Two days later, in the early afternoon, Carrie slipped away from the shack and, avoiding the railway workings, made her way across the fields and up the hill towards Abbeyford. She was determined to get to know her grandmother better, yet she had had the intuitive sense to keep her intentions secret.
Carrie tapped at the cottage door with some trepidation, remembering the unwelcoming figure of the hunched cripple in the corner – her grandfather, and yet he seemed to bear such hatred for his son, Evan.
The door opened and Sarah Smithson’s wrinkled face lit up with pleasure at the unexpected visit from her granddaughter. “ Come in, my dear, come in.”
Carrie followed her slow-moving steps into the small back scullery where they could talk freely without the malevolent presence of Henry Smithson’s scowling face.
“Tell me about yourself, child.” Her old eyes roved over the girl’s lovely face, as if she would draw strength from Carrie’s youthful vitality.
Carrie shrugged and smiled. “There’s not much to tell. There were seven of us children, but three died in childhood. There’s Luke – he’s twenty, the oldest.” A shadow flickered across her violet eyes, “but he’s not strong. Then there’s mesel’ – I’m eighteen. Then there’s Tom and Matthew – they’re fourteen and thirteen. They all work on the railway – with Pa. I help Ma as best I can.” She broke off and asked, “Do you know me Ma?”
“I might. Is her name Lucy?”
Carrie nodded.
Sarah Smithson sighed. “ Yes, I thought so. Lucy Walters. She disappeared when Evan first left Abbeyford.”
Carrie leant forward eagerly. “Grandma – will you tell me about me Pa? What caused him to leave home …?”
“No, no,” the old woman cried sharply. “I cannot speak of it! He – he is not welcome here. People remember. He should not have come back.” Her words were halting and painful to her, Carrie could see. She bit back the words of pleading which sprang to her lips. She could not cause her grandmother more pain by making her relive unpleasant memories, but she longed to learn the truth.
Some time later Carrie took her leave. The summer sun was warm upon her head, and in the quiet of the valley she felt a peace settle upon her. She wandered along the lane, reluctant to return to the shack she must call home. Her gaze roamed the hills on either side. The mansion to the east called Abbeyford Grange and then opposite the Manor House and above it, silhouetted sharply against the blue sky, gaunt and lonely, stood the abbey ruins. Intrigued to see them, Carrie took the lane leading towards Abbeyford Manor. As she drew level with the house she looked at it with interest. This was where Jamie Trent lived – and it was the house her father coveted. He had vowed to bring ruin to the Trent family because of some deep ill-will he bore them, some revenge he sought. His reasons, buried deep in the past, were a mystery to his daughter.
Even in the warm afternoon sun Carrie shivered, and moved on up the lane past the gate leading to the Manor’s stables and on up the hill towards the wood.
Beneath the trees it was cooler and shady and quiet save for the sounds of the woodland creatures. She took off her heavy clogs and delighted in the feel of the long grass on her bare feet. Joyously she skipped along, light-hearted and for once free from the cares of her harsh life.
As she emerged from the wood she stood a moment looking down on the valley below, her eyes tracing the line her father had suggested to Lloyd Foster that their railway should follow, entering the valley from the north and running alongside the stream directly in front of the Manor and on southwards to the natural pass out of the valley.
“Why,” she spoke aloud in surprise, “ the line will cut right through his pastures – and his cornfields!” She remembered her father’s bitter words, ‘I’ll ruin the Trents’, and she frowned thoughtfully. Perhaps he had planned the route to come through the Trents’ land intentionally for the very purpose of ruining them.
She shaded her eyes against the sun. Carrie expected to see men working in the fields, but there seemed a strange lack in numbers. Certainly there were one or two tiny figures in the far distance, moving about their work in the fields. She saw a horseman cantering along the side of the stream and then turn up the hill towards her. As he drew closer she saw the rider was Jamie Trent. He reined in beside her and sat, tall and straight, upon his horse. He wore breeches and knee-boots and an open-necked shirt. His brow glistened with sweat and his shirt was stained darkly with the signs of hard labour.
Why, thought Carrie in surprise, he’s been working in the fields alongside his labourers.
He was smiling down at her. “Miss Smithson. How good it is to see you again.” His voice was warm and deep, and Carrie’s heart beat a little faster.
“Mr Trent,” she murmured, almost shyly, though her eyes regarded him boldly, taking in every detail of his dark, handsome face, his deep brown eyes and rugged jaw line. He dismounted and stood beside her, the manly closeness of him quickening her pulses.
“I hoped we might meet again, but I had no idea where you came from – or why you came visiting Abbeyford.”
“I – we – came to visit my grandmother, Mrs Smithson.”
Jamie Trent’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Oh! I had no idea she had any children, let alone a granddaughter. Where do you live?”
“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?”
Evan nodded. “ I married Lucy – you remember her?”
“I do.”
Evan’s grin widened and he laughed aloud. “ She’s changed – you’d scarce recognise her now.”
“I don’t doubt life with you has altered her,” the lady said wryly. Then she nodded towards Carrie. “But she has the look of her grandmother – Sarah.”
Evan’s eyes hardened with bitterness.
“So,” the lady was saying thoughtfully, “you’re a railway builder now, are you?”
“Yes, my lovely lady, I am.”
“And where – exactly – might your railway be going?”
Evan’s eyes glinted. “You’ve naught to fear, m’lady. ’ T will not cross your land.”
A small sigh escaped the beautiful woman’s lips and she said flatly, with what Carrie thought to be exceptional insight, “Across the Trents’ land, I suppose?”
Then Carrie realised the lady was not merely guessing. This lovely woman knew her pa, and her ma and grandma, and knew, too, that Evan was planning to cross the Trents’ land with his railway, and the tone of her voice told Carrie that she knew, too, the reasons behind his plan. She knew why he planned to ruin the Trents!
“Can’t you leave them alone? Haven’t you had enough revenge – even yet?” she asked Evan in a low voice.
Slowly Evan shook his head, his mouth set.
“Then I’ll bid you good-day, Mr Smithson.” She slapped the pony with the reins at the same moment Evan let go of the animal’s head.
“Good-day, my lovely Adelina,” Evan murmured softly, more to himself, for the gig was already bouncing away from them over the rough track. His eyes followed its progress.
“Pa?” Luke and Carrie spoke together. “ Who was that?” “ Who are they?”
For a moment Evan did not answer, his eyes still upon the disappearing vehicle.
“Lady Adelina Lynwood.”
Carrie gasped. So that was Jamie Trent’s stepmother.
“And the girl? Who was the lovely girl?” Luke, with unusual boldness, persisted, his eyes too following the two women.
Evan shrugged. “Her daughter, I suppose.”
Luke, still gazing up the track, began to cough, his thin body shaking. The sound seemed to break Evan’s reverie. “ What you doin’ home so early, eh?” he asked roughly.
“ ’T was Luke,” Matt piped up. “ ’Ee’s sick.”
“Sick?” Evan scoffed. “We’ve no time to be sick, boy. We’ve a railway to build!”
Carrie flared angrily. “Don’t be so heartless, Pa. Can’t you see he’s ill – like – like …” She bit her tongue and glanced hastily at Luke, but he was oblivious to them all, his gaze even yet straining for sight of the gig, even though moments before it had dropped down a slope and disappeared from view.
“Ill – me foot!” Evan gave a click of exasperation, and his resentful gaze included not only Luke but his two younger sons also. “ Why she can only bear me wreckling sons, I dunnot know.” Then his eyes rested upon Carrie. “ Still, there’s you, me lass, ain’t there.” He pinched her cheek with a rough gesture which was the closest Evan Smithson would ever come to a sign of affection. “Mebbe you’ll be the one to help me get what I want, eh?”
Without further explanation Evan strode away, his strange words bringing an inexplicable chill to his daughter’s heart.
The following day Carrie was unable to slip away over the hill to Abbeyford to meet Jamie Trent. Luke stayed in the shack, too ill to drag himself to the railway site, and Carrie, whilst wanting to nurse her brother, chafed inwardly at her enforced captivity. She was unusually impatient with him, fretting for fear Jamie would misinterpret her absence and would think that she no longer wished to meet him, when in truth her heart yearned for sight of him.
Luke lay on the straw shakedown with only an old coat as a cover and stared at the rough boards of the roof, his thoughts far away from the harsh surroundings. Carrie had a shrewd idea what – or rather who – filled his thoughts and this was confirmed when Luke said pensively, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful girl.”
Carrie sniffed derisively. “Huh! Anyone can be beautiful if they’re rich. She looked right uppity to me.”
Luke raised himself on his elbow. “ How can you judge when you dunna know her?”
“Then how can you judge?” she retorted sharply.
“I …” But whatever he had been going to say was cut off by an attack of coughing, after which he lay back exhausted.
“There, you see, you go upsetting yourself and making yourself worse.”
“I just wanted to know – who she is – that’s all,” Luke said weakly.
“Yes – yes, all right,” Carrie soothed, contrite now that her arguing with him had brought on a coughing fit. “I’ll – see if I can find out more about her, but try to rest now.”
Luke closed his eyes and slept.
So it was three days before Carrie’s flying feet took her over the hills once more to Abbeyford.
As she topped the hill overlooking the village she scanned the fields anxiously for sight of Jamie – but she could not see him. Then she was running pell-mell down the hill towards the squat cottages where her grandparents lived. She had decided to visit her grandma each time she came to see Jamie, thereby establishing some kind of alibi for herself should her Pa ever hear of her visits to Abbeyford and question her.
The old woman’s eyes glowed as she saw Carrie again. “My dear child, come away in!”
After she had spent a pleasant half-hour chatting with the old lady in the kitchen of the small cottage Carrie grew restless, anxious to be off now in search of Jamie. Then she remembered her promise to Luke.
“Grandma, a fine carriage came by the railway the other day. Pa said it was Lady Adelina Lynwood.”
The pleasure died on Sarah Smithson’s face, her eyes were suddenly once again wary and pain-filled and her shrunken lips trembled. “Oh – was it?” she murmured guardedly, now avoiding her granddaughter’s eyes when moments before she had gazed fondly into Carrie’s face.
“Yes. There was a young girl with her – a year or two older than me, I should think. Who would she be, Grandma?”
Sarah sighed heavily, then said. “I suppose it would be her daughter, Francesca.”
“Oh, is she a Trent, then?” Carrie asked, interested in anyone who might be connected with Jamie.
After a moment’s hesitation, Sarah said flatly, “ No – she’s Lynwood’s daughter. I – used to be quite friendly with Adelina – Lady Lynwood – once. She came from America and had a daughter by Lord Lynwood before she was married.”
Carrie gasped, but listened.
“Then she left Lynwood. They quarrelled – and she married Wallis Trent. But it was not a happy marriage. He was a hard, cold man who treated his employees – and I guess his wife too – as possessions and bent everyone to his will.” She sighed as she remembered. “Then there was unrest amongst the farm workers.”
Carrie nodded, compressing her lips. “Led by Pa?”
Sarah glanced fearfully at her but was obliged to nod agreement.
“Then I suppose,” Carrie continued, guessing the end of the story before Sarah had finished the telling of it. “When Wallis Trent was killed, she was reunited with Lord Lynwood. How romantic!”
Sarah murmured bitterly, “ Romantic, you call it, eh? Real life is not at all romantic. It’s cruel and harsh and …” She stopped, startled at herself for unleashing her own emotions which had been stifled for many years. “ I’ve said too much,” she muttered roughly. “It’s time you were going, girl.”
Surprised by her grandmother’s swift change of mood, Carrie left. She had found out what she wanted to know and now she wanted to meet Jamie. She took the lane towards the Manor House, but the only sounds were the twittering of the birds in the hedgerows and the rustling of the creatures in the long grass. The sun was hot on her head and her bare feet became covered with the dry dust from the lane. She drew level with the Manor House and stood at the gate leading into the stableyard. Everywhere was still and silent – no sign of activity in the yard, no sound of stamping, restless horses in their stalls. No stable-boys cleaning up the yard – which it needed badly, Carrie thought. Even the gate was off its hinges.
As she stood staring at the neglected yard a man appeared round the corner of the stables. He walked with a shambling gait, weaving first right, then left. Drunkenness was no stranger to Carrie. She frequently saw its effects upon the navvies after every pay-out. And her pa, too.
As the man neared her, Carrie could see he was elderly with white wispy hair. His complexion was florid, almost purple, and his eyes bleary. He was grossly, uncomfortably overweight, and his ageing suit – once of fine material and well cut – now scarcely fitted him.
This must be Jamie’s grandfather – Squire Trent.
He caught sight of her standing there watching him and he stopped and blinked, as if trying to focus his vision. Then he lurched towards her until he was standing in front of her. His gaze was fixed upon her face, then his mouth sagged open as he whispered brokenly. “Sarah!”
Carrie smiled uncertainly. “My name is Caroline – Carrie – Smithson.”
“Caroline – Smithson? No – no, you’re Sarah – my lovely Sarah!” He stretched out his arms and made as if to catch hold of her, but Carrie stepped back quickly.
“No – no, don’t be afraid. I’ll not …” he hiccupped and then belched noisily, “ hurt you, Sarah. I’ll not hurt you again.”
“My name is not Sarah, it’s …” Carrie stopped as the realisation struck her swiftly. Her grandmother’s name was Sarah. Maybe her likeness to her grandmother was such that this old man, in his befuddled state, had turned back the years and mistaken her for Sarah Smithson.
But why, Carrie wondered, should Squire Trent address her grandmother in such a familiar, intimate manner?
Now he was rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, miserably confused. “Caroline – not Sarah, not my Sarah? Then who are you. Why do you look like my love?”
His love? Carrie recoiled. Surely he could not be referring to her grandmother, that shrunken little old woman, careworn and with lines of bitterness engraved by the years upon her face?
At that moment there was the sound of a horse’s hooves in the lane and Carrie saw Jamie cantering towards them. He slid from his mount and ran towards her, his dark eyes afire.
“Carrie – you’ve come, at last!”
Oblivious of his grandfather’s presence he stood close to her, taking both her hands in his and raising them gently to his lips. The old man forgotten, Carrie gazed up into Jamie’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, excitement making her sound breathless. “I couldn’t come – before. It was Luke – my brother. He was ill and I had to – look after him.”
Jamie was smiling down at her. “I wondered why you did not come. But everything’s all right now you’re here.”
“Yes,” she whispered, their eyes still locked in a timeless gaze.
“Mus’ be going,” the old man muttered and shuffled away, his shoulders sagging with disappointment, but neither Carrie nor Jamie even glanced in his direction.
“Let me stable my horse and we’ll go for a walk,” Jamie said and Carrie nodded.
A little while later, their fingers interlaced, they were walking side by side up the lane towards the shady intimacy of the wood. Once beneath the sheltering trees, Jamie stopped and gently took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. His lips brushed her forehead, her closed eyes and then found her mouth with a tender sweetness which thrilled her fast-beating heart. Never had she known such gentleness in a man. Certainly she had never seen it in her father, nor even in Lloyd Foster, who, despite his open admiration and desire for her, was brash in his approach.
Jamie’s hands smoothed her long black hair and ran down her back coming to rest on her slender waist. Responding to his ardour, Carrie slipped her arms about his neck and pressed herself against his lithe, strong body. They could feel each other’s heart beating through the thin clothes they wore this hot summer day.
Breathless they drew apart, their eyes afire with their new, overwhelming emotion.
“Oh, Carrie,” he said softly, his fingers tracing the outline of her face. “ My lovely, lovely Carrie,” and he drew her once again into his embrace.
Much later they emerged from the wood, happiness shining from their faces.
“I must go back,” Carrie murmured, but her words held no firm intention.
“No – stay. I can’t bear to let you go now that I’ve found you. I didn’t know one could fall in love so quickly.” His eyes caressed her, making her heart sing. Never had she felt this way about any man before. So this was love and for Carrie, with her strong character, it was deep and lasting. “I didn’t know it could be this way either,” she whispered.
An hour later, Carrie, fearful her father’s wrath would prevent further clandestine meetings with Jamie, said, “I really must go – but I’ll try to come again tomorrow.”
“I could come to your home …”
“No!” she said sharply, and then for fear her brusqueness had given offence, she put her hands upon his chest and stood on tiptoe to kiss him gently. “Not yet – I don’t know what my folks would say. I don’t want to tell them – yet.”
Jamie smiled indulgently. “Yes, that’s how I feel. I want it to be our own secret from all the world.”
“Where – where shall I meet you?” she asked.
Jamie pointed. “How about the abbey ruins, mid-afternoon?”
Again he kissed her and then she was running up the hill out of Abbeyford.