job, and you
have my admiration.”

“Thank you, Captain. I shall be only too glad to stay on board. In the
meantime, until we sail, I shall do whatever I can to help the wounded.”

The Captain, bearded and burly, patted her shoulder with his huge hand in
a fatherly gesture. “Good, good, and I will do what I can to obtain some
medical supplies for you, if you promise not to ask
how
I obtained
them!” He tapped the side of his nose and winked broadly.

Carrie laughed. “Oh, I promise you that, Captain.”

The big man laughed heartily and left the cabin. Carrie sank on to the
couch, listening to his laughter still resounding as he returned on deck.
It was only then that the full realisation of Major Richmond’s words hit
her.

“Jamie Trent is dead!”
With a deep moan, Carrie flung herself face downwards on the couch and
gave way to an uncharacteristic storm of weeping.

The emotional storm passed but left her feeling
exhausted and drained. She bathed her face and went on deck resolved to
bury her own misery in hard work helping the wounded. But her whole world
had disintegrated with the Major’s words. ‘Jamie Trent is dead’. Her very
reason for living was gone. The thought of finding him again one day had
kept her going through all the sorrow of parting, through the long years
of a loveless marriage. And now, when she had followed him half way round
the world, to find that he was dead was almost more than she could bear.

But her fighting instincts, her will to survive, would not let her give
in, even yet. Instead she threw herself into her work, scarcely noticing
whether she ate, or washed, or slept, whether it was day or night. She was
only aware of the dull ache in her own heart and of the men in her care.
Still she managed to smile, to comfort, to bathe and bandage, whilst all
the time her heart was breaking.

On the day following his conversation with Miss
Nightingale, the surgeon chopped off Jamie’s left arm and with it all his
hopes for a future with Carrie.

Physically he recovered, but emotionally he was plunged once more into
the bottomless pit of despair. For a time he lived in a crazy half-world
somewhere between dreams of past happiness and the nightmare of the
present. At last the only thought left in his now fully conscious mind was
the torment of the decision he must make.

He opened his eyes to find Miss Nightingale bending over him. “Are you
feeling a little stronger, Corporal Trent?”

His sigh was long and deep, almost as if he wished it could be his last
breath. His voice was hoarse and expressionless. “ Miss Nightingale, I no
longer wish to see Mrs Foster. In fact, I’d be obliged to you – should she
return here – if you …” he paused hardly able to force the final
disastrous words through his unwilling lips. “ If you – could keep my
presence here from her.”

Miss Nightingale was thoughtful for a moment. “I understand the reason
for your decision, but I think you are wrong. However,” she straightened
up, “that is not my concern. I may tell you that, should Mrs Foster return
here, I shall be obliged to send her home to England – in the interests of
discipline. So – she will not be on these wards again.”

Jamie closed his eyes. It was the right decision. She would be better
with her Major – a whole man. He was sure it was the right decision.

But, oh, how it finally shattered his already broken spirit!

London offered little hospitality for its wounded heroes. The meagre temporary pension Jamie was granted of sixpence per day could not buy lodgings, food and clothing – and it could be stopped at any time! Day after day he trudged the streets but no one wanted to employ a one-armed war casualty. At night he joined the tramps and vagrants along the Embankment and was embittered to see many of his companions were old soldiers.

But what shocked him even more was that they were not the only homeless. There were whole families, women and children huddled together in almost every available corner on the Embankment and in every recess across London Bridge!

Unable to sleep for the cold and the bitter misery in his heart, he stared at the dark shadows of the Thames. Beneath its cold waters he could seek oblivion. But then the remembered picture of his own grandfather dangling purple-faced, eyes and tongue bulging, from the stable rafters made him turn away from such a course with a shudder of revulsion. Suicide was not the answer.

Abbeyford! The name crept unbidden into his mind and memories stirred. That was were he belonged. The Manor was still his. At least it would be a shelter of sorts. Restlessly he moved his cramped and frozen feet.

Abbeyford! The place called him, set him yearning to be among the familiar fields and lanes. And there he could relive memories of the time shared with Carrie.

His mutilated body and his tattered emotions sought the only haven of happiness he had ever known.

Abbeyford! He would go back to Abbeyford.

As the train pulled away from Abbeyford Halt and the smoke drifted away, Jamie Trent looked about him. Grimly, he saw how the railway line tore through the very heart of the valley, an ugly scar across the green fields and quiet country lanes. His eyes, somewhat reluctantly, were drawn towards the Manor House. From this distance it looked surprisingly unaltered.

Without realising he had consciously moved, he found himself walking along the platform, through the white-painted gate – already hanging off its hinges – and down towards the village.

Two women passed him, staring at him and then whispering together as they went on. A man was limping towards him, his left leg swinging stiffly at each step so that he moved along with a rolling gait. He stopped a few feet in front of Jamie and stared at him. Jamie continued walking.

“Why, 'tis Master Jamie!” The man's face was altered in an instant from lines of fatigue by the grin which stretched his mouth. “Eh, Master Jamie! I'm glad to see you – we thought you was dead.”

His glance fell upon the empty sleeve of Jamie's coat, and the grin faded. He gave a quick nod towards it. “You've bin hurt bad, I see. I'm sorry, Master Jamie.”

“Thank you, Joby,” Jamie said quietly. He had recognised Joby Greenfield at once, though the limp was something new. In turn, Jamie nodded towards Joby's left leg. “You too?”

“Aw, that's a legacy from that there fight we 'ad years back wi' t'railway navvies.”

“How – how are things here now, Joby?”

Joby Greenfield shrugged with the philosophical acceptance of a man born to expect hardship. “ Could be worse. A lot of the villagers have gone. Moved to towns to find work in t'factories.” He paused, seeming to want to ask a question and yet not knowing quite how to phrase it. “You – you back for good, Master Jamie?”

Jamie's smile was a little thin, his eyes still mirroring the heavy weight of sadness in his heart. “I expect so, Joby. I've nowhere else to go.”

He moved on again with a casual word of farewell. “ Be seeing you again, Joby.”

Jamie did not look back and so did not see the grin widening upon Joby's face as he watched him walk up the village street and take the lane towards the Manor House.

“Good to have you back, Master Jamie,” he called after him, and Jamie waved his one hand in acknowledgement without turning round.

“Aye,” Joby Greenfield murmured to himself. “ You'm home now, m'lad, an' I reckon you'll be stayin' when you find out who's up at t'Manor!”

Jamie paused, his hand on the sagging gate-post leading into the stableyard from the lane. The gate was off its hinges, lying in the grass a few feet away. His eyes roamed over the stableyard, at the weeds pushing their way up between the cobblestones; the buildings, the timber rotting and some of the brickwork beginning to crumble. Slowly he moved across the yard and, avoiding the back entrance, he walked round the side of the house to the terrace.

The long windows stood open to the sunshine, the floor-length curtains billowed softly in the light breeze. Jamie stepped over the threshold and stopped in surprise.

The room was freshly decorated – the old chairs and sofas had been dust-beaten to a respectable condition. The carpet – worn and faded – had at least been scrubbed to cleanliness and the oak floor shone with polishing that must have taken a week!

Someone lived here. In his home!

He moved across the room and opened the door into the hall. It was still dimly lit, but no longer dismal. There was not a cobweb nor a dirty footprint to be seen.

Jamie sniffed. Was it possible? Baking bread? The smell drew him towards the kitchens. Now he could hear a woman humming softly to herself and the sounds of dough being slapped and kneaded. Quietly, he pushed open the door.

She was standing at the bare, scrubbed table, her hands busy with the dough, her slim body enveloped in a huge white apron. A white scarf tied back her black, curling hair and a smudge of flour lay upon her cheek.

For a moment he thought – man though he was – that he was going to faint.

He whispered her name. “
Carrie
!”

She was suddenly still as if turned to stone. Then slowly, as if almost afraid it would not be true, she turned her violet eyes upon him.

He wasn't conscious of having moved towards her, but the next instant she was reaching up to touch his face, leaving traces of flour upon his cheeks too.

Wonderingly, her hands passed over his face, his chest, his waist, unable to believe he was real, whilst he stood drinking in the sight of her.

“I – thought you were – dead!” she breathed and then with a sigh of thankfulness she laid her head against his chest and wound her arms tightly around his waist. “What kept you away from me so long?” she murmured.

Jamie shook his head but could not speak. The time for explanations was later. Without asking, he knew why she had come back here. Back to Abbeyford. All roads led back to Abbeyford.

Now his mouth was hungry for the taste of her lips. His one arm held her close and they clung together, swaying slightly, lost in the ecstasy of their reunion.

He had come home – and so had she. Home to Abbeyford, home to happiness and to the hope of a new tomorrow.

And the ghosts of unhappy lovers past finally found their long-sought peace.

It had begun in Abbeyford and it ended in Abbeyford. And yet, it was not really the end, rather a new beginning.