Caroline was determined that it should be otherwise.
“Thomas, listen!” She took his hand and led him to the rock. Together they sat down side by side. “I’ve been thinking. We cannot go on like this.”
There, he knew it! And although he had always told himself it would end he could not stop the swift, painful stab in his heart.
“I think I should tell my father that—that we love each other.”
Fear washed over him. “ Caroline, my love—no!”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “Why ever not? Thomas—you do love me, don’t you?”
“Oh my darling.” He reached out and touched her cheek wonderingly, adoringly. “You’ll never know how much.”
“And you do want to marry me, don’t you?”
The turmoil of emotions showed upon his face. Torn between the exquisite longing to make her his wife and the knowledge that it was impossible. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “ Caroline—it can never be.”
“Why ever not?” she demanded fiercely, her pretty mouth pouting as it did when she was about to be thwarted in something she wanted. She jumped angrily to her feet. “You’re making excuses. You don’t want to marry me. You—you don’t love me! You’re—you’re just playing with my affections!”
Thomas rose to his feet, holding out his arms pleadingly towards her. It was the first time he had seen her angry and it frightened his gentle, loving nature. “Caroline—you know that is not true. You know I love you more than life itself, but your father …”
Caroline flung herself against him again. “Oh Thomas, I’m sorry.” She covered his face with kisses. “Forgive me. Don’t let us quarrel, I can’t bear it if we quarrel. I know you mean to protect me. But he will have to know sometime.”
Thomas sighed. He knew what would happen. Caroline would be confined to her home and he would be dismissed and sent away from Abbeyford. He voiced none of these fears to her. She could not see that her father would deny her anything, but Thomas knew that Lord Royston, despite his indulgence towards his daughter, would never countenance this liaison. His anger would fall upon his daughter as never before, though she could not realise it.
“I must go.” Reluctantly she withdrew from the shelter of his fond embrace. “Till tomorrow, my love. We’ll meet in the abbey ruins tomorrow—the same time.”
Once more she kissed him, pressing her young body to him, causing Thomas’s head to reel and driving all sensible thoughts from his mind.
“Till tomorrow,” she whispered, turned away and ran up the path.
Thomas waited for some minutes before he too left the shelter of the glade and returned to Abbeyford by a roundabout route.
The hunt met in the stable-yard at Abbeyford Manor.
Lady Lynwood, with Caroline beside her, watched from her open carriage.
It was a fine sight—the scarlet coats and high top-hats of the huntsmen, the horses groomed to shining perfection. The hounds, which were kennelled at the Manor, were fine brown and white dogs, strong and eager for the chase to begin, their tails held high, their pink tongues lolling.
“There’s Francis! Oh doesn’t he look splendid?” Caroline waved eagerly to the young boy, who was seated, straight-backed, on his mount. “You must be very proud of your son, Lady Lynwood. I’m sure he’ll break a few hearts when he grows up.”
Lady Lynwood laughed—a delicious cackling sound, quite unladylike but infectious to anyone hearing it. She patted Caroline’s hand. “ ’Tis a pity he’s not older for I know he admires you greatly.”
Caroline laughed too. “ He’ll be a fine man one day and she’ll be a lucky girl who catches him, but I’m afraid I can’t wait that long.”
Her eyes strayed to where Thomas Cole sat astride his horse. How elegant he looked, how solemn and so aware of the privilege he had been given in being allowed to join the hunt which was, after all, made up mainly of wealthy landowners or their respected tenant farmers! For Thomas Cole to be one of their number was an unusual compliment to the man.
Lynwood, ever acutely aware of Caroline’s nearness, saw her watching Thomas Cole. Young though he was, because of his own feelings for her Lynwood easily recognised the expression of love upon her face as she watched Thomas Cole.
Lynwood frowned. So, he thought bitterly, the stable boys’gossip had not been without foundation.
The cry went up, “ They’re moving off!” and then the horses and hounds moved out of the yard, watched by the half-dozen or more grooms and stable-lads who looked after Sir Matthew’s horses and the hounds belonging to the hunt.
Down the lane they cantered and into the fields, the hounds streaming out ahead of the huntsmen, trying to pick up the scent of a fox.
Guy Trent, reckless as ever, galloped ahead, to the annoyance of his father, but young Lynwood, though this was his first meet, had been well-schooled in the etiquette of the hunting field and stayed well to the back. He rode well and easily, but his mind was not on the chase. Before him was the picture of Caroline’s face when she looked at Thomas Cole!
Over hedges and ditches the horses flew, through the two streams and up the hill, the hounds spreading out. Suddenly there was a shrill barking and the dogs streaked forward. The hunting-horn sounded and they were off up the hill past Abbeyford Grange and over the brow.
Lady Lynwood flicked her reins and the carriage moved forward. “We’ll follow at a more sedate pace, my dear,” she said.
Sarah Miller saw the hunt pass the Grange. Leaning out of a second-floor window, she saw Guy Trent, his head down, his body pressed close to his horse, galloping like a mad thing after the baying hounds. She watched him, admiring his daring but at the same time fearing for his safety because she loved him. She saw them all pass by and reach the top of the hill above the Grange and then they were gone out of sight, only the sounds of the dogs and the drumming hoofbeats were left, growing fainter and fainter.
She leaned her face against the cool casement of the window. Yes—she loved Guy Trent. But what a hopeless, foolish love it was!
Guy Trent, eager to secure the brush as his trophy, rode, knife in hand, amongst the hounds as they closed upon the fox, after a long and gruelling chase.
“Damn the boy!” Sir Matthew muttered. “Has he no sense? He’ll cripple my best hounds.”
Lynwood, though he would dearly have loved to secure the brush to present to Caroline, held back.
As Guy triumphantly held aloft the severed tail, his father beckoned him. Extricating himself from the excited, barking dogs was not without hazard and Guy felt more than one nip on his legs. But his prize of the day justified a little discomfort.
Sir Matthew held out his hand towards his son.
Guy’s face darkened. “ The brush is mine, sir.”
“I think not. As Master I have the right to bestow it upon whosoever I choose in the field.”
Father and son glared at each other: Sir Matthew with his hand still extended waited.
With a growl of annoyance, Guy almost flung the brush at his father and turned away. He mounted his horse and galloped—hot-headed as ever—away from the field.
“Here, my boy,” Sir Matthew turned towards Lynwood. “ This is yours. You have carried yourself well today. Your father would have been proud of you—very proud.”
The boy smiled and accepted the brush.
Lady Lynwood and Caroline caught up with the hunt just after the kill, in time to see young Francis initiated. They watched as Sir Matthew passed the bloody head of the decapitated fox across the boy’s forehead and down each cheek, the brilliant red blood stark against the paleness of the boy’s skin. He stood erect, proud, almost haughty, making not a sound.
Lady Lynwood smiled with pride at her son as he remounted his horse and rode over to her carriage. How mature he looked today, far older than his fourteen years!
“Well done, my son, well done!” She reached over and squeezed his hand.
Caroline smiled at the boy. “Indeed, Francis, you are a credit to
us all.”
Shyly he held out the brush to Caroline. “I—would like you to have this.”
“Why, Francis, how sweet of you to give me your very first trophy!”
She took the brush and smiled at him. She could see his adoration for her in his eyes. “Why, Francis, you’re quite the gallant.”
Lady Lynwood looked on but said nothing. Her son’s feeling for Caroline was a fragile, vulnerable thing and young Lynwood could be so easily hurt—desperately hurt—if Caroline were to ridicule his devotion to her.
Fond though she was of the daughter of her dear friends, Lady Lynwood was sensible enough to see the selfish, even ruthless, streak in Caroline’s nature and knew the girl would always want her own way and care little for the feelings of others who might try to thwart her desires!
Chapter Seven
Winter gave way to Spring reluctantly, but at last the days grew warmer and Nature’s life-cycle began again. As the trees blossomed so did the love between Guy Trent and Sarah Miller. Perhaps it was because it was a forbidden love that it made their stolen moments all the more precious, the excitement of furtive meetings, the danger of further discovery fuelling their passion for each other.
For several weeks after Joseph Miller had found out that Sarah was meeting Guy, she had no opportunity of seeing him, for every week on her days off either Joseph or Henry would meet her from the Grange, escort her home and accompany her up the lane again in the evening.
She knew Guy was trying to reach her. Twice, as she returned to Abbeyford Grange, her father striding along at the side of her, she heard the soft whinnying of a horse hidden amongst the trees which bordered the lane. She felt her father’s eyes upon her, but he said nothing and she, head down, walked on in silence, but her heart was leaping wildly within her, her legs trembling at the thought of Guy’s closeness.
As the days lengthened, work on the estate increased—and the fences began to go up on the common waste-land. Jospeh Miller watched with resentful eyes.
“I mun sell my cows an’ sheep, Ellen,” he told his wife, hardly able to keep the savagery he felt inside from showing in his tone.
“Oh no, Joseph!” Her eyes were wide with fear.
He shrugged. “We’ve still got your spinning and perhaps …”
“Joseph—there’s—there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, but—but—I hadn’t got around to it.” Her fingers plucked nervously at her apron.
He had never seen his wife act this way before, as if she were afraid of him. Gently he took her by the shoulders. “ Why, Ellen, what is it, wife? Aw, I know I’ve been difficult of late—it’s the Trents …” With an effort he swallowed his own anger and spoke tenderly to his wife. Tears welled up in her eyes. His Ellen, who never wept whatever harsh blows life inflicted upon her!
Joseph was shocked.
He gave her a gentle little shake. “Come, tell me what ails you?”
“It’s the spinning work, Joseph. There’s a new man been round. A Mister Lewis. He—he says they’re installing some new-fangled machinery in the factory an’ cutting down on the cottagers in this district doin’ the work. He said it’s—un—uneconomical—yes, that was the word he used.”
Joseph’s fingers tightened on her shoulders and his eyes flashed with renewed indignation. “An’ its a sight more ‘uneconomical’ for us! Him an’ his fancy words! Dun’t he know he’s robbin’ us of our livelihood? Just how much are they cutting down?”
“Well …” Ellen hesitated and avoided meeting his gaze, then she whispered. “Next month’ll be the last he brings any.”
“You mean he’s stopping all of it?”
Ellen nodded. “Joseph—I’m sorry.”
“Aw Ellen, it’s not your fault. But—what are we to do?”
Ellen, always the family’s will of iron, its rock, was for once lost.
Joseph loosed his grip on her shoulders, turned away and sat down heavily in the chair at the side of the hearth. “I’ll have to look for work away from Abbeyford. I canna get work here. Not now. Trent as good as told me.” Bitterly, his mouth tight, he added, “I shouldn’t be surprised if Trent hasn’t had a hand in this other business an’ all.”
“Oh Joseph, surely not. Why, Mr Lewis is naught to do with the Trents.”
Joseph shrugged. “Aye, but them ’ n all their kind are in league agen us and Trent as good as threatened me with it!”
“Joseph—what are we to do?” Ellen whispered.
“As long as he dunna turn us out of our home. I can find work.”
“There’s Sarah’s money. She’s very good, Joseph, she only keeps a penny or two for hersel’.”
Joseph’s face was grim. He still did not like to be reminded of Sarah’s employment at the Grange, but for the moment it was all they had to live on.
The next morning—very early—found Joseph trudging up the hill out of the valley in the hope of finding work away from Abbeyford. He would not be able to meet Sarah on her half-days off, he thought, as every step took him further and further away from his family. Henry too would be too busy now that Sir Matthew was increasing the size of his herd, but Jospeh comforted himself with the belief that with the lapse of time since she had last seen Guy Trent he would have forgotten all about little Sarah Miller and found himself fresh amusement.
Joseph was wrong. The very fact that Sarah was being kept from him only served to make Guy want her more. If he had but understood the nature of Guy Trent, Joseph’s action was the very one to inflame the young man’s interest. Had he left things as they were, perhaps Guy’s ardour would have quickly waned. As it was, her elusiveness was a challenge—a challenge the madcap Guy could not resist.
Sarah skipped down the lane from Abbeyford Grange on her own for the first time in weeks.
She gave a little cry of fright as she heard a rustle amongst the trees and saw the stealthy figure of a man. Then, as he emerged into the lane, happiness flooded through her. It was Guy! He held out his arms to her and without a moment’s hesitation she ran into his embrace.
“Sarah, oh Sarah. They shouldn’t have kept you from me. They shouldn’t have!” he murmured with a rare insight into his own character.
“Oh Guy, I missed you so,” Sarah whispered, completely without guile or affectation. He was raining kisses on her face, on her smooth brow, her eyelids, her soft, rosy cheeks and her delicious mouth. She clung to him, yielding herself to him.
“Where can we go?” he murmured against her mouth. “How can we meet? I can’t go on living without you.”
Breathless, Sarah said, “They’ll come with me whenever they can. I don’t know why one of them isn’t here today.” Almost fearful that either Joseph or Henry might suddenly appear, she glanced over her shoulder.
“Can you slip out—at night—from the Grange?” Guy asked urgently. “I could be waiting—anytime—anywhere.”
“I don’t—know. I could try,” she said eagerly. “ The servants all go to bed about ten o’clock. Sometimes Lady Caroline wants me later, but—not often.”
“Can you get out without being seen?” Tenderly he stroked her black hair away from her forehead, looking down into her upturned face.
“I’ll try, oh I’ll try,” she breathed.
“Tonight. Behind the stables at the side of the Grange. I’ll be waiting,” he told her. Reluctantly he let her go, watching her hurry away down the lane towards the village.
“See what your precious Guy Trent and his father have done to us now?” Beth was the first to meet Sarah with the news of the recent disaster which had overtaken the Miller family. “We’ll be out on the street next!”
Sarah did not answer. Nothing—but nothing—could dim the glow in her heart at the thought of meeting Guy that very night.
That night and many nights following, Sarah crept from her warm bed, out into the dark night and into the arms of her lover.
Towards the end of April the maypole was set up on the village green and on the evening of the last d
ay of April an excited, laughing party of village youths and girls set off for the wood at the top of the hill to gather green branches and spring flowers to weave into garlands to decorate their homes and the maypole. Mayday was a day of celebration in the village. It marked the beginning of summer for the country folk, of warmer days, of new life and growth.
Among the revellers were Sarah Miller and Henry Smithson. Henry was in a particularly jovial mood. Tonight and for the whole of the next day he and Sarah could be together and by the end of that time, he vowed, he would have made her promise to marry him.
The woods soon echoed with laughter, with squeals and furtive giggles as the young men stole kisses from their sweethearts. Many a new courtship began at Mayday and resulted in marriage before the year was out.
Henry slipped his arm around Sarah’s waist and felt her stiffen.
“Oh, come on, our Sarah. No one can see us here. Just a little kiss!”
Roughly he pulled her towards him and planted his wet mouth upon her unwilling lips. She struggled against him, but Henry held her fast. She twisted her face away, but still his arms held her. She felt guilty, and disloyal to Guy, whom she loved, and yet there was guilt too in her secret affair with Guy Trent. Beside him Henry was rough and uncouth, yet he was sensitive enough to feel her revulsion. His arms locked about her more fiercely and his dark eyes searched her face in the shadowy half-light. “ We’ll be married, Sarah, ’afore this year is out.”
Angrily, Sarah replied, “ That we won’t, Henry Smithson!”
“And I say we will!” He made as if to kiss her again, but with one desperate push against him she fought herself free and ran from him, dodging between the trees, losing herself in the shadows.
“Sarah! Sarah! Come back!” Angrily Henry crashed his way through the undergrowth in search of her, but Sarah, hiding behind a bush, breathed a sigh of relief. He was going in the opposite direction.
A hand closed over her arm and Sarah gave a cry of fright, but turning she found herself looking into the laughing blue eyes of Guy Trent.
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