Abbeyford Remembered

by Margaret Dickinson

  “Many of the wealthy merchants are anxious to meet you, Foster,” he told Lloyd. “They look upon your railway as a means of transport which will bring greater profits for them, and they wish to show you their hospitality.”

  So, thought Carrie, it still went on, even out here in India. Men using one another for their own ends. Even though her feelings towards her husband had mellowed considerably through his goodness to her, she could never forget how he and her own father had used Jamie Trent’s grandfather – who was her own grandfather too, she remembered suddenly – a drunken, defenceless, old man – to gain possession of his land for the railway.

  “Ah, well, dat’s good to be sure, but I should be getting back to me railway …”

  “Oh, surely not. You’ve not yet found all the men you need, have you?” He glanced sideways at Carrie. “Besides, your wife deserves a change of scene from the nightmare of that camp!”

  Lloyd’s eyes rested upon his wife. “Well, you’re right there, I’m thinkin’.”

  So they allowed themselves to be swept once more into the social life of the wealthy Europeans in Calcutta. But Carrie was not taken in by it. All this wealth, she thought, and there’s people starving in the streets below, dying of dreadful diseases and living in squalor. She sighed. Life, it seemed, was unequal the world over.

  “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Mrs Foster?” Captain Richmond was before her, his eyes challenging, his smile mocking. They were attending a ball given by one of the European merchants in Lloyd Foster’s honour.

  “Thank you, Captain.” She gave him her hand and forced herself to smile charmingly at him.

  They moved into the dance.

  “May I be permitted to say how beautiful you are looking tonight,” Jeremy Richmond murmured.

  “Why, thank you.”

  Her ball gown was pale pink satin, decorated with tiny bows. The neckline was low and the wide, swinging crinoline emphasised her tiny waist.

  As the dance ended, Captain Richmond said, “ May I be allowed to escort you home? Your husband has become involved in a lengthy game of cards, I believe.”

  “Do you not play, Captain Richmond?”

  “Occasionally, when it suits me.”

  When he needed to, more like, Carrie thought wryly, just like Lloyd, he would use his gambling instincts to swell his pockets.

  Aloud she said, “ Thank you, but Lady Benjamin, who lives next door to your house – to your friend’s house, I should say – has offered me a place in her carriage. Her husband, too, is involved in the same card game as Lloyd.” She was glad to have a ready-made excuse, thankful for the kindness of Lady Benjamin. She saw the Captain’s anger spark in his eyes, saw his mouth tighten. He took her hand in his and bowed low over it.

  “Some other time, ma’am.” His words seemed like a veiled threat.

  Lloyd did not return that night and when there was still no sign of him the next morning, Carrie became alarmed.

  She sent word to Lady Benjamin to see if her husband had returned and was informed that Sir Hugh had come home at about two in the morning.

  Where, then, was Lloyd?

  The servant, whom she had sent on the errand, bowed low once more. “Lady say to tell you, Missus, that Master go with Captain. Where, she don’t know, but he go.”

  “With Captain Richmond?”

  “Ya, Missus.”

  “Very well, thank you.” Now she was even more anxious.

  About mid-morning she heard hoofbeats and ran to the window at once. Captain Richmond was dismounting in front of the house, but he was alone.

  Carrie bit her lip as she waited for the Captain to be shown into the room.

  “Ah, my dear Mrs Foster.”

  “Where’s Lloyd?” she asked without preamble.

  “Your husband, ma’am?” The insolence was more apparent now. “I should not have thought you would be particularly worried about your husband!”

  Carrie gasped. He moved closer, so close she could feel his rapid breath upon her face. “ What do you mean, and how dare you speak to me in that – that manner?”

  “Oh, I dare, Mrs Foster, because I found out a few things about the beautiful, aloof Mrs Foster last night.”

  He grasped hold of her shoulders. “ Your dear husband was drunk and he started rambling, talking about his life – his married life with you. Oh, he loves you, that’s not in doubt. What is in doubt, Mrs Foster,” his words were lined with sarcasm. “ Is your feeling for him. From his sometimes incoherent mumblings I managed to piece the truth together. At least, I think it’s the truth. That’s why I’m here, Carrie my darling, to find out about you, and your so-called marriage.”

  “Let go of me this instant, or – or I’ll scream!”

  “Much good it would do you. My servants would not come to your rescue.”

  “So it is your house?”

  “Of course. I could scarcely tell you that, though, could I, or you would have refused to accept my hospitality?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “See how well I know you already, my dearest.”

  Carrie began to struggle but the years of refined living had robbed her of some of her strength. Under Lloyd’s protection she had had no need to fight for survival.

  Not until now.

  “Where is Lloyd?”

  “Mr Foster is on his way back to the railway site. I packed him into a gharry and bade three of my servants drive him back.”

  “He went – without telling me?”

  The Captain laughed maliciously. “ He had no choice, ma’am. He was dead drunk. By the time he is sober he should be back with his beloved railway.”

  “There are no navvies there since the cholera.”

  “Oh, that was taken care of days ago – a party were sent out and should be well settled into camp by now. All that was missing was their master. So I thought that should be rectified.”

  Carrie grew more angry and a prickle of fear ran down her spine. “ Then I, too, must return to the camp.”

  “Ah now, I have other plans for you, my dear.”

  “You presume, sir. Whatever your plans are they shall not include me!”

  His grip, from which she had been unable to wriggle free, tightened so that his fingers dug into her flesh. “ You have kept me at arm’s length, so cool and remote, playing the lady. And I thought it was because you loved your husband. But you don’t, do you, Mrs Foster? ‘If only she loved me’, he said last night. ‘Why couldn’t she love me instead of that Trent fellow?’ ”

  “Oh!” Carrie cried and began to struggle violently. But the more she wriggled, the tighter he held her.

  “Ah, now that seems to have struck a chord, doesn’t it, my dear Mrs Foster?”

  “You are insufferable. Let – me – go!”

  “Who is this Trent? Is he your lover?”

  “It’s – none of your damn business.”

  “Aha!” His eyes glinted with satisfaction. “So the ladylike mask begins to slip a little, eh?”

  “I’ve never pretended to be a lady, as you put it. But Lloyd has money and he wanted to buy me clothes, and …”

  Jeremy Richmond was laughing. “Lloyd Foster has money? You’re living in a fool’s paradise, my dear. He owes me five hundred, and God knows how much more to others interested in his damn railway.”

  Carrie was suddenly still, horror-stricken by the Captain’s words, for she knew he was not lying.

  “But – but you’re not interested in his railway, are you?”

  “No,” and his voice grew hoarse with suppressed emotion. “But I am interested in his wife!”

  Carrie, her face only inches from his, said, “ Well, Captain, now your cards are finally on the table, let me tell you this. Husband or no husband, I would never – ever – be interested in you. Now, will you kindly release me or I shall create the biggest commotion ever heard in Calcutta.”

  For a moment they stood locked in a battle of wills, then with a short laugh he let h
er go. “I can wait, my love. Now I know the truth about you – and your marriage – I can bide my time. But,” he added, and there was menace in his tone. “You shall not escape me. I shall follow you wherever you go – to the ends of the earth if necessary. You shall not escape me – not now!”

  He turned and was gone from the room. Carrie sat down, suddenly finding that she was shaking from head to foot. The revelation of her husband’s financial state, the Captain’s abhorrent advances and his threats, had badly frightened even Carrie’s stout heart.

  “Lloyd,” she said aloud to the empty room. “I must go to Lloyd. I must tell him. He will protect me.”

  She managed to hire a gharry – a box-like vehicle without springs drawn by a scrawny horse – and soon Calcutta was behind her. As Fort William grew fainter in the distance, Carrie breathed more freely. They travelled for a distance of some thirty miles, passing all the places she had stayed alongside the railway as slowly it had stretched across the countryside during the last eighteen months. The horse was exhausted, but the railway bed was in sight.

  As they drew closer, it seemed to Carrie that there was a great deal of shouting and yelling going on. Indian workers were running in all directions, their arms waving, their voices raised in a high-pitched babble. She narrowed her eyes against the glare of the sun. The work in progress was a cutting through a low hill and the railway track had already been laid so far into the cutting, but it stopped dead, hidden by what looked like a landslide.

  She jumped down from the vehicle and, picking up her crinoline skirt, she began to run towards the workings. She grabbed an Indian running in the opposite direction. “ What has happened?” she demanded, but she had learnt so little of the language that she could understand nothing of his incoherent jabber.

  She hurried on, down the embankment, slipping and sliding in her anxiety. She could see Mr Thompson, the new engineer, near the fall, directing the workers, his voice loud and clear, his arms waving directions.

  “Mr Thompson, Mr Thompson, what has happened? I’m Mrs Foster – Lloyd’s wife.”

  He turned. His clothes and face were covered with dust, his face streaked as rivulets of sweat ran down his cheeks. Wearily he passed his hand over his forehead.

  “Lloyd, where is Lloyd?” Her voice was shrill with fear. She saw him glance towards the pile of rubble, and her heart contracted. “Oh, no!” she whispered.

  “There’s six under there, ma’am. And I’m pretty sure one’s your husband. We’re getting to them as fast as we can but …” His voice died away, then more briskly, he added, “ If you’ll excuse me, ma’am. I must help.”

  “Of course,” she said and stood watching, feeling lost and helpless as the men dug and scrabbled at the fall.

  How long could anyone live under that, she thought, supposing they even survived the first fall? It was sand and stone mostly. They’d suffocate. It would fill their mouths, their nostrils, their eyes …

  She gave a small cry of anguish and clasped her arms about her body in a gesture of self-comfort.

  After half an hour they retrieved the first body, then swiftly three more were found – all dead.

  One of the party of rescuers gave a cry as another body came into view and Carrie’s head jerked up. She saw them pull Lloyd’s huge frame from beneath the sand and she stumbled forward.

  “He’s still breathing, Mrs Foster,” Mr Thompson said, “ but only just!”

  They carried him a short distance from the fall and laid him down gently. At once Lloyd began to struggle to rise.

  “No, no, lie back,” Carrie insisted, kneeling beside him and cradling his head in her lap. He began to cough and splutter, gasping and wheezing. She brushed the sand and dirt away from his face.

  “Carrie, Carrie, is that you?” his voice was a strangled whisper.

  “Yes, now lie still. We’ll get help.”

  “No, no time,” he whispered desperately. “I can’t breathe – I can’t breathe.” He began to choke.

  He drew rasping breath then said, “ Carrie, you must get home. Go straight home to England. Don’t stay – here. He’s dangerous. Get away!” She knew he meant Captain Richmond. “ Do you hear me – now?”

  “Lloyd, don’t talk …”

  “I must – tell you. Go back to – to – Trent.” As if he had only lived to see her once more, to speak to her again, to tell her what she must do, he fell back, his eyes staring blankly towards the sky.

  “Lloyd! Lloyd!” she cried and shook him.

  “ ’Tis no use, ma’am. He’s gone. The stuff must have choked his lungs. I don’t know how he lasted that long in there,” Mr Thompson said in wonderment.

  Slowly Carrie lifted her face. She said nothing but silently she thought – you don’t know the strength of this man. And now his strength was gone. His protection was gone. She was alone in a strange, hostile country at the mercy of Jeremy Richmond.

  The dead were buried with little ceremony at the side of the railway. As Carrie stood above the grave marked by a simple, rough cross made out of railway builder’s tools, she felt real grief for her husband. If only I could have loved him, she thought with remorse. Although she could not forgive many of the things he had done, she had to admit that his treatment of her had always been loving and thoughtful. Knowing she loved another man, he had married her, lavished gifts on her, protected her and tried to make her a lady. Her life with him had been one of comfort and luxury such as she had never before known. As she turned away she knew that, though her love would always belong to Jamie Trent and to no other, Lloyd Foster had earned her tender affection.

  Chapter Seven

  Carrie stepped down from the train at Abbeyford Halt. The train pulled away from her, thundering up the line, past Abbeyford Manor and out of the valley. She looked about her in wonder. How altered everything was. The railway line ran exactly where her father and Lloyd Foster had planned it, between the Manor and the stream, the common and farmland cut in two by the embankment supporting the track.

  The Manor! Her heart missed a beat. Was he there? Was Jamie Trent still living there?

  She walked along the small wooden platform, through the white-painted gate that marked the boundary of the railway property and began to walk towards the village. Now the cottages were stained black with the constant smoke from the steam engines. She neared the line of cottages where her grandmother, Sarah Smithson lived. A little nervously, she approached the door, but as she lifted her hand to knock she felt a sense of desolation sweep over her and knew there was no longer anyone living in this cottage, even before she wiped away the grime from the window and peered in. Then she tried the door and found it opened, scraping on the stone floor. She stepped into the dismal, damp cottage. The place was derelict. Odd items of furniture still littered the dirty floor, a broken chair, broken cups, old clothes and dust – dust everywhere. The cottage had been empty for some time.

  Carrie felt the sadness sweep over her. Her grandmother was dead – she sensed it, knew it. And probably Henry Smithson too. There was nothing for her here. She left the cottage reluctantly, closing the door behind her as if closing the door on her memories of the little old woman who had lived there. She wished she had known her better, wished she could have known the truth of her grandmother’s love affair with Guy Trent.

  Carrie looked up and down the village street and then her gaze was pulled once more across the village green and up, up towards Abbeyford Manor. Her heart began to beat a little faster. She had to know whether or not Jamie still lived there – if he was marriediwith a family of his own – or If he still remembered her.

  She walked up the lane, over the tiny bridge near the ford and then over the new railway bridge – a slim young woman in a wine-coloured skirt and jacket of fine velvet material, edged with self-coloured braid. Her black hair was smooth and neat, coiled up on the top of her head, upon which perched a pretty bonnet.

  It was autumn of 1853 and the golden leaves were falling from the hedgerows, a
nd the air was clear and sharp.

  Carrie breathed in the country air, savouring its freshness which even the presence of the railway and all its smoke could not spoil completely. It was so invigorating after the heat and humidity of India. It was so quiet, so peaceful – almost too quiet. She glanced back thoughtfully towards the village. There were one or two people moving about, but many of the cottages seemed deserted now. Perhaps, with the ruination of the farming land by the railway, many families had been forced to move elsewhere to find work.

  So much had happened during the years she had been away, so much had changed and yet now she was back here again, the years between seemed to have gone so quickly.

  Would Jamie have changed? Would he look the same? Would he feel the same about her?

  “Go home,” had been Lloyd’s dying words to her. “Get away from here – go back to Trent!”

  She had been lucky to escape from India in the way that she had done. After Lloyd had been buried she had returned briefly to Captain Richmond’s house. Luckily, he was not there. She learnt he had been sent at short notice with a detachment of soldiers up-country. Silently thanking Providence, she had swiftly packed as much as she could carry. Taking her jewel box she had found her way to the markets in the streets of Calcutta and, after much haggling, had sold her jewels for enough money to buy her a passage home. Her only fear was that there would be no ship in Calcutta harbour bound for England. But once again she was fortunate. Threading her way through the busy dockside, she had heard the English voice of a First Mate shouting at his idle crew as they loaded cargo on to the ship.

  Minutes later when she faced the Captain of the ship and requested passage, she knew a moment’s fear as he said gruffly, “This ain’t no passenger ship, lady. You’d best be waitin’ till next week …”

  “Captain, I cannot wait till next week. I must leave India at once. My husband has been killed in a railway building accident, and I …”