A Dream Rides By

by Tania Anne Crosse

  ‘You can say that again,’ Elliott murmured. ‘I’ve just come from the prison. They’ve no MO at present, so I’ve been standing in. I’ve just had to oversee a flogging, and, I tell you, it’s the most barbaric thing I’ve ever witnessed. I know it isn’t administered lightly nowadays, but surely they can devise less sadistic methods of punishment?’

  Ling shuddered at the sickening image. This was 1891, and shouldn’t there be an answer to so many injustices? ‘I don’t suppose the world will ever be perfect,’ she replied sombrely, and no one knew the truth of it more than she did.

  Elliott nodded in agreement and then they fell into an easy silence. The blizzard continued to rampage wildly across the moor, gnashing its teeth at the ensnared little train as if it would swallow it whole, piling up the snow so that the engine and its one carriage were obliterated in the ivory blanket that smothered the landscape. Those inside shared the few provisions they had, a few biscuits and a bar of chocolate. They grew tired as the night wore on, but hunger and thirst gnawed at every stomach and cold kept them from sleep.

  Midnight came and went. Used to harsh conditions, the sergeant and Private Hancock finally succumbed to exhaustion, the older man snoring rhythmically and his wife, finding comfort with her head on his familiar chest, at last dozing fitfully. Ling closed her eyes, her head tipped back against the seat as she tried to block the howling gale from her ears. Would Barney be worried about her, or would he trust her to take care of Fanny and herself? And what had happened to the paper with Elliott’s address on it? Her last thought as she shivered into a broken and disturbed slumber was of Elliott, now silent and still beside her.

  Twenty

  Ling slipped reluctantly into wakefulness. The hours of night had been passed in a somnolent haze, always conscious of the cold and the screaming wind. Ling realized with a jolt that her head was resting on Elliott’s shoulder. She went to pull away, but then it dawned on her that she would never again have the excuse to lean against him. She would savour the moment for ever, the one gleam of happiness in the dark sterility her life had become.

  She dared to open one eye a fraction and in the faint glimmer from the lamp she studied Elliott’s firm jawline, shadowed with overnight stubble, and she could just see the long, brown lashes of one eye fanned out on his high cheekbone. His looks were not as striking as Barney’s had once been, but he was nonetheless a handsome man whose face portrayed a reserved inner strength. The kind of face one would trust implicitly.

  Oh, why was she instinctively comparing him with Barney? She loved Barney. Didn’t she? He was good and dependable, had never failed in his duty to care for her mother before she died and, of course, for Fanny. There was tension between them at times, but only because of the demands old Mr Mayhew unfairly put upon his son and, Ling’s heart admitted with a wrenching sigh, her inability to produce a child. Would that blessing have clinched their contentment? Perhaps. But Ling knew deep inside that she had always needed more to her life than being a quarryman’s wife. It was something her father had recognized, not a desire for wealth or an easy life, for she was not afraid of hard work and making do, but a desire for the riches of the mind. The happiest time of her life had been when she worked for the Warringtons because she had learnt so much.

  And then there had been Toby Bradley. He was engaged to Chantal Pencarrow now. Ling had never met the Pencarrow family over at their farm near Peter Tavy, and, because of his naval training, Toby was rarely able to accompany his parents on their visits to Fencott Place. But, whenever Ling did see him, they were like old friends because they communicated on a different plane. The same plane that had attracted her to Elliott all those years ago and that had instantly attracted her to him again. And that was the difference. With Barney, life had been fun, easy-going, relaxed and steady. But the fun was long gone, and she was pledged to Barney for life.

  Elliott began to stir, and Ling quickly drew away. She felt Elliott slowly stretching beside her, heard him stifle a yawn. He turned to her, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and seeing her awake, smiled softly at her. And her heart turned over again.

  ‘Did you get some sleep?’ he whispered.

  She nodded. ‘I wonder what the time is. It’s still dark.’

  Elliott took out his pocket watch and tilted it into the dim glow of the still burning lantern. ‘Half past five. And hark at that wind still,’ he added, raising his eyes to the roof of the train. ‘It hasn’t let up all night.’

  Ling glanced about the compartment. There were dark patches on the floor where some of the snow had melted, while in other places little white drifts had been heaped up inches deep.

  Ling shivered. ‘I’m so cold,’ she muttered under her breath, ‘and stiff as a poker.’

  Elliott breathed in through his teeth. ‘Yes, so am I. When everyone wakes up, we must do some exercises to get the blood circulating. That’ll warm us up, and once it’s light we’ll see what can be done to get us out of here. But look,’ he invited her a little hesitantly, raising his arm, ‘if you don’t think it inappropriate, snuggle up to me. It’ll help keep us both warm.’

  Ling’s eyebrows arched. No, she didn’t think it inappropriate at all! She was so cold, she was beyond caring, and it wasn’t just body heat that began to ease the cramps of cold as she leaned against Elliott and he put his arm around her, drawing her close. A beacon of warmth began to glow inside her. And for that short while before their companions started to stir, she was going to cast her conscience aside and relish every moment.

  ‘I’m worried about Fanny,’ she said a little later, voicing her thoughts. ‘Will she be all right?’

  ‘She needs some fluids. We all do, but Fanny especially. Let’s keep our fingers crossed she doesn’t go into labour. Has she seen a physician at all?’

  ‘No.’ Shame made Ling drop her voice even lower. ‘We don’t have a lot of money. I’m the schoolmistress now—’

  ‘Really? Well, congratulations. You deserve it.’

  ‘Only because Mr Norrish left. They don’t really like married women as teachers, but they couldn’t get anyone else. Because I’m a woman, they pay me less, and there hasn’t been so much work at the quarry lately. We manage, but there’s little to spare. And the father of Fanny’s child has abandoned her. We don’t even know who it is, though we have our suspicions. And Fanny herself won’t say.’

  ‘Poor girl might not even realize how she became pregnant. Plenty don’t.’

  ‘Oh, I think she does. Strung her along until he got what he wanted and then dropped her like a stone.’

  ‘Typical.’ Elliott gave a bitter shake of his head. ‘I’ve seen it often enough. I’m the MO at the workhouse as well, you see. The post usually falls to the most junior physician in the town. All good experience, mind. So I could well end up delivering Fanny’s baby anyway.’

  ‘She’ll be in good hands then.’

  Ling felt herself blush, and she was glad Elliott couldn’t see her face. But she had obviously embarrassed him as she heard him mumble, ‘I’d like to think so.’ An awkward silence followed, and Ling was thankful when he spoke again. ‘And what do your parents think of all this?’

  Ling’s heart sank like a lead weight. ‘They both died some years ago,’ she told him.

  ‘Good Lord, I’m sorry.’ Elliott’s sympathetic tone was genuine. ‘But they were still young.’

  ‘My father . . . had an accident—’ her voice faltered at the dreadful memory – ‘and my mother was so distraught that she lost her mind. She kept wandering, and one night we lost her. She died of exposure out on the moor. A little like us.’

  ‘Oh, I somehow think we’ll survive.’

  Elliott’s voice was warm and encouraging, but just then the other passengers started to wake up, with groans of discomfort, and Ling swiftly pulled away. Beside her, Fanny wriggled and fidgeted, heaving herself forward.

  ‘I need the privy summat desprit,’ she whispered in Ling’s ear.

  Ling bit her lip.
So did she, and she knew from her own experience of pregnancy that Fanny must be bursting. But Elliott must have heard as he was already opening the carriage door. Driving snow whipped into the compartment again, and Elliott disappeared into the darkness. He was back in a matter of minutes, though, and knocking on the door.

  ‘Blowing a blizzard still, I’m afraid,’ he called as Sergeant Watts opened the door and took possession of the bucket Elliott had purloined from the fireman. ‘Gentlemen, we must give the ladies some privacy. Be careful as you get down.’

  The female companions were left alone to complete their ablutions, Mrs Huggins taking the lead by announcing she didn’t have anything different from any other woman and that if Fanny didn’t use the bucket first, she would. Mrs Watts took more persuading, but at last they were all more comfortable. It was just as well, for the moment they had finished, and the men clambered back inside, the wick in the lamp dried out and the flame flickered and died.

  ‘Seven o’clock,’ Elliott spoke into the shadows. ‘As soon as it’s light enough, the fireman and guard are setting out for Dousland Station, but the blizzard’s still raging. Do any of you gentlemen want to risk going with them? It certainly isn’t wise for any of the ladies to go, and I think I’d better stay. In case I’m needed,’ he added under his breath.

  Everyone seemed to agree that it was more sensible to stay put. Outside, the wind still pounded the falling snow against the windows, and visibility was reduced to a matter of yards, even when full daylight eventually came. And when the engine driver later announced that he, too, was to strike out for Dousland, the trapped passengers felt their end was nigh.

  ‘Now don’t worry, my dear,’ Sergeant Watts declared, turning to his wife whose face was grey with fear. ‘I’ve faced worse than this. One time out in Zululand . . .’

  The story kept them diverted for half an hour since the sergeant was an imaginative narrator, and Ling was quite sorry when it seemed there was no more to tell and the continuing gale was once more all that assailed their ears. Every so often, Elliott insisted his fellow travellers carry out some exercises, but space was severely restricted and hearts became heavier as time dragged on. Minutes ticked by, and hours seemed like days, while outside the snow continued to drive across the already obliterated landscape in blinding sheets. Stomachs were painful with hunger and, more seriously, nine throats were parched.

  In a courageous effort, Elliott braved the weather to gather a fistful of fresh snow. It refused to melt, and when it finally did there was but a spoonful for Fanny to suck from his palm – since her need was the most urgent – and Elliott’s hand was blue and rigid with cold. That stroke of ingenuity having failed, they all tried to ignore their thirst, so when, around three o’clock in the afternoon, a commotion outside led them to haul two intrepid railway packers from Dousland Station up into the cramped compartment, there was jubilation on every elated face.

  ‘The guard and fireman told us you was stranded yere,’ one of the rescuers declared cheerfully. ‘Mercy they got through! Took us two and an ’alf hour to get yere, an’ we losed our way several times.’

  ‘Cas’n see the railway track,’ the other fellow chipped in. ‘Cas’n hardly see the train, neither! ’Tis just like a heap o’ white. Got some vi’tals for you, mind. Tidd’n much, but ’twill keep you going.’

  ‘Oh, good man!’ Elliott led a chorus of gratitude. ‘Plenty to drink, I hope. It’s what we need most.’

  ‘Bottle o’ watered-down brandy were all we could find. And the missis made you up some bread and butter and some cake we had left over.’

  Ling caught the misgiving that Elliott tried to disguise, for the men had done their best, and the sergeant took charge, dividing the rations equally.

  ‘Here, Fanny.’

  Ling passed her small piece of cake to her sister at the precise instant Elliott did the same. She met his gaze and saw that reserved smile play on his lips. But in his eyes she read something deep and affectionate, and she reared away from it.

  ‘Well, us two must be getting back,’ one of the packers announced, ‘if us wants to arrive afore ’tis dark. Any o’ you wants to come along? ’Twill be tough going, mind.’

  Samuel Palk and the private exchanged glances, but the meagre rations had done little to revive their strength, and they all resigned themselves to another night stranded on the moor.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know if I can do this!’ Mrs Watts whimpered.

  ‘Of course you can, dearie,’ Mrs Huggins insisted. ‘See, those good men retrieved the guard’s lamp for us, and us’ve still got that brandy. And I’s sure someone’ll have us out of here come the morning.’

  Ling saw the faint lift of Elliott’s eyebrows. He was worried, she could tell, and mainly about Fanny, since he kept studying her keenly. Fanny herself, though, seemed quite relaxed. She appeared to have the sole attention of the lively Mrs Huggins, and, though she must be as cold and uncomfortable as the rest of them, she was at least being admirably entertained.

  Darkness closed in once more. Ling shuddered as she huddled between Fanny and Elliott, praying that the baby wouldn’t decide to put in an appearance during the night. She had complete faith in Elliott, but the crowded conditions in the carriage were hardly suitable for childbirth. Ling knew this from experience and, for the umpteenth time in her life, bit down hard on her lip. If only her own child had survived . . . Then, perhaps, as she looked at Elliott and experienced a painful longing she had no right to feel, her soul might not have been ensnared in such a tangled web.

  By eight o’clock, the last drop of the heavily watered-down brandy trickled down Fanny’s throat, and the second night marooned on the train began. They huddled together for warmth: hungry, thirsty, tired and aching. It was a nightmare. And yet Ling was happy to endure it. For she could spend it, guilt free, with Elliott, and let the future take its course.

  Twenty-One

  ‘Good Lord, it’s stopped!’

  Ling felt Elliott sit up abruptly, drawing her from the exhausted sleep she had finally succumbed to in the early hours. After the ceaseless scream of the blizzard had rampaged about the train for thirty-six hours, the silence rang in their ears. Sunlight was already gleaming through the encrusted windows, melting the snowflakes so that they ran down the panes in tiny rivulets. Elliott leaned across and, rubbing the condensation from the inside of the glass, peered through to the outside world.

  As their fellow inmates came to life, a whoop of joy echoed from every pair of lips. The horrors of the two nights trapped on the train were forgotten, and Elliott heaved the door open against the snowdrift that had piled up against it. The driven snow was light and powdery, falling away easily, and, pushing the door wide, they stared out over an unfamiliar, ivory landscape that bore no resemblance to the moor they knew. The very shape of the rolling hills and high, craggy tors was unrecognizable, totally obliterated by the thick, pearly blanket, deep everywhere but heaped up in tall mounds in the oddest places, and hewn by the wind into strange and wondrous sculptures.

  The instinct to escape the confines of the compartment was overwhelming, and Elliott jumped down, only to be swallowed in snow up to his middle. He turned back to the train, laughing boyishly. He held up his arms, inviting Ling to climb down beside him, and a thrill of excitement darted through her as he held her around the waist. She stood at his side drawing in the fresh, early morning air, which was sharp with the tang of frost. Their own breath wreathed about them in a cloud, and, for a moment, they were transfixed with wonderment. Despite the rigours of the previous two nights, their hearts were lifted by the beauty the blizzard had left in its wake. The rising, opalescent sun was bathing the virgin snow in gilded ripples, glittering with twinkling spangles of light as if millions of tiny diamonds had been scattered across a swathe of white velvet.

  Voices behind them broke the magical spell as their male companions clambered down to join them, while Fanny and the two women looked out from the open doorway. The sight was so awe-i
nspiring that everyone was dumbstruck. Even those who, after a few moments of stunned contemplation, attempted to flounder through the fluffy, white mounds did so without uttering a sound. Although dawn had only just broken, the sun was dazzling on the snow, and the passengers, overjoyed at their release, blinked and squinted into the world of freedom.

  It was Fanny who spotted him first. Bone-weary as her companions, she could not find the words to cry out. Instead, she noiselessly raised her hand and pointed, and it was only Ling who saw her as she turned back to grin at her sister.

  ‘Fanny?’ she frowned, pushing her way back through the snow. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Man,’ was all Fanny could muster.

  A dart of horror shuddered through Ling’s body. Could it be the engine driver, for no one knew what had become of him? Had the poor man been so disorientated by the blizzard that he had walked round in circles and perished alone, out on the moor yet within yards of the train? Ling made her way back to Elliott, her heart pounding, and whispered in his ear. His concerned eyes met hers and then, without a word to the others, who were now finding their tongues and congratulating themselves on their survival, he began to force a path through the snow in the direction Ling had indicated.

  Ling watched him go, a horrible sinking feeling in her belly. And then she heard Elliott’s voice raised in delight and the amazed calls of another human being. Ling stumbled forward in the channel Elliott had created through the drift, astonished then as the level of snow suddenly dropped to no more than a few inches. And there, a mere two hundred yards from the train, a farmer was busy extricating some sheep from another deep drift and had now stopped to greet with pure astonishment the stranger approaching him across the white wilderness. Rescue was at hand! And Ling’s fears that Fanny might go into labour on the train dissolved as Elliott and the farmer came towards her.

  ‘Farmer Hilson,’ he introduced himself. ‘Proper mazed, I be! Had no idea you was yere. Cas’n see the train under that there heap o’ snow, and us only yards away.’