Joseph spun round and walked back towards Henry, his fists clenched by his sides, menace in every step. Henry faced him fearlessly. He was younger, stronger, fitter than Joseph Miller.
“Just what d’you mean by that?”
“What I says. Didna you see him last night—at the barn? Four times he danced with Sarah. Four times!”
“I’ll not have you speak her name in the same breath as his,” Joseph spat.
Henry shrugged. “ Well—I’m warning you. That’s all.”
“Our Sarah’s a good lass. She’d not be led on by ’im.”
Henry guffawed. “She’s had ’er head turned already by them up at the Grange.”
“Mind your tongue, Henry Smithson, when you speak of my Sarah.”
“Aw, Joseph. I’ve no wish to quarrel wi’ you. You know how I feel for Sarah.”
Joseph’s expression softened a little but he was still on the defensive.
“I don’t want no harm to come to ’er, that’s all,” Henry added.
“It won’t. I’ll see to that.”
Henry sighed. Joseph Miller was a stubborn man, he thought, far-seeing in some things, but where his beloved Sarah was concerned he was completely blind!
Caroline could not forget the shy Thomas Cole. She was intrigued by him. Starved of any company of her own age and class in Abbeyford, his obvious, yet unspoken, admiration for her was an oasis in the desert of loneliness.
Her early-morning rides, which had for some time been routine, now took her down the hill to the bridge near the smithy, for the cottage beyond the smith and the wheelwright was where Thomas Cole lived. She found that he left home at eight o’clock each morning to begin his day’s work. Late by some standards, but as estate bailiff and parish constable he varied his times of work according to the needs of the estate and village.
That first morning he saw her on the bridge seated sidesaddle on her horse which pawed the ground restlessly, Thomas could not believe the good fortune that had brought him out of his cottage in time to see her pass. She was wearing an emerald green velvet riding habit, the jacket close-fitting whilst the full skirt fell in soft folds.
With a shock, Thomas realised she was not passing by, she was waiting on the bridge. He hesitated, uncertain what to do.
It could not be for him she waited, surely?
Caroline waved her riding-whip and Thomas Cole was drawn, unresisting, towards her. He raised his hat and bowed.
“Good morning, Lady Caroline.”
“Good morning, Mr Cole,” and then she added in a low whisper, “Thomas!”
He felt a jolt somewhere in the region of his heart as she murmured his name with such urgency. Then he heard her merry laugh.
“How formal we are this morning, Mr Cole! ’Twas not so that night at the barn.” She leant down from her horse and touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t say you have forgotten that night already?”
“Oh no—no, my lady. I shall never, never forget that night,” he said softly.
Conscious that they were in full view of half the village, Thomas raised his hat again. “I’ll bid you a pleasant ride, m’lady,” and he made as if to move away.
“Thomas—I—I thought you rode about the estate?”
“That’s right, m’lady.”
Smiling coquettishly she said, “Then may I ride with you?”
He managed to answer, “Yes—of course,” but his mind was in turmoil.
Every moment he spent in her company, he knew himself to be falling more and more in love with her. But where could that possibly lead? It could only end in unhappiness.
Still, he contented himself as he quickly saddled his own horse and joined her once more, a few hours in her company was better than only seeing her from afar.
Unassuming, modest Thomas Cole did not for one moment think that Lady Caroline could fall in love with him!
Every morning for the first two weeks of the New Year, Caroline rode away from the Grange, down the hill to the bridge to meet Thomas Cole. Together they rode around the estate for an hour or so and with each day that passed Thomas’s love for Caroline deepened. But still he could not believe she cared for him.
‘She’s lonely’, he told himself. ‘She just wants a companion on her rides.’
But he was wrong. Caroline decided that she loved Thomas Cole.
Soon one meeting a day was not enough. She began to take another ride in the afternoon around the hillsides and fields of Abbeyford searching for Thomas as he went about his duties as Sir Matthew Trent’s estate bailiff.
And then—the snow came!
If Lady Caroline did all the running in the love-affair between herself and Thomas Cole, then the opposite was true in the case of Guy Trent and Sarah Miller. After the night of the celebrations in the barn at the Manor, she did not see him for over two weeks. Not that there were many times when he had chance to see her for she had very little freedom and, when she did visit her family in the village, suddenly Henry, or her father, seemed to be keeping a close watch upon her.
“You keep away from Master Guy,” her father had warned, worried by the doubts Henry’s words had put into his mind. “ He’s no good. He’s got two young lasses from the village into trouble already.”
Sarah gasped. “Pa! How can you say such a thing? You don’t know.”
“Don’t I, me girl? Why’s Nell Potter and Meggie Owen disappeared all of a sudden then?”
“Well,” Sarah floundered, trying to find some explanation, some excuse. “Mebbe they’ve gone into service—away from the village. Not all of ’em are as lucky as me to find work close by,” she reminded him artfully.
“Huh!” her father scoffed. “Aye, that’s the tale their families tell. But I knows different, see. You just do as I say, me girl, an’ keep away from him. You attend to your work an’ if you wants a young man you need look no further than young Henry.”
Sarah tossed her head. “Anyway, I don’t know why you think Guy Trent would ever look at the likes of me.” But even as she spoke the words she could not prevent the hope stealing into her mind that he would indeed look at the likes of her. She remembered, indeed clung to the memory of, the look in his eyes when he had danced with her.
Only two weeks into the New Year the snow came, falling steadily through a day and a night. Joseph Miller and Henry were out with the other men of the village rescuing the in-lamb ewes from the snowdrifts and bringing all the animals down to the buildings at the rear of the Manor.
Even Joseph Miller put aside his resentment against Sir Matthew when it came to rescuing animals.
On her half-day off, in the dusk of the winter afternoon, Guy Trent waited for Sarah beneath the snow-laden trees bordering the lane leading to the Grange.
Sarah trudged through the deep snow on her return to the Grange, her clog-encased little feet leaving deep gullies in the snow, her skirts soon sodden and clinging to her legs. She bent her head against the cold and concentrated on keeping to her feet.
She gave a cry of fright as she came up against something solid and looked up to find herself gazing into the laughing face of Guy Trent.
“Did I startle you, lovely Sarah?”
She gasped from the fright and from the cold, her breath like a puff of steam from her lips. “Yes—yes you did.”
He took her hand in his and tucked her arm through his own. “Come, there’s a sheltered spot under the trees where we can—talk.”
Sarah made a half-hearted attempt to pull away. “No—I must be getting back, I’ll be in trouble if I’m late.”
“Just five minutes, Sarah,” he pleaded. “ Besides, you can’t be expected to hurry through all this snow, now can you?” he added, reasonably enough.
Sarah allowed him to lead her to a shady spot under the trees, half of her wanting to stop and talk to him, the other half afraid of the consequences if her pa should find out.
“I’ve thought about you all the time since that night in the barn at Christmas.”
She gave a nervous laugh. “That you haven’t, Master Guy!”
“Indeed I have, lovely Sarah. I’ve been trying to see you. I’ve watched for you every week, but always your father or Henry Smithson has been with you.” He frowned. “What is young Smithson to you, Sarah? Are you betrothed to him?”
“No—no,” she shook her head quickly. “ He’s my cousin—sort of.”
“Good.” Guy was smiling again. “Then you’re not promised to anyone?”
“Me?” she laughed and blushed. “Of course not.”
“Why ‘of course not’? I’m surprised half the village lads aren’t pounding on your door, lovely Sarah.”
Her blush deepened every time he called her ‘lovely Sarah’. Was he mocking her, or did he, could he, really mean it?
“I mun go.” Now she did pull her hand away, but he caught her again.
“Meet me again, Sarah, please!” he begged urgently.
“I canna—I mustn’t. I don’t know how I could,” she added, weakening.
“Of course you can. Before you go home, come to the abbey ruins. The snow may have gone by next week. Look, I’ll be waiting for you in the ruins midday every Wednesday.”
“No, no, I canna.” She pulled herself free of his grasp and floundered away from him through the snow.
“I’ll be waiting, lovely Sarah,” he called after her.
I can’t go, I mustn’t go, she told herself fiercely, but with the sound of his voice ringing in her ears calling her ‘lovely Sarah’ she knew she would go!
Chapter Five
“Oh—this wretched snow! Will it never go?” moaned Caroline, restlessly pacing up and down in front of the long windows of the morning-room. “Just look at it!”
For a whole week she had been unable to go riding—unable to meet Thomas. She had grown irritable, feeling a prisoner, trapped by the bad weather.
Then she stopped and peered out of the window. “Goodness—whatever is this coming? Why, it’s Lynwood!” She clapped her hands in delight. “ Oh do look, Papa, he’s driving a sledge pulled by two ponies. Oh, how clever of him!”
She whirled around, picked up her skirts and ran from the room. “Tell him to wait for me …”
The young Lord Lynwood was shown into the morning-room. Lord Royston greeted him warmly. “ Why, Lynwood, how good to see you!” His eyes twinkled merrily. “My daughter instructs me to ask you to wait for her. I think she rather fancies a ride in your—er—new mode of transport.”
Lynwood laughed. “That’s why I came—I was rather hoping she might.”
Lady Caroline appeared dressed in a dark blue velvet coat and holding a warm fur muff. Perched upon her head was a hat with three fluttering plumes.
“Good morning, Caroline.” Lynwood’s blue eyes were full of devotion. “I came to see if you would care to come skating. Our lake is completely frozen over.”
“Oh Francis—I’d love it!” she cried, but Lord Royston frowned.
“Are you sure it’s safe, Lynwood? The ice is not always as thick as it seems.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ve already tried it out.”
“Very well then. But take care.”
Minutes later they were in the sledge.
“Francis—this is wonderful,” Caroline laughed as the sharp air stung her face bringing a rosy glow to her cheeks. “How clever you are to think of such a scheme! I have not been out of the Grange for over a week and I’ve been so bored!”
They flew across the snow, the sure-footed ponies never faltering. As they passed by the village, Caroline scanned the snow-covered fields, but to her disappointment there was no sign of Thomas.
As Lynwood had said, the lake in front of Lynwood Hall was frozen over.
“I’ll have to hold on to you, Francis,” Caroline said, as Lynwood bent to tie on her skates for her. “ I remember skating here once—but I was only eight or nine. Your poor papa took me on to the ice.”
Lynwood stood up, his face sober.
Caroline squeezed his arm. “ I know how you must miss him, for I miss my dear mama. But come, let’s not think such morbid thoughts today. You must teach me to skate. Show me first what I should do.”
Lynwood stepped on to the ice and skated steadily around in a circle, then he returned to Caroline and held out his hands. “Take hold of my hands.”
Caroline giggled and stepped on to the ice. It was a peculiar sensation, feeling not quite in control of her feet. She clung on to Lynwood whilst he pulled her round the ice.
“Now you try sliding each foot forward—that’s it.”
“Oh Francis—this is fun!”
Young Lynwood slipped his arm about her waist to guide her, for, although he was four years her junior, already he was half a head taller than Caroline.
“Oh, oh I’m falling,” she cried and clutched at him.
“I’ve got you—you’re all right.”
It was one of the happiest afternoons Lynwood could remember. He had Caroline all to himself. She laughed and talked with him as her equal, clinging to his arm for support.
As the bright winter day faded into gloom, Lynwood took her into the Hall for a glass of hot punch before taking her back to the Grange in his sledge.
“Thank you, Francis. It was sweet of you to take me skating.”
Lynwood smiled and gallantly raised her fingers to his lips.
As he watched her go into the Grange, he thought that in four or five years’ time when he came to manhood the difference in their ages would not seem so great.
Lynwood returned home with a secret hope locked within his heart.
The snow was slow to clear and Sarah passed the week following her meeting with Guy in the lane in a ferment of indecision. She wanted the snow to melt away so that she could go to the abbey ruins to meet him and yet she half-wished that more snow would fall so heavily that she could not possibly get there!
But by the following Wednesday most of the snow had gone. Frozen patches still blotched the fields but the way to the abbey ruins was clear.
A little after midday, Sarah left Abbeyford Grange but instead of taking her usual way home down the lane she ran down the slope in front of the big house and crossed the stream by a footbridge. Skirting the village she walked through the meadow and joined the lane leading out of the village up towards the Manor. She came to the ford in the road and to the narrow footbridge, the only means by which a traveller on foot might cross the water. The stream was swollen with melting snow and the wooden boards of the bridge were only just visible above the water and every few moments the water lapped right over them. Sarah swallowed and glanced about her fearfully. There was no one about, no one who had seen her come this far. She looked up towards the abbey ruins standing black and gaunt and lonely against the lowering sky. Was he there? Was Guy waiting for her? Or was she making a complete fool of herself?
She bit her lip and stepped gingerly on to the bridge. Holding tightly on to the handrail she picked her way carefully across, but the water splashed against her boots and caught the hem of her skirt. Again she looked about her and, seeing no one, she bent her head and hurried up the lane towards the Manor, but instead of turning into the stable-yard she scurried past, on up the hill and into the wood. Here beneath the shadow of the trees Sarah breathed more easily. But there was still the open space between the wood and the abbey ruins to cross. At the edge of the wood she paused. If she ran across the space to the ruins she was clearly visible from the valley though, at this distance, scarcely recognisable. If she walked a little further to the right, she thought, she would not be so easily seen for, although the land did not actually slope away on this side but continued in an undulating plateau until it dropped again into the village of Amberly, at least she would be out of sight of the village. And on this side were the Lynwood lands, so anyone in these fields seeing her would not be interested.
Picking up her skirts and drawing a deep breath she ran from the edge of the wood in a wide arc and eventually came int
o the abbey ruins from the opposite side to that overlooking Abbeyford. Breathless she leant against the crumbling walls, drawing the cold air into her lungs in huge gasps. As long as her pa or Henry hadn’t seen her!
She peered into the ruins and shivered. The wind howled around the broken-down walls, moaning like the ghosts of long ago, and Sarah, fanciful and superstitious, would have turned and run away if she had not seen Guy Trent’s chestnut horse tethered by the far wall.
Her heart gave a leap. He was here. He was waiting for her. Then she saw him, standing on one of the low walls, looking out over Abbeyford, watching for her.
She drew her cloak around her and stepped into the ruins, over the ground littered with stones and boulders. He heard her crunching step and turned round. Seeing her, he grinned, leapt down from the wall and ran towards her.
“You came!” he said placing his hands upon her shoulders and smiling down into her dark, fearful eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered. “ But I shouldn’t have.”
“Oh Sarah, who’s to know?”
“I canna get away so easily. Me ma will be expecting me.
“Say you were delayed.”
“But what if anyone saw me coming up here?”
“They didn’t—did they?”
“Not that I know of, but …”
“Lovely Sarah, don’t frown so.” He smoothed her forehead with his fingers, as if to brush away her worries. “ Come—over here. It’s warmer.”
He drew her into a small, cell-like room, the only one left whole in the ruins, with only a narrow window, high up, and the doorway to let in any light.
Sarah swallowed her apprehension as she saw that there were dried rushes upon the floor. Guy must have prepared this place for her—for them.
“Here—sit down, Sarah.” He spread his own cloak over the rushes and as she sat down he dropped down beside her. He put his arm about shoulders and pulled her to him. “There, that’s warmer, isn’t it?”
She nodded. She was where she wanted to be—with Guy. Yet she could not still the fear, the knowledge, that she was doing wrong. She was afraid of what he might do. But Guy just sat with his arm about her shoulders, holding her close for warmth, making no attempt to kiss her, just talking to her, so that gradually she began to relax against him.
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