A Dream Rides By

by Tania Anne Crosse

  Bloody hell, he would kill Ling Mayhew if he thought he could get away with it!

  Thirty

  Ling closed the cottage door with a shiver and went to attend to the range. It was late March and a raw, penetrating fog had sat on top of Dartmoor in a damp, icy blanket. Barney would be frozen by the time work was over for the day, his clothes soaking up the mantle of enshrouding vapour for hours on end. Ling stoked up the range to have it radiating with heat and then sat down to enjoy a hot cup of tea.

  This was the time she missed Fanny most and the silence weighed on her like an oppressive cloud. But that seemed to be her life nowadays. Pointless. Her hope had tired. Died. She tried to be a good wife to Barney, reminding herself over and over again of his worth and the affection she still felt for him. But inside she was empty, the cruel chains of sterility firmly locked about her.

  She sighed, not even knowing that she had. She hardly ever thought about Elliott now, her mind wanting to bury the reason for her despair. And now her eyes scanned the humble dwelling, seeking some diversion from her depression.

  Oh, what was that? She had come in so hastily to escape the bitter weather that she hadn’t noticed the envelope on the mat. The postman must have been this afternoon, picking his way carefully through the veil of mist on his trusty steed. Who could the letter be from? Her curiosity aroused, Ling picked it up and inspected the postmark. London. Her heart jolted. Could it be that Elliott had returned to the capital and had dared to write to her? She didn’t recognize the handwriting, but then she wouldn’t as she had never seen anything Elliott had written. She felt herself break out in a sweat, her hands shaking as she tore open the envelope.

  My dearest Ling,

  It is positively ages since I have seen you. Training college and gaining my experience at sea keeps me so busy that I rarely have the chance to see my family except on the very odd occasion my father sails with me. I usually sail with Uncle Misha as Father is mostly kept occupied directing his business from the London offices, or from Herefordshire. You can understand that he and Mother like to spend most of their time together, but Father still loves the sea. I know it is difficult for the wife of a seafaring man, but once I have my master’s ticket Chantal and I will set up home in Plymouth as Uncle Misha and Aunt Sarah did, so that I shall be able to come home to her regularly.

  My darling Chantal is, of course, the reason for this letter. As you know, we are to be married at the end of April, and I should be honoured if you and your husband would come to the wedding. Uncle Richard will be sending you an official invitation soon, but I wanted to write to you first. Well, Richard and Beth are not my real uncle and aunt, just long-standing friends of my parents, as you know. And now they are to be my parents-in-law and they have told me to address them without the ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’, but it seems really strange!

  The wedding will be at St Peter’s in Peter Tavy, and the breakfast will be at the farmhouse, that is, Rosebank Hall. I have written to Aunt Rose to ask if you can travel in the carriage with them. I really hope you will come as I value your friendship greatly. Please, do say you will come! You can write to me at my parents’ address at the top of this letter and they will pass it on.

  I await your reply with great anticipation.

  Your good friend,

  Toby Bradley

  Ling’s mouth gradually curved into a contented smile as she read the letter. Oh, this was just what she needed to cheer her up! Another wedding! And one that would not be marred by some rude interruption! Oh, she could have murdered Harry Spence, although the incident had soon been forgotten since everyone knew what a blackguard he was. Toby’s marriage to Chantal Pencarrow would be a much grander affair, of course, although Ling gathered that the Pencarrows were not nearly as well off as Rose and Seth. Ling had never met them as they did not visit Fencott Place, Richard Pencarrow having livestock to attend daily. But Rose and Seth had always spoken of them with the deepest respect and affection, and Ling looked forward to meeting them.

  The more she thought about it, the more excited she became. She realized now that her spirits had been so low that she’d shunned visiting Fencott Place, unable to find the energy for the long walk. It had been a mistake, digging her own trough of despair deeper and deeper. And now, suddenly, she couldn’t wait for Saturday when she could visit Rose and Seth.

  Would Barney accept the invitation to the wedding? She hoped so. Perhaps a day in more stimulating company would inspire Barney to greater thoughts and strengthen their relationship in the way their long-dashed hopes of a child had failed to do. But if Barney would not attend the marriage of Toby Bradley to Chantal Pencarrow, Ling was determined to go alone.

  In the event, Barney was happy to accept the invitation. It would be an entertaining day with free food and drink, and Barney obviously felt well able to conduct himself in the company of, it had to be said, a class above their own. Ling was proud of him as he donned his Sunday best suit, rarely worn now and somewhat tight around the girth, but neatly pressed and with a new shirt Ling had made especially for the occasion.

  Ling herself was dressed in a gown of peacock blue, borrowed from Rose and hastily let down at the hem. It was the most sophisticated attire she had ever worn, and it made her feel special. Even Barney grinned at her and offered her his arm in the manner of a gentleman.

  ‘You looks like proper gentry, m’lady,’ he teased, his shining eyes uplifting Ling’s heart. Perhaps there was hope for them yet. But what a ridiculous thought! Their marriage was stronger than most. She had never told Barney how she felt. Not that her heart lay elsewhere, of course, for that was a secret she was trying to hide even from herself. But that she felt stifled. Perhaps they could make use of the Sunday train service for summer outings in future? Nature might have denied them a child, but there was no reason why they should not enrich their lives in other ways. She would broach the subject tomorrow, she decided as they walked arm in arm to the main Princetown to Tavistock road where the Warringtons’ carriage was to meet them. She was sure Barney would agree to her plans for a weekly summer outing, but, just in case he objected, she didn’t want to spoil the day by starting off on the wrong foot.

  The weather had dawned bright and fine, though, it still being April, the air was chilly and ribbons of white mist were strung out below them in the Tavy valley. The sun, though, soon burned off the mist, promising a beautiful spring day. The journey was a chaotic one, with Rose chatting merrily while attempting to keep her three small children clean – at least until they reached the church! And Seth, who could converse easily with anyone, was talking quietly with Barney about the trade in granite, which was being considerably curtailed by the extensive use of concrete. Ling flashed a smile across at her husband and he answered with that old jaunty grin she rarely saw nowadays.

  A candle of anticipation burned in Ling’s breast as the carriage jostled and bumped through the village of Peter Tavy. Today was going to be so special, and not just for the bride and groom. It would be a new start for her and Barney, Ling decided determinedly. She would lock her secret past with Elliott in a strongbox and throw away the key. Unless she wanted to ruin the rest of her life, she would have to!

  The large, grassy square in front of the church was a disordered jumble of horse-drawn vehicles and milling crowds. Seth opened the carriage door and jumped down to lift out his son and two little daughters and to assist Rose in a most gentlemanly manner. Ling wasn’t the only one to notice Seth’s courteous gesture. Barney smartly climbed down ahead of her and then turned back to take her hand, his eyes twinkling. Ling accepted his help with a pert smile, the noisy babble of the amassed happy voices in the square humming in her ears as she emerged from the carriage.

  ‘Ling! And you must be Barney. How very pleased I am to meet you!’

  ‘Toby! Oh, congratulations!’

  The bridegroom, flushed with excitement, had sought Ling out in the muddled embroilment of people and horses, carriages and traps, making her feel s
pecial and wanted. He kissed her on the cheek and then shook Barney’s hand heartily as if he had known him for years.

  ‘It’s good to see you both!’ Toby was exclaiming. ‘Thank you so much for coming. I’ve heard so much about you, Barney. But please excuse me . . .’

  They moved on, and Ling took a satisfied breath, her face split in a wide, merry grin as Barney lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

  ‘They all seems very friendly like,’ he said, nodding appreciatively. ‘I have to say I doesn’t feel out of things at all.’

  ‘I told you you wouldn’t. And look at all these people. I should think half the village must be here!’

  Indeed, the square was seething with people dressed in working-class clothes weaving easily among the clearly wealthier guests, but Rose had often mentioned that the Pencarrows were well respected within the village and surrounding area, and that Beth Pencarrow was a skilled herbalist with many a local family under her care.

  ‘Ling! How good to see you again. And Mr Mayhew, I assume. How nice to meet you, sir.’

  It was Toby’s father, Adam Bradley, who had spoken as he’d briefly shaken Barney’s hand. The captain was as tall, distinguished and immaculate as ever, his smile just as warm, and Ling considered wistfully that, unlike her own father when she had announced that she and Barney were to wed, Adam was delighted with Toby’s choice of spouse.

  The church was packed, and Ling was relieved that a pew had been reserved for them to share with the Warringtons. At the front sat Toby with his half brother, James, who at only sixteen was acting as best man. Ling smiled to herself as she remembered the first time she had seen James – as a young boy doggedly following in the wake of his elder sister – in those early days when she was living at Fencott Place. Ah . . . She clenched her teeth. Today she was putting all that behind her. Today she was beginning a new life, at last accepting her place beside her husband.

  She glanced down at Hal Warrington at her other side. At seven years old and in a smart sailor suit, he was gravely tutting at his younger sisters, who were whispering conspiratorially, dark heads pressed together. Amusement touched Ling’s lips and she let her gaze wander about the old church. On the bride’s side, every pew was taken, mostly by villagers. At the front sat a petite woman who must be Beth Pencarrow, with her sons of about ten and twelve years old beside her, and Ling recalled that Chantal’s half sisters were to be bridesmaids together with Toby’s sister Charlotte. Ling could only see Beth Pencarrow from behind, but she was amazingly slender for someone who had brought four children into the world. But then a farmer’s wife would lead a busy, active life, and there would be no time to sit around growing fat!

  The gentle medley from the organ flowed into the bellowing introductory chords of the wedding march. The congregation rose to its feet, and all whispered conversation ceased. Ling was on the opposite end of the pew from the aisle, but, being tall, she managed to catch a glimpse of the bride as she floated on her father’s arm past the rows of well-wishers and guests. Chantal Pencarrow was beautiful, with a halo of jet-black, bouncing curls. It was no wonder that Toby was so deeply in love with her. She was captivating.

  Her father was just as striking. Tall, broad-shouldered but slender of waist, he had the kind of face that would have smouldered with brooding good looks in earlier years, but he was still an incredibly handsome man, his shock of dark, wavy hair barely threaded with silver at the temples. He held himself tall and proud, and, when they reached the pew behind the Warringtons’, Ling saw him dip his head to whisper something in his daughter’s ear before moving on.

  But there Ling’s gaze remained as her heart came to a standstill. For there, across the aisle on the bride’s side of the church, was Elliott. Sharing a pew with the elderly William Greenwood, who had examined her the previous year, a considerably older-looking gentleman and another man of about fifty, all wearing the frock coats and stiff, winged collars of the professional classes.

  Elliott didn’t appear to have seen her and she swiftly turned back, her neck rigid as she locked her eyes blindly on the altar. She scarcely heard the minister’s initial address as the tones of the organ faded away and was saved from her buckling legs as he invited the congregation to be seated.

  Elliott! What was he doing here when she had so agonizingly driven him from her heart? For several minutes she simply could not think straight as her entire being fragmented into tortured splinters and she had to fight to piece them together again. Elliott was seated on the bride’s side of the church. But why? Seeing him again had instantly relit her passionate love for him like a flash of lightning. Without him, it was as if she had lost her true self, and though she had striven to live without him, she knew she was merely floundering in the mud.

  But, dear Lord, what if Barney recognized him during the reception? What if anything was said that connected her and Elliott? She had deliberately never told Barney that Elliott was the physician on the train who had delivered Laura, and, to her knowledge, Fanny had never mentioned it either. At least, Barney had never made any comment. But if it came out now, wouldn’t it look suspicious?

  She hardly heard a word of the service. She sat, stood, sang the hymns and knelt, moving mechanically. But while the rest of the congregation prayed for the newly-weds, Ling prayed for her own deliverance. After the service, there was the hubbub of merry voices and laughter of so many acquaintances, and eventually the bride and groom climbed into the hired open coach and were cheered as the gleaming horses spirited them away to the reception at the Pencarrow family home.

  Rosebank Hall stood on the rising edge of the moor. Ling scarcely noticed the carriage jostling her this way and that as it bumped along the rutted track to the farmhouse. She took in the unexpectedly elegant building at a glance. All she could think about was Elliott, and she was grateful for Rose’s ebullient enthusiasm as she chatted about the beautiful service and attempted to keep her children in order.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness for that!’ Rose declared as they alighted from the carriage and her offspring scampered off to the house and garden they knew so well. ‘They can let off steam now.’

  ‘They was so good as gold, I thought,’ Barney chimed in with a smile.

  ‘Yes, but it wouldn’t have lasted much longer!’ Seth chuckled.

  Ling responded with a faint smile as she walked, on Barney’s arm, across the tended lawn in front of the house. Guests were milling on the grass, sherry glasses in one hand while they greeted each other yet again with the other. Ling and Barney were introduced to the beautiful bride, who spoke to them with the merest hint of a French accent. Ling hoped her replies appeared respectful and coherent, for her heart was racing as she tried to hide herself from Elliott, whom she could see on the far side of the garden.

  He evidently didn’t spot her until they were all ushered into the dining room, which was laid for the formal wedding breakfast. Ling knew she could avoid Elliott no longer and braced herself.

  They were sat almost opposite each other. She saw Elliott start the instant he clapped eyes on her, and the shock and then the hurt registered on his drawn face. He looked tired. Had he been pining as she had been, burying himself in his work? Except that Ling had clawed her way out of the pit. Or, at least, she had thought she had. Until today.

  Their eyes met, locked, their souls intertwining across the width of the table that separated them. An uncomfortable sweat broke out down Ling’s back, the fear of discovery trapping the breath in her throat, while at the same time she became oblivious to everything but her need for this man. She saw the colour slowly return to his cheeks, and he swallowed before he addressed her.

  ‘My goodness, it’s Ling, isn’t it?’ His voice was calm, professional, instantly recovered. ‘Do you remember me?’

  Ling thought her heart must have stopped beating. Elliott had chosen his words well, leaving the conversation open for both her and anyone listening to interpret as they wished. Ling knew she must reply, but her mind had turned to a comp
lete blank as she fought to remain in control.

  Unwittingly, it was Barney who came to her rescue. ‘Yes, I remembers you.’ His words were slow, deliberate and distinctly contemptuous, and when Ling glanced sideways at him she saw that his face was stiff. So, after all this time, Barney still held a grudge against the stranger who had surpassed his own frozen courage and saved her from the crushing wheels of the engine. God alone knew what Barney would have done if he had known that throughout the previous summer . . .

  ‘Elliott Franfield, yes, of course!’ The exclamation tumbled out of her mouth. She was desperate to throw Barney off the scent. ‘How nice to see you,’ she went on politely. ‘And this is my husband, Barney.’

  ‘Barney.’ Elliott smiled and held out his hand. Barney glanced at it across the table, hard lines about his mouth, but he obviously felt obliged to shake it briefly. Ling inwardly cringed. The hands of her husband and her lover.

  ‘Wasn’t it a lovely service?’ Ling found herself saying as she searched for a way out of this appalling situation. ‘And may I ask how you come to be here?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve come to know the Pencarrows well over the past few months,’ Elliott explained with a casual lift of his eyebrows. ‘Dr Greenwood has worked with Beth Pencarrow for years. You know she’s a herbalist and the local midwife? Well, now that Dr Greenwood is partly retired, I’ve taken over all the outlying villages he covers, so here I am. And how about you?’

  ‘I know the Bradleys from when I worked for their friends, Mr and Mrs Warrington,’ Ling explained. ‘Through them, Toby and I became good friends. So, who are the other gentlemen who were with you in the church?’ she asked, endeavouring to keep the conversation away from themselves.

  ‘Doctor Greenwood, Doctor Ratcliffe and the elderly gent is John Seaton. Eighty next year, he’d be proud to tell you himself, and still going strong. Another retired physician, I’m afraid.’ Elliott laughed softly. ‘Used to tend the Bradleys.’