Authors: Tania Anne Crosse
‘Oh, ’tis proper fine,’ Barney answered, slightly taken aback at Elliott’s genial attitude. ‘Just a nuisance not being able to work.’
‘Yes, I can appreciate that. I wish you well, anyway.’ And the expression on his face altered to one of eager anticipation as he continued, ‘Do you know where Miss Southcott is? I wanted to visit her before, but I’ve been so busy and I didn’t want to appear too forward. I trust her ankle is mended? What a day that was!’
His obvious expectation prickled Barney’s skin. He thought the stranger had gone from their lives, and now here he was, as bold as brass, come to see Ling and full of the joys of spring. Well, Barney wasn’t having it!
‘She bain’t yere,’ he said affably, since the blackguard mustn’t suspect he was lying. ‘But I’ll tell her you called to see her.’ Barney felt the swell of satisfaction as Elliott’s face fell.
‘Oh,’ Elliott murmured flatly. ‘Well, perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving her this for me. It’s just a short letter with my address in London. She can write to me there. That’s, well, if she wants to. Would you mind?’
A surge of anger blackened Barney’s heart as he took the envelope from Elliott’s hand. ‘No, of course not. When does you go? To London, I means?’
‘Friday.’
‘Ah.’ Barney nodded. ‘Must be getting excited, like?’
‘Well, yes.’ Elliott raised his eyebrows with a wistful sigh. ‘I shall miss all this though.’ He turned to gesture vaguely about him. ‘I don’t get that much time to come up on the moor, but I do love it. I love Tavistock, too, as a small country town. London’s not really for me, but I’ll get the best training there.’
‘Well, good luck with it,’ Barney drawled.
And good riddance too
, he thought to himself.
‘Thank you very much. You will give the note to Ling? And tell her I’m sorry I missed her.’
‘Will do,’ Barney promised.
Elliott seemed reluctant to leave, and his gaze swept sadly about him before he swung himself back into the saddle. ‘Thank you, Barney. Take care of that arm now.’
Barney nodded and watched as Elliott turned Ghost about and set off at a trot. He stood stock still, allowing the scowl to come to his face now. Did the bugger really expect him to . . .? But then Elliott Franfield clearly had no idea that he and Ling were walking out. So, Barney’s brain deduced, that must mean Ling hadn’t told him.
And why not?
Barney crunched the letter in his fist in a jealous rage. Was Ling so dissatisfied with their relationship that she had encouraged the handsome, intelligent, courageous stranger? Or had the devil deliberately tried to woo and impress her? Oh, he must protect her from Elliott Franfield, yes, that was it! The stranger could not
love
Ling as he did. He hardly knew her. She would be a mere dalliance to him, and Ling would be deeply hurt. But . . . what if Ling really did have feelings for . . .
No! He couldn’t let it happen! He and Ling were made for each other. She was the reason for his waking up each morning, why he wanted to outshine all the other apprentices so that he could make a good home for her and their . . . yes, their children when the time came.
He forgot all about his walk and stood, grinding the toe of his boot into the ground. Damn Elliott Franfield! And continuing to swear under his breath, he stomped back home.
‘You’m back then?’ Eleanor grunted. ‘Range ’as gone out. Couldn’t manage ter relight it, could yer?’
Barney pursed his lips as he set about the task, scrunching a few precious sheets of old newspaper – which had hardly been read, of course – into balls and carefully arranging sticks of kindling on top. He managed to hold the matchbox in the exposed fingers of his left hand while he struck the match against it, and, once the firewood had taken, he broke off pieces of dried peat turf to add to the growing flames. Well, at least he still had
some
use!
And then the thought slithered into his brain, bringing him out in a sweat. The letter. He had promised. And morally, he supposed, he had no right. But . . . his love for Ling was too strong.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he glanced over his shoulder. Eleanor had gone outside to the vegetable plot. So . . . no one would ever know. Elliott Franfield was off to London, and Ling would soon be forgotten. It was better this way.
His fingers shook as he threw the letter into the firebox. He watched it scorch at the edges, curl and then flare up with a blue flame. And then it was gone for ever. Barney heard Eleanor trudge back inside and he quickly used the poker to scatter the grey paper ash into the turf so that not a shred of evidence remained.
‘You sure you won’t come?’
Ling’s lips were pursed as she frowned at Barney. He had seemed in a strange mood recently, sometimes distant as if he were treading carefully about her, and at other times prickly and sullen. It was so unlike the fun-loving boy she knew and loved, and she put it down to the frustration his plastered arm was creating. He was a physical person, and must feel as if the rug had been whisked away from beneath his feet. He had her every sympathy, and she had fussed over him and showed him how very much she cared, even allowing him – for the first time – the excitement of placing the palm of his other hand over her breast. His fingers had been warm and tender, shaking slightly as her heart had beaten hard and fast beneath them. Her virgin flesh was confused and torn between fear and yearning and wanting to comfort Barney in some way that nobody else could.
Just now, however, he was being ungracious and surly, his eyebrows fiercely swooped. ‘How can I possibly go swimming with this?’ he barked, waving his left arm at her.
‘Well, I don’t mean for you to go swimming, silly,’ she smiled, ignoring his churlishness. ‘Besides, men and women can’t bathe at the same time. You’d have to wander about the town while Fanny and I are at the baths, but I thought you’d jump at the chance to ride on the train. It’d be such an adventure!’
‘For those as can afford it! We’m struggling to put meat on the table twice a week with me out of work, without gallivanting off on a day trip to Tavistock.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Barney. I should’ve thought. I’d pay for you too, only I’ve just got enough to pay for Fanny and me, and she’d be so disappointed if I took you instead. You don’t really mind if we go without you, do you? I’d much rather you’d have come though.’
The hard lines about Barney’s mouth softened as the expectancy in her shining eyes tugged at his better nature. ‘No, of course not,’ he relented. ‘’Tis just me being selfish. I wait all week for you to finish at school, and so tomorrow being Saturday—’
‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’
Her butterscotch eyes searched his deep brown ones as she tilted her head to bring her warm, moist lips against his. This was her Barney. His accident, and the idea of losing him, had made her realize how much she loved him. And instead of the usual fleeting peck, her mouth remained pressed to his, moving softly and delicately, awakening the budding passion in her young heart. She caught the surprised pleasure in Barney’s expression and then closed her eyes as he returned her kiss. The tip of his tongue played on her lips, sending a shiver down her spine. When they finally drew apart, they stared at each other, breathless with exhilaration.
‘Have a wonderful day tomorrow,’ Barney gulped. ‘Tell me all ’bout it when you gets back.’
‘Yes, I will,’ Ling nodded, her cheeks flushed and her heart in such turmoil that she all but fled home.
Barney sat back with an enormous inhalation of breath. That were unexpected! And delightful too! What more proof did he need that she loved him? Perhaps there had been no need to destroy the letter from Elliott Franfield after all. Guilt tore at Barney’s heart. It had been wrong of him, he knew, but he had to protect Ling. What if that scoundrel enticed her away with promises of a better life? The devil couldn’t possibly love Ling as much as he did!
His forehead tightened into a scowl. Elliott Franfield was gone from their lives, hundreds of miles away in London. And would remain there for years while he trained, hopefully never to return. And, if he did, by then Ling would have been Mrs Barney Mayhew for many moons, in a happy home with children at her feet.
Barney shook his head. He must put it behind him, forget the moment he had jealously committed the letter to flames. But, somewhere inside him, his wounded conscience continued to fester.
‘Come on, Ling! ’Twill go without us!’
The shrill words came at her through a muffling veil as she became aware of the hand tugging urgently on her sleeve. Her eyes were riveted on the spot where, little more than a month before, she had fallen into the path of the towering railway engine. The rekindled terror of those seconds before she blacked out moistened her skin with a clammy sweat. But Fanny’s agitation beside her – Fanny, whose normal reactions were so slow and laboured, but who was now alight with excitement – dragged her back from the horrific memory, and as they stepped up into the third-class compartment she found herself caught up in eager expectation once more. They sat opposite each other and their eyes met merrily at the gentle jolt as the train began to move.
‘We’re off!’ Ling cried, her eyes shining as she took in the sheer delight on Fanny’s face.
As they bowled along, the familiar landscape seemed fresh and new from their elevated position. It felt as if they were flying, even though the train was crawling cautiously on its steep descent. But for two young girls who had never travelled faster than their own two legs could carry them, they were racing along at the speed of light!
‘Look, we’re coming to Foggintor already!’ Ling gasped.
Fanny pressed her nose against the glass for a better view. It had only taken minutes to reach the quarry settlement that they had left on foot an hour earlier to be sure of catching the train, and now here they were back again! Ling’s eyebrows shot into her forehead for there, next to the railway line, stood a familiar figure. Barney, bless him, had walked up to catch a glimpse of her on her historic journey and was vigorously waving his good arm at the train.
Ling leapt to her feet and, struggling to pull down the window, waved back furiously so that Barney would spot her. He did. And, as she was born past him, his handsome face was smiling broadly. And then the carriage lurched, and Ling fell back on the seat. Fanny hooted with laughter, and Ling answered her with a jaunty giggle as she straightened her hat. Oh, what fun their excursion was turning out to be!
The countryside streaked past them. The track gradually coiled its way downhill across the moor before eventually stopping at the little station at Dousland. Then after the tunnel at Yelverton, they steamed through the gentler countryside and into Horrabridge Station and the end of the line for the Princetown Railway.
They did not have to wait very long for the connecting train since two railway companies shared the route from Plymouth to Tavistock and beyond. The first smoke-belching engine that pulled in against the platform was drawing several coaches, dwarfing the little moorland train and making Ling feel a little nervous as they climbed up into one of the carriages which was already quite full of passengers. Then the train juddered and steamed slowly out of the station, swaying gently as it gathered speed.
‘Look at the view!’ Ling cried as she pointed to the moor rising majestically in the distance.
‘And ’tis like we’m flying!’
‘We’re crossing the Magpie and Walkham viaducts,’ Ling explained, quite enthralled herself. Only minutes later, they were plunged into darkness while the train burrowed through a long tunnel and coasted into Whitchurch Station. They were off again, and, before they knew it, the engine was drifting into Tavistock.
They stood, disorientated, on the platform. How Ling wished Barney had come with them, to enjoy the day and to protect them, as she knew he would. Oh, her dear,
dearest
Barney. But the passengers who had alighted were streaming towards the exit and Ling led Fanny after them. Her little sister was more animated than Ling had ever known her. Were the noise of the train and the hustle and bustle of the station on such a level that Fanny could hear it more clearly and so felt part of it, rather than being marooned in her usual muted world? At least she seemed to be enjoying herself to the full!
Ling handed in their tickets and followed the other passengers out of the station. The path descended alongside the gushing waters of the Tavy, and Ling recognized the bridge from their annual trip to Tavistock for the Goose Fair each October, when they either walked the seven miles or hitched a lift with the carrier, both of which took hours. But now with the new railway up to Princetown, perhaps they might visit the town more frequently!
They reached the wide town square flanked on one side by the grandiose old church and on the other by the magnificent gothic-style town hall. Ling loved the moor, the sense of freedom and infinity it invoked, its stunning views of rugged crags and pretty valleys. But Tavistock bustled with activity and held such excitement for her. London, now
that
would have frightened her, with its dark and dingy backstreets that covered acre upon acre, filth-ridden courts where the sun never entered, dens of crime, iniquity and disease, and which had swallowed up the youth and enthusiasm of Elliott Franfield. Ling shuddered involuntarily and drove the horrible vision to the deepest recess of her mind. She was here, in Tavistock’s lovely Bedford Square, the sun was shining, and she was happy.
It was a busy Saturday morning with people aiming for the shops. But Ling and Fanny’s destination lay up a long, steep hill out of the centre. By the time they reached the summit, they were both quite out of breath, their faces pink and their hearts beating nervously, for here at last, under the shadow of the workhouse, they had arrived at the swimming baths!
They paid the entrance fee, tuppence for Ling and a penny for Fanny as she was under fourteen, and hired bathing costumes and towels. They were taken through by a girl little older than Ling, and they stopped, side by side, gazing in awestruck fascination.