A Dream Rides By

  Ling’s mouth twitched. Yes, she was worried sick about Agnes, but she was so frightened that Elliott might guess at the confused havoc his very presence was wreaking on her.

  ‘So, what caused it?’ she stammered uncertainly. She wanted to know for Agnes’s sake, of course she did. But also, oh dear God, she wanted to keep the conversation sensible, normal, so that Elliott wouldn’t suspect the way her own heart was leaping about in her chest.

  Elliott spread his hands. ‘The heart can become tired over time,’ he explained patiently. ‘Why in some people and not others, we’re not entirely sure. Our diet, perhaps, how active we are, heredity. Maybe one day we’ll know more. But the heart is really a muscle, pumping the blood around our bodies. Sometimes it becomes overworked and needs to take a brief rest. This was just a warning for Mrs Penrith. A low dose of digitalis every day is bound to put it right. She might have to get used to taking life a little easier, mind. Being a widow, she might find that hard, though.’

  Ling straightened her shoulders, grasping the opportunity of a practical discussion that might stop the breath fluttering in her throat. ‘She has an adviser,’ she volunteered. ‘Her husband’s business partner when he was alive. She still owns half the company. Engineering of some sort, I believe.’

  ‘Well, at least she won’t have any financial worries,’ Elliott commented. ‘Unlike many of our patients, poor devils. Most of us only charge them a nominal fee, but we make up for it from those that can afford it. Still seems wrong, though, taking money from people because they’re sick. But as long as I have enough to survive, I’m happy. My mother isn’t, mind. She considers we should charge professional fees to everyone and leave those who can’t afford it to suffer.’

  ‘Well, I think she should be proud of you!’ Ling bristled, wondering at the indignation that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and praying that Elliott hadn’t noticed the vehemence that had trembled in her voice.

  Apparently, he hadn’t, as he gave a wry smile. ‘Oh, she is! When it suits her, that is. “My son, the physician.” But she does nothing but complain that I can’t afford a housekeeper. And if she knew that we doctors give our services free at the cottage hospital, she’d have a blue fit! But that’s how it works, you see. Most of the physicians in the town devote a certain time for free. There’s the matron to be paid, though, and various overheads, of course. But various companies about the town pay in, and there’re other benefactors and church collections and so forth. So the patients themselves are charged very little. It seems to work quite well, and it’s a good deal more pleasant than the workhouse.’

  ‘Oh, I never realized. I’d heard of the cottage hospital, but I didn’t know how it worked.’

  ‘Trouble is, we could really do with expanding. Larger premises. Mind you, being in West Street, it’s mighty convenient for me. Just a few minutes’ walk away. I get enough exercise walking all over the town, running often if it’s an emergency.’

  ‘But you have Ghost. I was so pleased to see you still have her.’

  ‘Yes. My mother wanted to sell her when I went to London, but I managed to persuade her otherwise. She’s such a perfect mount. So calm and unruffled, and yet she can still go like the wind. William, Dr Greenwood, he rents the field behind his house and Ghost shares it with his horse. I was at William’s today, so it was quicker to ride here than to walk.’

  ‘And how is your house coming on?’

  Elliott smiled ruefully. ‘Not as quickly as I’d have wished. I have a decent consulting room and a clean bedroom to sleep in, but the rest of the place is still a shambles. And the garden! It’s like a jungle this weather. I’ve had a go at it, but it grows up again so quickly. But why don’t you come and see for yourself? It would be lovely to have a proper visitor. I don’t hold a surgery on Thursdays, though I can still be called out.’

  His eyes were shining with enthusiasm, his eyebrows arched in a way that Ling found hard to resist. Guilt tugged at her heart, but she turned her back on its gnawing teeth. Surely, it could do no harm?

  ‘Yes, I should like that,’ she said, and she smiled back.

  Twenty-Five

  Harry Spence sauntered towards the centre of Princetown. It was Saturday afternoon and he was on his way to an assignation with the pretty young barmaid from the Plume of Feathers. Last week they had ensconced themselves safely at the back of a straw-filled barn, and what a delight she had been! Her lust had been even more insatiable than his own, and she’d tempted him, touched him, exposed herself to him. Not like the few occasions he had taken Fanny Southcott. He’d had the devil’s own job to persuade her that he loved her – coaxing and flattering her. She’d been like a frightened mouse, lying there petrified, not moving an inch and refusing to remove a single item of clothing, so all he’d seen of her was a glimpse of her thin thighs as he’d lifted her skirt. It had been over in a matter of minutes, no fun at all. He had been well rid of her. Not like . . . well, he couldn’t remember her name. But his mouth salivated at the thought of the pleasures to come.

  It was as he ambled along past the shops in Caunters Row, eagerly anticipating the afternoon’s activities, that he saw her. He stopped in his tracks. For there in front of him stood the said Fanny Southcott, looking totally different. Still beautiful, with that wispy, fairylike quality to her, but with an air of confidence that had never been there before. Her blonde tresses were evidently scooped up in a knot beneath a nearly new, fashionable boater. Her high-necked blouse and the light bolero she wore over it both looked as if they had just come from the dressmaker, as did the serviceable but elegant skirt that fell from her tiny waist. She was leaning forward, cooing over the infant that lay in the perambulator she was pushing. Perambulator! Not the home-made wooden box on wheels that most fathers knocked up in the back shed, but a proper affair with shining coachwork and a folding hood. It must have cost a fortune!

  Harry had never been very bright, but he made up for it in cunning, and he was quick enough when it came to money. He could smell it. Fanny must have had a windfall of some sort to afford new clothes and a perambulator. Where had it come from? Harry didn’t much care. All he knew was that he had never received a penny for risking his own life to save Fanny’s in the swollen waters of the Walkham, and now his payment was due. Even if it meant marrying the girl, it didn’t matter. She might lie like a block of ice in bed, but her purse would make up for it. And there would be nothing to stop him satisfying his desires elsewhere.

  ‘Fanny! What a pleasure to see you.’ He stepped forward, raising his hat politely. ‘How are you?’

  Fanny straightened up and the colour drained from her elfin face.

  ‘My goodness, you’re looking well,’ Harry continued in as friendly a manner as he could muster. ‘Shall we take tea in the tea rooms? I should like so much to treat you. And is this my child?’ He grinned, turning his attention now to Laura, who gurgled happily up at the stranger. ‘What did you have, a boy or a girl?’

  Fanny’s knuckles began to turn white as they gripped the handle of the perambulator. ‘A . . . girl,’ she stuttered, and she looked likely to faint as Harry plucked Laura into his arms and jiggled her up and down.

  ‘Hello, my little love,’ Harry crooned. ‘You’m my daughter, and I’m going to make it up to you. Yes, that’s right.’ He nodded as Laura gave him her gummy smile. ‘I’m your dada!’

  ‘Oh, no, you’re not!’

  He hadn’t seen Ling sweep out of the grocer’s, dropping her basket and moving so swiftly that she had snatched Laura from his grasp before he knew what had happened. Anger shot through his veins and it was all he could do to stop himself attempting to wrest the brat from that bloody harridan’s arms again. But he must contain his fury if he was to stand a chance of wheedling his way back into Fanny’s affections.

  ‘Ling, what a pleasant surprise!’ he purred. ‘I’d just invited your sister to take some refreshment in the tea rooms. Won’t you join us?’

  ‘Not over my
dead body! And you can keep your hands off the baby!’

  ‘Oh, come now! She is my daughter, after all.’

  ‘Oh, no, she isn’t.’ Ling’s voice was cold, like ice, her eyes sparking with rancour as she clutched Laura fiercely to her chest. ‘Fanny’s never named the father, not even to us. It could be anyone.’

  ‘So your sister’s a whore now, is she?’ Harry sneered triumphantly, his patience beginning to fray.

  ‘I’m sure you’re not the only varmint low enough to trick an innocent young girl,’ Ling spat back. ‘But while I have no doubt that you’re the king of such underhand treachery, don’t fool yourself you’re the only such blackguard hereabouts! And there’s no way you or anyone else can prove you’re the father. And what would you want with the responsibility of someone else’s child? Now get out of the way before I call the constable!’

  Wrath suffused into Harry’s face and his hands balled into fists at his sides, shaking as he fought to stop himself punching Ling Mayhew in the face. But he was sly enough to know when the force of the law could be brought against him. And the witch was right in one thing. He didn’t want the by-blow, only the money it could bring with it. He would bide his time, wait for another opportunity to waylay its stupid and gullible mother. A time when her bloody sister wasn’t there to protect her. And he’d find a way to get back at her too!

  He scowled like some demon from hell as he watched them walk away, dressed smartly in Rose Warrington’s cast-offs and pushing the perambulator the kind woman had lent them.

  Ling briskly turned off Tavistock’s Plymouth Road before she changed her mind. She had been to visit Agnes Penrith, who, after two weeks of complete rest, was looking her old self. It was wonderful to see her recovered, and the lively conversation helped to seal Ling’s mind to the decision she would have to make when she arrived back in the town centre.

  But she had already made it, hadn’t she? Otherwise, she wouldn’t have chosen a Thursday. Her heart was thumping nervously, not only with guilt at what she was doing but also with the excitement of seeing Elliott again. Excitement she must conceal, for Elliott must never know what she felt for him, but which seemed to have given her a new reason for living.

  She paused fleetingly by the front gate, which she noted had been repaired. It swung open easily when she pushed it, as if the final barrier to her hesitation had been swept aside. She was visiting a friend, no more than that, she told herself. A friend, who just happened to be of the opposite sex. Taking a deep breath, she stepped up to the front door and rapped loudly with the knocker.

  She waited. Observed with a smile the shining brass plate screwed into the wall. Dr Elliott Franfield, MD. Some children were playing further along the otherwise quiet street. The sunshine warmed her back. And her spirits plummeted as, after all her struggling with her conscience, she realized that no one was in.

  She turned away, disappointed and empty. It was not to be, and she would have to return to her frustrated, disconsolate life on the moor. She had clicked the gate-latch closed behind her and taken several steps along the road when she heard a door open and a male voice called out after her.

  Ling spun on her heel. There was Elliott, his head poking out from the front door, his face pleated with anxiety and his entire body tensely poised. He was dressed in some old corduroy trousers held about his slim waist by a leather belt, and a striped, collarless shirt, open at the neck and with the sleeves rolled up over his strong but slender forearms. His light hair fell waywardly over his forehead. Something tightened in the pit of Ling’s belly.

  ‘Ling!’ His mouth spread into a welcoming smile. ‘I was worried it might be an emergency. I was out doing battle with the back garden and wasn’t sure if I’d heard the front door or not. Oh, it’s good to see you! Do come in. Take a look round and see what I’ve done. I’ll just go through to the back and wash my hands.’

  He left Ling alone in the hallway, and all at once she felt peace and calm settle over her. The walls had been painted a brilliant white, banishing the gloomy atmosphere of her earlier visit. The floor gleamed, and a pair of small, nicely turned chairs stood one on either side of an equally small table, perfect for waiting patients in such a confined passage. The door to the front room was ajar, and Ling couldn’t resist walking inside. Elliott really had transformed it into a professional consulting room. The walls here were a soft, pale green with curtains of a slightly darker hue at the now sparkling windows. On the shining floorboards stood a large, beautifully carved desk and a matching chair, and on the nearside of the desk were two chairs of equal quality, for a patient and their companion. Against the wall behind was a massive bookcase crammed with well-thumbed volumes of, Ling assumed, medical treatises. In one corner was an examination couch with a screen folded back against the wall. The whole effect was finished off with several smart oil-lamps.

  ‘So, what do you think?’

  Ling glanced over her shoulder as Elliott appeared on the threshold, lounging languidly against the door frame.

  ‘I’d say you’ve worked wonders! I love the colour of the walls. And the furniture’s beautiful.’

  ‘Ah, well, having a father who’s built his empire on furniture and suchlike does have its advantages,’ Elliott said wryly. ‘There’s no way I could have afforded such lovely pieces myself.’

  Ling nodded, running her finger along the edge of the desk, and then her eyes focused on the large print at the top of a small pile of pamphlets.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked innocently. ‘The Law of Population? What does that mean?’

  ‘It’s advice on contraception,’ Elliott replied easily from the doorway. ‘It’s really hard sometimes to get information through to the poorer classes, and they’re often the ones who need it most. They find it hard to discuss such matters even with a physician, so I lend them copies of this pamphlet. Those that can read. It’s by Annie Besant. You might have heard of her. A fantastic woman! I met her once in London.’

  Ling suddenly felt her heart fragment at his words. ‘No. I’ve not heard of her,’ she answered feebly, the old, familiar pain raking her throat. ‘Life isn’t always fair, is it?’ she murmured distractedly. ‘There’s those that have so many children, they don’t want any more. And there’s people like me, who desperately want a child and can’t have one.’

  Her voice faded away in a thin trail and she stared down blindly at the desk. She heard Elliott come softly up behind her and she wanted so much to turn round and face him with a bright smile. But it was impossible, and she slowly sank beneath her own misery.

  ‘I hate seeing you so unhappy, Ling.’ Elliott’s voice was low, tender with compassion, so close she could feel his breath fanning the back of her neck below her upswept hair. ‘I just wish, as a physician, there was something I could do to help. And as a friend.’

  Oh, dear God! She wanted to weep, to have Elliott take her in his arms so that she could sob against his shoulder, release her heart from the fetters that bound it. Let her tears wash clean the muddied depths of her soul. But she mustn’t. And so she turned, a wistful smile curving the corners of her mouth.

  ‘You know, I’m ashamed of it, but sometimes I feel glad I’ve not had Barney’s child,’ she found herself admitting in a hoarse whisper. ‘It’s a poor marriage if we need a child to bring us back together. I mean, I’m still fond of Barney, but . . . I sometimes wonder if I ever really loved him. We were only childhood sweethearts, and if it hadn’t been for . . . If it weren’t for that one, stupid mistake, I’m not sure we’d ever have been married. My parents would both have been alive still and . . . and I wouldn’t have been trapped. It’s my own fault, I know, but it’s hardly a good reason to bring a child into the world.’

  She had been staring sightlessly at the open neck of Elliott’s shirt, unaware of the tears that meandered down her cheeks like silver pearls until Elliott delicately thumbed them away. She looked up then and her heart tripped. Those intense, green-blue eyes seemed to delve deep into her s
oul, holding, mesmerizing her, his handsome, sensitive lips so close . . . and it just felt so right, so meant, when they brushed almost imperceptibly against hers. It was like some sweet unguent soothing her wounded soul, and her heart overflowed with peace.

  He pulled away, leaving her breathless. Light-headed. ‘Oh, may God forgive me,’ he mumbled. And as Ling opened her eyes, he staggered backwards, his hand over his mouth and the blood drained from his face. ‘Oh, God, Ling, I’m so sorry.’

  They stared at each other across the few feet that separated them, Elliott’s eyes wide with shock at his own actions while Ling’s lips slowly dragged apart.

  ‘Don’t be,’ she heard herself say, and she watched the horror on his face slacken as his forehead moved into a questioning frown. She stepped forward, her head bold and erect and her heart flying. Her eager mouth sought his again, tingling as they touched, feather-like at first, enticing, drawing her on, entangling her in some sublime force she had never known with Barney, and she clung to him hungrily, knowing that this was passion far beyond anything she had experienced before.

  Had Elliott taken her upstairs there and then, she would have been willing, but he suddenly drew back, running his hand through his hair and his expression confused and appalled.

  ‘This is wrong, Ling,’ he muttered, and he shot out of the room, leaving her swooning where she stood. Elliott had kissed her, and, if it was the only moment of true passion in her entire life, she would take the memory of it to her grave.

  She followed him on unsteady legs into the back room where she found him spooning tea-leaves into a pot. ‘We . . . we let ourselves get carried away,’ he stammered, and Ling could see his hands were shaking.