Authors: Tania Anne Crosse
‘Of course.’ Barney’s voice was flat and, he hoped, expressionless. Jesus Christ, he mustn’t let her see. See the terror that gripped his heart. Oh, good God Almighty, what had Harry Spence done? What had
he
done?
‘It’s in the paper.’ Ling forced the words from between gritted teeth. ‘He was attacked last Tuesday night. Brutally beaten and for no apparent reason.’
Barney swallowed hard, his knees turning weak. Oh, dear God! ‘Poor chap,’ he managed to mumble.
‘Oh, Barney, I went to see him,’ Ling wailed, and Barney raised his eyes. ‘I bumped into him a couple of times in the summer. I don’t suppose I told you. It didn’t seem worth mentioning. Anyway, I thought . . . Oh, Barney, he’s in a terrible way. They’re . . . they’re not sure if he’ll live. How could anyone do such a thing?’
Her tears were flowing freely now, and Barney held her against him. Could she feel him, too, shaking like a leaf? But she mustn’t,
mustn’t
know!
‘Do they knows who did it?’ The question strangled in his throat.
‘No,’ she said, and wept brokenly. And Barney knew for sure that his wife loved another man.
‘I’m sorry, Barney. I know I said last week would be the last time, but I must go and see Dr Franfield again. Find out . . . if he’s still alive. You do understand?’
Oh, yes. He understood all right! Ling loved Elliott Franfield. Perhaps even the child she carried was his. Barney’s blood seethed, but he mustn’t let on that he realized. If he did, it might arouse suspicion. At least Elliott’s attacker had disappeared into thin air, thank God. And good riddance. If Harry was never caught then he could never implicate Barney. And so Barney must play the sympathetic fool and comfort his faithless wife over the plight of her lover.
Did he wish Elliott dead? No, of course not. That wasn’t the plan. Never had been. It would break Ling’s heart, her spirit. He wouldn’t want that. He just wanted her back. His own heart ached with his love for her. He could forgive her.
But, if she ever discovered what he had done, could
she
forgive
him
?
‘How was he?’ Barney asked, his voice trembling not with concern but with abject fear. ‘Have they caught the bastard yet?’
‘No. But Dr Franfield
is
a little better.’ Ling pushed the back of her hand against her nose to suppress her welling tears of relief. ‘It’ll take months for him to recover, mind, but he’s beginning to see out of his damaged eye again, and he is in less pain. He can talk a little now too.’
Talk! Terror ripped into Barney’s belly like a knife. ‘He hasn’t said who did it, then, or why?’
‘No. He says he’s no idea. He didn’t recognize his assailant at all, but it
was
dark.’
Barney nodded in what he hoped appeared a thoughtful manner. The blood had been trundling in his veins all week. The local constabulary had been searching for an
attempted
murderer, but would it have made any difference if it had turned into a hunt for a killer? It was still
his
fault Elliott Franfield had nearly died. And if his part in it were ever discovered, wouldn’t he be hanged for it? Guilt churned in his stomach, closing its choking fetters about his neck. Ling must never,
ever
know. If she did, she would be out of that door and into Franfield’s arms for ever. He wouldn’t be able to stop her, for, if he tried, she might reveal what she knew to the police. He would deserve it.
Barney had loved her, worshipped her, since they were children growing up in their small, isolated community. Fate had thrown them together, and Ling had believed she loved him. But she had always been above him, and he had always known it. And her heart, the true passion that had been the very essence of her spirit, belonged to a man who was far more deserving of it than he was. To a man who was lying, injured and suffering, because of his love for her; to the man to whom she would long ago have been married if Barney had not betrayed them years before on the day he had jealously destroyed Elliott Franfield’s letter.
He tossed and turned all night, sometimes studying in the moonlight the beloved face on the pillow beside him, tranquil now that she knew her lover’s life was out of danger. She smiled in her sleep, murmured Elliott’s name. Barney turned over, his clenched fist against his forehead. What hope was there for their future now? He had expected to draw Ling back to him. All he had succeeded in doing was to drive her further away.
It was the same night after night, the shadows deepening beneath his eyes as the vicious remorse gnawed into him like a cancer. While Ling’s appetite was returning, a peaceful glow blushing her cheeks as Saturday approached once more, food stuck in Barney’s gullet, every mouthful he swallowed making him gag. He felt dizzy, light-headed, an emptiness scorching in the pit of his belly.
‘What’s with you today, Barney?’ Sam enquired with a light chuckle. ‘Dreaming about that babby again? Well, I think it might have another cousin soon arter ’tis born!’ His eyes twinkled merrily. ‘Don’t tell Fanny I told you, mind. She wanted to tell Ling first. Right, well, I’ll go over and tell them to swing the crane over. I reckon we’m ready to move that there stone now.’
Sam shinned down the ladder leaving Barney alone on the ledge near the head of the quarry. Babby. Was it his, or Elliott Franfield’s? What did it matter? He could never find happiness again, knowing Ling’s heart would always lie elsewhere, while he would take his guilt to the grave.
He wasn’t paying attention, lost in his own misery, as the massive crane swivelled round, the heavy chain hanging freely in mid-air. He should have caught the giant hook swaying on the end. But he wasn’t looking, and, though he heard Sam’s horrified shout from down below, it was too late. The chain crashed into him, knocking him off balance so that his foot slipped over the edge.
He tried to right himself but felt his body going, his fingers clawing at the flat surface of the ledge. His scraping hands found a hold, a ridge no more than an inch high. His shoulders jarred as they took the full weight of his body as it dangled over the sheer rock face. Sweat poured from his skin as he realized there was no way that, even with his powerful muscles, he had the strength to pull himself back up. Already, his arms were screaming at him as his tense fingers cramped with the effort of retaining their grip, and his feet flailed wildly as they searched for a hold.
‘Barney!’ Sam shrieked at him from somewhere fifty feet below. ‘Hang on! Us’ll be there in a moment!’
He tried. Sweet Jesus Christ, he tried. His sweating palms became slippery, terrified breath quivering in his lungs. Every muscle was on fire. Hold on. Hold on. His life flashed before him, his darling Ling an image of life and love, and his heart felt calmed. She was his reason for being, and yet he had betrayed her. Not just once, but twice. She had never truly been his. She had belonged to Elliott Franfield ever since the day the steam railway had arrived in Princetown. Barney had always known, but it was only now that he could accept it. He had never made Ling truly happy. Because of him, their life was a lie. There was only one way to atone. He must set her free, and this way she would never know of his shame. His love for her went beyond the stars, and perhaps he could look down from the open Dartmoor skies on to her future happiness. And that would suffice.
They were racing up the ladders, would be with him in a trice, hauling him to safety. The time had come.
God bless, my darling.
He shut his eyes and let his fingers slip.
It was strange. He couldn’t feel any pain. He could hear hushed, indistinct voices all about him. And then the shattered tone of an angel.
‘Oh, Barney,’ she breathed, too shocked to weep. ‘Please . . .’
He opened his eyes, and there she was. Blurred and wavering. Her beautiful face taut and stricken. Perhaps she loved him just a little. And he felt the peace enter his soul.
‘Let me go, Ling,’ he mouthed, and closed his eyes.
Floating. Hearing her howl of sorrow. His heart slowed and joyfully he felt the life . . . slowly . . . pulse away . . .
‘With Captain Bradley’s compliments, Mrs Franfield, Doctor.’ Mr Starke, the first mate, smiled as he handed a glass of rich, ruby wine each to the couple standing in the bow of the fine, old sailing ship. ‘A lovely evening, is it not? Calm as a mill pond. But it’ll slow our passage to Bordeaux. A fine choice for a honeymoon, if you don’t mind my saying so. Oh, and dinner will be ready in half an hour, if that lad of yours doesn’t distract the cook too much,’ he added with a good-natured grin. ‘Taken a right shine to each other, they have.’
‘Thank you, Mr Starke,’ the doctor replied, and nodded with a smile that reached his kind, green-blue eyes.
Doctor Franfield seemed a quiet but happy man, Mr Starke thought, but who wouldn’t be, just married to that lovely young woman? There had been a wistfulness about Mrs Franfield when they had boarded the
Emily
that morning. Captain Adam Bradley had come to master his favourite ship especially in their honour, and he had explained in a compassionate voice that the poor woman had been tragically widowed three years before. So Mr Starke understood that she must feel strange being married to another man, no matter how much she loved him. But Mr Starke had noted with satisfaction that the fresh sea air had already put some colour in her cheeks. Nothing like sea air to rejuvenate the heart and give one strength to begin a new life.
She had been leaning back against her new husband and he had held his arms wrapped about her as if he were pumping his own life force into her. Mind you, he was a little on the thin side was Dr Franfield, in Mr Starke’s opinion, and he looked as if he’d been in the wars in the past. There was a nasty scar across his forehead and one of his eyes dragged very slightly at the outer corner. But he was a tall, attractive man for all that, in his early thirties, Mr Starke fancied, and matched his handsome bride.
Mr Starke touched his cap as he turned away. He would tell the cook that the couple both needed fattening up.
Elliott and Heather Franfield gazed at each other over the rims of their wine glasses. It had been a long, hard, sad road, the complex tangle of fate trapping them in a web of grief and despair. But now it was over. Time, the great master, had healed. The intense harmony of their love had conquered, and at last they were free. To begin the journey of the rest of their lives together.
‘Mama! Mama!’
They turned in unison as the little boy appeared on the deck with the flustered cook hot on his heels.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Franfield, Doctor Franfield,’ the cook called. ‘Couldn’t stop him. Real live one he is!’
‘Don’t worry!’ Elliott replied, waving back. He took the wine glass Ling thrust towards him as she crouched down, and the child scampered into her outstretched arms. Just then, the ship crested a wave and, losing their balance, mother and son rolled on to the deck, laughing deliriously. The boy righted himself first, jumping up and down as he held his arms up to the man who held a full glass in each hand.
‘Papa! Papa!’
Elliott placed the glasses where he hoped they would be safe, and swung the child into his arms. He shifted him on to one hip, then helped his bride to her feet with his free hand. They stood together then, the boy between them, staring out as the setting sun spread its scarlet fingers over the flat sea.
‘Artie,’ Heather whispered. She smiled lovingly into her son’s brooding mahogany eyes, and the man who her son already looked upon as his father affectionately ruffled the boy’s ebony hair.
The Princetown Steam Railway ran from August 1883 to March 1956, covering one of the most spectacular routes in Britain. Now, the disused line provides a glorious route for walkers over one of the most dramatic areas of Dartmoor.
I have given the six real-life characters marooned on the train in the 1891 blizzard their proper names, but imagined their personalities from newspaper reports of the time. Likewise, Farmer Hilson and his wife; Stationmaster Higman; and William Duke, proprietor of the quarry at Merrivale. I do not believe I have done them any injustice, but my story is not meant to convey an accurate account of these characters.
The abandoned quarry at Foggintor is a magnificent if eerie sight, and the foundations of the cottages where Ling and my other characters lived are clearly visible. The entire site can be extremely dangerous, so please take the greatest care if visiting as you do so at your own risk.