Free Abbeyford Remembered by Margaret Dickinson Page A

– just as she and Jamie had done.
    â€œSo,” Jamie was saying, “you’d bring ruin to your own father, would you?”
    Evan stepped close to him, his eyes filled with hatred, only inches from Jamie’s, so close that Jamie could feel the spittle rain upon his face as Evan spat out the words. “Father? Father? What sort of father has he been to me? Look at the ruin he’s brought to people’s lives. Ruined a pretty young village girl. Ruined Henry Smithson’s life – to say nothing of mine. I’ve waited years for this moment – all me life! So don’t expect no sympathy from me. I’ll see the whole lot o’ you in hell first!”
    He turned his back on Jamie and strode away towards the railway, as if he would push the line – single – handed – through the Trents’ land, so deep was his bitter desire for revenge.
    For a moment Jamie seemed too stunned to move, then suddenly he turned and ran to his horse and mounted. Ignoring Carrie’s desperate cry, “ Jamie, oh Jamie!” he rode away at a breakneck gallop.
    Carrie watched him go through a blur of tears, the sobs shaking her body. She felt a hand upon her shoulder.
    â€œDon’t, me darlin’, don’t,” Lloyd Foster said, gently comforting. He drew her, unresisting, to her feet and put his arms about her. Hardly realising who was offering her support, Carrie clung to him, still weeping brokenly. He stroked her hair and rocked her. Then suddenly she tore herself free and rushed into the shack. Lloyd Foster watched her go with misery in his eyes. Slowly he turned away and followed Evan’s path to the railway. The railway! There was still the railway …
    That evening, before Evan returned home, Carrie slipped away from the shack. Lucy, unable to help her daughter, for after years of misery and hardship she had no strength to fight any more, watched her go with unhappy eyes. Calm now, Carrie was resolved to seek out Jamie.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter that we’re cousins,” she said aloud to herself as she tramped determinedly across the hills towards Abbeyford.
    â€œIn Society circles lots of cousins marry. It doesn’t matter !” She tried to convince herself.
    There was a cold October wind blowing and, by the time she neared the Manor House, Carrie was shivering. She drew the old shawl closer round her shoulders and slipped through the stableyard gate. There was no movement in the yard, no light from the windows on this side of the house. She moved towards the back door which she guessed led into the kitchens. Her heart was pounding now. She was afraid she would meet with some servant who would bar the way of the gypsy girl, but no one came to impede her entry to the house. She pushed open the door and went in. She stopped a moment, waiting whilst her eyes accustomed themselves to the dimness. She felt her way through the kitchen and up the stairs leading to the upper house. Through the swing door cutting off the servants’ domain from the main part of the house, and into the entrance hall. Here a candelabrum burnt, casting eerie shadows. A grandfather clock ticked heavily in the corner, but the whole place was as neglected inside as outside in the stable-yard. Dust covered the furniture and the floor was dull and mud-stained. Carrie jumped as she heard a shuffling noise and turned to see an old man moving towards her, his back so bent he could hardly lift his head to look at her.
    â€œWhat do you want?” He was dressed in a shabby black suit and Carrie guessed he must be a servant of sorts, probably the only one who remained in the service of the Trents now.
    â€œI want to see Mr Jamie Trent, please,” Carrie said boldly, drawing herself up and trying to sound as if she had every right to be there.
    â€œHe’s gone,” the old man sniffed.
    â€œG-gone? Where’s he gone?”
    â€œHow should I know? Went galloping