A Dream Rides By

by Tania Anne Crosse

  ‘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.

  The bath was a giant rectangle in the ground, full of clean, inviting water rippled only by the movements of the people submersed in it. Most were floundering in the shallow end under the hawklike eye of a senior attendant. Only one lady was gliding effortlessly back and forth across the deep end, her limbs moving in a slow, unhurried rhythm. The water slapping against the sides echoed strangely within the enclosing walls, and there was an odd, acrid smell of dampness, not exactly musty, but something Ling could not put a name to.

  The girl attendant smiled as she waited for them. ‘First time?’ she asked, and Ling nodded. Yes, it was the first time for so many things today!

  Her excitement was tem
pered with not a little nervousness as they locked themselves in the little cubicle.

  ‘Which way round does you think this goes?’ Fanny asked.

  Ling frowned at the hired bathing suit Fanny was twisting this way and that. ‘No, the other way, I think.’ She turned her back to struggle into the strange attire and then glanced over her shoulder at Fanny. ‘Oh, we do look funny,’ she hooted. ‘They’re like a cross between our underwear and a sailor’s uniform! And with these mobcaps stuck on our heads!’

  They collapsed into peals of laughter, but it didn’t seem so amusing as they stepped outside feeling shy and embarrassed. With grim resolve, Ling took Fanny’s hand and walked over to the steps.

  The coldness of the water took her breath away. She at once turned to Fanny, but the child was giggling as the water lapped against her chest. Ling’s courage flooded back. As long as Fanny was happy, it was enough for her.

  The sunshine was dazzling on the clear water in spangling diamonds. Ling would have loved to play, sending glittering arcs of spray over her sister as they did in the Dartmoor streams, but the stern eye of the senior attendant put paid to that! Ling met Fanny’s sparkling gaze and tipped her head towards the other women and girls who were attempting the strokes with varying degrees of success.

  ‘Come on, let’s try.’

  But the water immediately closed over Ling’s head, gurgling in her ears. She stood up, spluttering and gasping for breath, as she searched for Fanny.

  ‘I’s all right!’

  Ling realized that Fanny was coughing beside her, her little face streaming as she spat water from her mouth.

  ‘Can I help?’

  Ling looked up into the smiling face of the lady who had been swimming with ease in the deep end. ‘Oh, yes, please, ma’am. We haven’t the remotest idea.’

  The stranger’s smile broadened at Ling’s politeness. ‘Hold on to the side and I’ll show you the leg action.’

  They forgot the coldness of the water as they obeyed the lady’s instruction. She was extremely patient and soon they could each swim two whole strokes before they sank.

  ‘There. It’s just practice now.’ Their teacher winked and lowered her voice. ‘Pity that dragon’s on duty. With the other one, you can play. Build up your confidence in the water. You will come again, won’t you? You’ve both done so well.’

  ‘We’d like to, but we come from a long way and we can’t afford it,’ Ling somehow didn’t feel ashamed to say. ‘And usually we have to help our mother on Saturdays. This was just a special treat.’

  ‘Oh, well, never mind. Perhaps you can save up during the winter, and I’ll see you again in the spring. But I really must be going. My coachman will be waiting.’

  Ling had to snap her jaw shut. This kind lady who had helped them, who had held them up in the water, must be . . . well, certainly wealthy and maybe even gentry!

  ‘Oh,’ Ling stammered. ‘Oh, why, thank you so much, ma’am, for helping us. It was so good of you. We’re really grateful.’

  ‘Not at all. Physical exercise is so important. Get yourselves thoroughly dry. You don’t want to catch a chill.’

  Back in the cubicle, they vigorously rubbed each other dry. They felt bold and invigorated by their adventure, and they had learnt to swim! Well, almost. What a tale they would have to relate to their parents and their friends, and Ling couldn’t wait to tell Barney all about it. They spent some time in the town, gazing in shop windows at beautiful objects they could never afford, but all too soon it was time to make their way back to the station, for they must not miss the evening train back up to Princetown.

  As they crossed the station foyer, Ling’s attention was drawn by a finely dressed lady who was addressing the man in the ticket office in a high and imperious voice.

  ‘Do make sure you reserve our seats in first class, my man, or you’ll have me to answer to. I have no intention of standing all the way to London!’

  ‘I assure you, Mrs Franfield, that all will be in order. I shall take care of it personally.’

  Ling stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth instantly dry. She hardly thought of Elliott nowadays, and now here she was – face to face as the woman turned round – with his mother. She looked into Mrs Franfield’s eyes, a totally different shape from Elliott’s but coloured the same green-hued blue.

  There was no time to consider as the memory of the exquisite, dreamlike hours she had spent with Elliott flashed across her mind. Her heart rose on the crest of some reckless hope, bearing her along on a tide of confusion that was stronger and greater than she was. She didn’t flinch as she stood squarely in front of the startled woman. ‘Please forgive me, ma’am,’ she said boldly, though with a little dip of her knees, ‘but are you Mrs Franfield? Elliott’s mother?’

  The expression on the elegant, sophisticated face turned from surprise to disapproval, and the woman nodded cautiously, her eyes cold.

  But Ling would not be daunted. ‘I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance,’ she continued, smiling politely.

  Mrs Franfield’s head seemed to retract into her neck as she glanced at Ling with utter disdain, but Ling determinedly held her gaze, glad that her height allowed her to look down into the woman’s face. She was as good a human being as anyone, and after a few moments her tenacity was rewarded with a questioning frown.

  A kernel of hope took seed in Ling’s breast. ‘I’m Heather Southcott,’ she announced confidently. ‘I met your son at the opening of the Princetown Railway. Perhaps he mentioned me? I had a . . . a little accident, and he took care of me.’ Her words trailed off under the woman’s frozen stare.

  ‘I’m sorry, child,’ Elliott’s mother said at last. ‘I vaguely remember my son going to witness the event, but only because he did not have the courtesy to return in time for dinner. We were entertaining distinguished guests, and I had specifically requested his presence. And Elliott’s always helping people, so I’m afraid you are merely one of many.’

  One of many. The phrase echoed in Ling’s skull. But surely not. If that was so, Elliott would hardly have spent the entire day and evening with her. And it was not every day you rescued someone from beneath the wheels of a steam engine! Elliott himself must remember, even if his mother did not – or would not – recall the event.

  ‘Nevertheless, I’m surprised he did not mention it,’ she continued stubbornly, ignoring the irritation on the woman’s face. ‘And I should be pleased to know how he is progressing in London. I am a school teacher, you see.’ Well, she had to make an impression in some way, didn’t she? ‘So I should be eager to have some first hand knowledge of the capital to relate to my pupils. Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell Elliott that I should be delighted to receive some correspondence from him? Anything addressed to the school at Foggintor will reach me.’

  ‘All right, child.’ Mrs Franfield forced a smile to her frosty lips. ‘I shall be travelling to London next week to ensure my son’s lodgings are satisfactory, and I shall make a point of passing on your message. Now, if you would excuse me . . .’

  ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Franfield! And I’m so sorry to have kept you.’

  Constance Franfield dipped her head as she swept out of the station. She had no intention of speaking to Elliott about the brazen little trollop, but she had had to say something to get rid of her. Persistent monkey! It was bad enough Elliott wanting to become a doctor in the first place. It was only her husband who had managed to persuade her that it was a respectable profession. That, if they agreed to his training in London, he would hopefully remain in the capital and become physician to people of class and influence. She certainly didn’t want him fraternizing with the likes of that hussy who had publicly accosted her at the station!

  Whatever next?

  Nine

  It seemed that Christmas Day was upon them before they knew it, and Ling stepped outside her parents’ cottage on Barney’s arm. It was a beautiful frosty morning, the sun twinkling on the icy crystals that encrusted the gra
ss crunching beneath their feet as they walked the few yards to the little chapel-cum-school. Ling glanced up at Barney and felt the peace settle in her breast as he returned her smile.

  Everyone was cramming into the small building that rang with Yuletide greetings, and then Mr Warren, who was the manager of the quarry but also the chapel preacher, raised his arms to silence the congregation, who swiftly obeyed, giving him their full attention. The service was relatively short, punctuated by voices uplifted in song as carols were rendered with happy gusto, and the sermon was as bright and optimistic as the sunshine outside.

  There was a queue to leave, people pausing to shake Mr Warren’s hand and wishing each other a merry Christmas. When Ling finally emerged into the stingingly cold air, she saw that Seth and Rose Warrington were there, handing an apple and an orange to each child and pressing what Ling assumed to be a coin into every adult’s hand. Ling smiled to herself. It was typical of the lovely Mrs Warrington, and though there might have been those who would have preferred to refuse her charity, her overwhelming charm prevented it. She had not been born to riches and simply wanted to share her present wealth with people less fortunate than herself.

  ‘Ah, Ling! Merry Christmas, my dear! We have something special for you.’ And she handed Ling a small package.

  ‘Why, thank you, Mrs Warrington! And Mr Warrington.’

  ‘I hope you like it,’ he said quietly. ‘Rose chose it especially for you.’

  ‘It’s very good of you both.’

  ‘Well, you deserve it. And it gives my wife such pleasure to help others. We’re off to the powder mills next.’

  Ling nodded appreciatively and then had to move along as the rest of the congregation spilled from the chapel. She couldn’t wait to open her present, which felt suspiciously like a book, and, as soon as they were back inside the cottage, she carefully unwrapped it. An anthology of poetry!