Abbeyford Inheritance

by Margaret Dickinson

  “Goodday, my lord.”

  “Oh, sit down, sit down, now you’re here,” he said irritably.

  Obediently, she sat beside him on the seat, half turned towards him.

  “Well – am I what you expected?” The eyebrows rose and fell.

  Adelina laughed. “Not really.”

  “Hmm,” he grunted.

  “How do you know who I am?” she asked.

  “Because you’re the image of your mother,” he muttered and thumped his stick on the ground.

  “Oh – I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? Why be sorry? She was a lovely girl – a lovely girl.”

  “I’m sorry because I must bring back painful memories for you.”

  “Why did she do it? Why – why?” Again the stick thumped the ground as he voiced aloud the question which had haunted him for over twenty years.

  “I can’t remember things clearly because I was only nine when she died.”

  “So long ago and I didn’t even know she was dead until you first came to Abbeyford,” the old man murmured and he seemed to shrink a little more.

  “But I can recall little things,” Adelina went on. “I can remember the happiness in our house when I was little, the warmth and the love. I believe she and my father were devoted to each other.”

  “Was he good to her?”

  “Yes – yes, I think he was. After she died – he – well – he ceased to care, even for me. He took to drinking and gambling. He lost his job, we lost our home. Not immediately, of course, but over the years we lost everything until we had to move from the plantation in South Carolina to New York, to the poorest, roughest neighbourhood.” Why, she thought, am I blurting all this out within moments of meeting him?

  “You say your father ceased to care for you. Did – did he ill-treat you?”

  “No,” Adelina shrugged and smiled sadly, remembering. “But the roles were reversed. I looked after him. I became the strong one. I had to be, to survive. That’s why I’m so sure he loved my mother. When she died, he just stopped living too.”

  There was silence between them while the embittered old man struggled to understand. At last he sighed. “Ah, well, I suppose none of it is your fault anyway. Perhaps I was not entirely blameless. I was trying to arrange a marriage for her to a man she obviously did not love. That locket round your neck …?” he asked suddenly.

  “It was my mother’s – she always wore it and I have worn it ever since I was – given it.”

  “Open it,” he commanded. As she did so, he leant forward to look at the two tiny likenesses enclosed within. Slowly, he nodded. “Yes – that’s the locket I gave her on the very same day she ran away. And she wore it all the time?”

  Adelina nodded. “ Yes. She loved you dearly, but she loved my father too and couldn’t bear to spend her life without him, even though he wasn’t your choice. I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you so. I think she really thought that, once they were married and I was born, you would forgive them.”

  “It seems – I left it too late. But I could,” the old man added with surprising briskness, “ make it up to you. Would you care to come up to the house?”

  Adelina’s lips parted as she drew breath sharply and her green eyes shone with happiness. Then her delight faded.

  “Grandfather – there’s something you should know. I – I have a child.”

  “So – I have a great-grandchild, have I?” The old man began to smile.

  “But,” she blurted out. “ I’m not married. My child is – illegitimate.”

  Lord Royston was still, his face immobile. “I see,” he said flatly. “I wonder I hadn’t heard.”

  “Your servants would know, but I guess none of them dared to tell you.”

  “And the father?”

  Adelina hesitated then said bluntly. “Francis – Lord Lynwood.”

  “Lynwood! My God!” For a moment his face was contorted with disbelief, then he sighed heavily. “Lynwood!” He repeated incredulously. “ Of all people – Lynwood!”

  He recovered himself a little and turned his sharp eyes upon her. “And he won’t marry you?” Sadly Adelina shook her head. “No.”

  “But you love him?”

  “Yes,” Adelina whispered. “Yes, I do. And I thought he – he cared for me but – but …” the unfinished sentence lay between them. There was some reason why Lynwood would not marry her, some reason she could not understand.

  “You’re too like your mother!” Lord Royston said bluntly.

  Adelina gasped. “I don’t understand. What has that to do with it?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  Slowly Adelina shook her head.

  “As a boy, Francis idolised your mother, followed her about his eyes always on her. Then suddenly, I remember, he held himself aloof, remote from her. He seemed to pass from boyhood to manhood in the space of a day. Very soon afterwards she ran away with Thomas Cole and I believe – though I never had any proof – that Francis learnt of her – her affair – perhaps even saw them together and was hurt – deeply.”

  He turned to look straight into Adelina’s eyes. “I realise you cannot be expected to understand, but what your mother did was a shocking thing. She deceived me, she risked her reputation and she married beneath her – good and honourable though Thomas Cole may have been,” he added swiftly, as Adelina opened her mouth to defend her father. “They came from such different worlds – it could never have worked.”

  “But it did work. They were happy – I know they were, until she died.”

  Lord Royston smiled sadly. “ You have your mother’s spirit, I see. But Caroline was too spoilt, too selfish. Eventually life with Thomas Cole would not have been enough for her.”

  “I suppose we can never know that really, can we?” Adelina said.

  “No, my dear, not now.” He patted her hand. “At least, if she was happy for a while, that’s something. And, knowing my wilful daughter, she would never, ever, have admitted she’d been wrong anyway.” Suddenly his eyes twinkled with a merriment long buried. “Any more than I’m likely to admit I could have been wrong. You’ve a stubborn old man for a grandfather, my dear.”

  She smiled at him. “So I see,” she said impishly, the happiness flooding through her. He was not going to turn her away.

  At last, Adelina had come home.

  Together they rose and she put her arm through his and slowly they walked towards the house.

  Unobserved by either of them, a man on a jet black horse stood beneath the shadow of a huge elm tree at the main gate, watching the slow progress of the old man and the young woman, arm in arm, their heads bent close to each other.

  Stealthily, Wallis Trent turned his horse away and cantered down the hill.

  Chapter Nine

  So one of Adelina’s dearest wishes had come true – she had found her grandfather and their mutual joy in each other helped to ease her sense of loss over Lynwood.

  She asked nothing of Lord Royston and he offered nothing, but each was happy in their closeness. He even accepted her child and the sight of the old man with the baby on his knee made Adelina’s heart fill with love.

  One afternoon, driving the small gig her grandfather had insisted she borrow from his stables whenever she wished, Adelina took a drive along the narrow lanes. Returning to the Grange, she rounded a corner and almost collided with Wallis Trent on his huge black stallion. Wallis pulled on his reins so hard that Jupiter reared and Adelina pulled hard to the right and her horse and gig ran into the steep bank bordering the lane. The small vehicle tipped sideways and Adelina screamed as she fell to the ground. For a moment the gig hung suspended and then slowly it topped right over. Adelina screamed again, a piercing shriek of pain as the gig fell upon her legs.

  Wallis was already down from his horse and running towards her as it fell, but too late to prevent it. The weight was only heavy on her for a few seconds, for he immediately grasped the gig and with his great strength lifted it clear of her.


  “Can you pull yourself free, Adelina?” Wallis asked.

  “I think so,” she gasped and dragged herself along the grass until she was clear. Wallis, grunting with exertion, heaved and pushed until the gig was almost upright then he shouted a command to the horse, which had been brought down when the vehicle toppled over. “Up, boy, come on,” and he clicked encouragingly. The horse struggled valiantly to get to its feet and at the same time Wallis righted the gig. Then he turned swiftly to Adelina.

  “Adelina – are you hurt?” He knelt beside her, concern on his handsome face.

  “It’s my right leg.”

  “Keep still,” he commanded and placed gentle fingers upon her leg, searching to see if a bone might be broken.

  “Ouch!” Adelina cried in pain as he touched a tender spot just below her knee.

  “I don’t think there’s anything broken, my dear,” Wallis said, “but your leg’s no doubt badly bruised. Whatever were you doing driving so recklessly along a narrow lane?” His tone took on a note of severity. “ You are lucky to escape with slight injury!”

  “If it comes to that,” Adelina said crossly, rubbing her leg, “ what were you doing galloping along the lane? You were going every bit as fast as me!”

  Wallis frowned. “Well – perhaps I was.” He stood up. “See if you can stand, Adelina. Here, take my hand.”

  Carefully, she stood up. Though she could feel her leg was badly bruised and she was feeling very shaken from the incident, there were certainly no bones broken.

  “I’m quite all right, thank you,” Adelina said stiffly, and tried to pull her hand away from his, but he held her fast. Surprised, she looked up into his face. He was looking down at her now with an expression which she had never expected to see in Wallis Trent’s cold eyes.

  “My dear Adelina,” his deep voice was soft. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you again.”

  Adelina almost laughed aloud at the contrast between this greeting and the last occasion, but she held herself in check and merely allowed herself a small smile.

  “Are you well, Mr Trent?”

  “I am – and I’m thankful to see you’re not hurt. Let me help you into the gig. I’ll tether Jupiter to the rear and drive you home.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary. I am quite able to drive myself …”

  “Nonsense, I won’t hear of it,” Wallis said with authority.

  Minutes later the gig was moving through the country lanes once more, this time with Wallis Trent at the reins and Adelina close beside him on the narrow seat.

  As they passed by a group of workmen, going home at the end of their day’s work, Adelina caught a fleeting glimpse of the grim, resentful expressions upon their faces. Where recently she had begun to be greeted with courtesy and friendliness by the villagers, now their hostility was plain to see.

  She glanced thoughtfully at the man beside her. It was not she herself they resented, but the man in whose company they saw her!

  Wallis Trent was a hated man!

  He drove through the village and took the lane back to the Grange. “I was delighted to learn of your reconciliation with your grandfather, my dear.”

  “Oh, so you’ve heard?” Immediately she knew the reason for the swift change in his attitude towards her, for his sudden friendliness.

  “News of any sort always travels fast in a small community but, of course, on this occasion,” he added loftily, “I heard it from Lord Royston himself.”

  “Really?” Adelina frowned slightly. She was not aware that Wallis Trent had seen her grandfather recently. She wondered if he was telling the truth.

  “I’ll just pay my respects to Lord Royston,” he was saying as he helped her from the gig. But it seemed that her grandfather was not as pleased to see him as Wallis Trent would have her believe.

  “What are you doing here, Trent? Not your day to come for another week.”

  Wallis explained their accidental meeting.

  “Hmm,” the old man growled. “Well – now you’re here, sit down, sit down.”

  His old eyes searched for Adelina and softened at the sight of her as she moved forward to kiss his cheek. His knarled hand clasped hers and he looked up into her face.

  Thoughtfully, Wallis Trent watched the affectionate scene.

  Wallis Trent became a frequent visitor to the Vicarage, where Adelina and her daughter still lived. He insisted he should accompany Adelina whenever she took a drive or a walk. He brought small gifts for the baby and saw to it that whatever was needed at the Vicarage was provided immediately. As the summer passed, he became more and more attentive.

  Adelina had no doubt as to the reason behind Wallis Trent’s sudden friendship, almost courtship. Since her reconciliation with Lord Royston, she knew Wallis would believe the old man had now made Adelina his heiress. But she did not think that even Wallis Trent had the gall to admit this fact openly. She was to be proved wrong!

  One evening he came to the Vicarage and asked Adelina if they might talk privately. She took him into the drawing-room, seated herself before the fire and waited for him to speak. Wallis stood in front of the fireplace and looked down at her.

  “Adelina – during the past few weeks and months we have spent a deal of time in each other’s company and we seem compatible. I – in my position in the county and with a young son – have need of a wife. You …” he paused momentarily as if the subject which he must touch upon was abhorrent to him. “ Have need of a husband and a father for your daughter.”

  Adelina remained silent, but her fingers were laced tightly together until the knuckles showed white.

  “I must presume that Lynwood has not offered you marriage, or you would not have arrived back in Abbeyford.”

  Adelina swallowed hard and fought back the tears which threatened as Wallis’s words brought back vividly her memories of Lynwood.

  With her new-found joy in her closeness with her grandfather, Adelina had resolutely told herself she was happy, that she now had what she had most wanted. But at this moment – in the midst of what was obviously a proposal of marriage from Wallis Trent – desolation and longing for Lynwood swept over her. The sight of his face, the feel of his arms about her. Her sense of loss was a physical ache.

  “And so, my dear,” Wallis was saying, “ I am asking you to become my wife. I think you will agree that the arrangement would be of advantage to us both. It would also solve any dilemma Lord Royston may now feel.”

  “Lord Royston?” Adelina pretended deliberately not to understand, wanting to force the words from Wallis’s own lips.

  “Well, my dear,” Wallis Trent straightened his back and thrust out his chest. “ You know that my wife, Emily, was Lord Royston’s heiress?”

  “Yes.”

  “Since her death his lordship has entailed his estate to our son, Jamie. Now,” he shrugged and laughed and spread his hands expansively, “ you must see that with your recent reconciliation the old man must feel – well – torn between his obligation to keep his promise to my son and his – quite natural – new-found affection for you.”

  With difficulty Adelina kept her face straight. Without the least desire for material gain, she found the whole absurd situation vastly amusing.

  “And you think our marriage would safely ensure that the estate still comes to your son?”

  Swiftly, he reassured her but his words lacked sincerity. “My dear, I wouldn’t want you to think that that was the sole purpose behind my proposal. Dear me, no! But, nevertheless, it is a consideration, a quite usual consideration among marriages in our Society. Though as an American you may not fully understand.”

  “Oh, I think I do,” Adelina said wryly.

  “Well, then, my dear, what is your answer?”

  “Wallis – I, too, will be utterly frank. I do not love you, but I do love my daughter dearly and for her sake, and her sake alone, I will agree to become your wife.”

  Resolutely, Adelina banished all thought of Lynwood’s bel
oved face from her mind. For the sake of her baby daughter she ought to marry and, since there was no chance of Lynwood ever proposing to her, then she must accept Wallis Trent, even though she shuddered at the mere thought of being tied to this cold, ambitious man. Adelina loved her baby daughter ferociously and she would sacrifice all her own hopes of happiness to ensure her child’s future and the security of a kind of legitimacy.

  So Adelina agreed to marry Wallis Trent and the date of their marriage was set for New Year’s Day.

  On Christmas Day, a carriage drew into the Vicarage drive. A fine carriage bearing the Lynwood crest.

  Lord Lynwood stepped down from it and stood looking at the house for a moment, as if still considering whether he should approach the door, or get back into his carriage and drive away.

  At last, he climbed the steps slowly and pulled on the bell-chord.

  Adelina, who had seen his arrival, greeted him herself. It had taken a few moments for her to compose herself before opening the door, and although she managed to meet his eyes calmly, inside herself she was quivering with joy and fear and longing at the sight of him. She could see the sadness in his eyes as he gazed at her. He had struggled for days against coming, for to his mind it would show weakness on his part. It would appear as if he could not live without sight of her. And Francis, Earl of Lynwood, was not a man who liked to appear weak.

  But the anguish in his heart had at last overcome his pride. He had found that, since Adelina had left him, he was obsessed by memories of her. Now, as he stood before her, still he could not say all the tender endearments which were in his heart. He merely said brusquely. “I’ve come to bring the child some presents.” He could not even say ‘my daughter’.

  Adelina smiled, though still a little uncertainly. “ It’s good to see you, Francis. And very kind of you to think of Francesca. Please come in.”

  She led the way into the morning room. Francis paused in the doorway as his glance fell upon the child playing on the rug. The infant raised her brilliant blue eyes to look at the stranger, then her face broke into a cherubic beam and she gurgled at him, holding out her chubby arms invitingly. Completely bemused, Lord Lynwood knelt before the child. Wonderingly, he reached out his fingers to touch her golden curls and gazed into her blue eyes so like his own. “ But – but she – her hair was – black!” he murmured.