A Dream Rides By (13 page)

‘I shall miss you, mind,’ Rose was saying.

Ling averted her eyes. Not as much as she would miss
Rose
– to say nothing of the dreams that had once filled her head.

Ling broke the news to Barney in a shamefaced rush when she met him after the morning shift. It was a cold, damp, miserable day, and seeing Ling unexpectedly waiting for him had gladdened his heart. But now he all but staggered under the shock. Anyone observing them would have seen them talking earnestly and then Barney crushing Ling to him, lifting her chin to kiss her lightly on the lips. They exchanged a few more words and she shook her head. The few yards to the cottages were quickly covered. Ling hesitated before marching decisively towards her parents’ home, while Barney turned for his own humble abode.

‘Ling!’ Fanny squeaked with glee at seeing her sister.

‘Us wasn’t expecting you today, cheel! Come and sit down and warm yersel arter that long walk. You must be frozed!’

Ling sat down on the settle next to the range, gratefully holding her hands out to the welcome heat. But it wasn’t just the bitter weather that was making her shiver.

‘Father’ll be back in a minute,’ Mary told her as she added a place to the dinner table. ‘’Tis a nice hot stew and dumplings. Lucky there’s plenty in the pot.’

‘Thank you, Mother,’ Ling murmured absently, biting her lip. For how was she going to tell them?

‘Good day, sweetheart! I saw you at the quarry just now, talking to Barney. Couldn’t wait for your old father, eh?’ Arthur teased as he strode in with a jocular grin. Ling bowed her head as he dropped a kiss on her forehead, and Arthur frowned. ‘There’s nort wrong, is there, cheel?’

Sweat stung down Ling’s spine. Would her parents, loving as they were but staunch Methodists, be as understanding as the Warringtons had been? A savage remorse tore her apart, but at least she and Barney would be happily married before the child was born. There was only one way to do this. She drew herself to her full height, shoulders squared and her chin lifted. ‘I’m going to have Barney’s child,’ she announced bravely. ‘We’re to be married within the month, or just as soon as the banns can be read. I assume you’ll give your consent, Father?’

She was sure the cottage had never been so silent. She saw her mother’s hand cover her mouth, while her father blinked at her, a slow swoop and lift of his eyelids. It was Fanny who sidled forward, suddenly shy of this big sister who was the idol of her young life.

‘You’m going to have a babby?’ she asked curiously, since how these things happened was a mystery to her. ‘Can I help look arter it?’

The rapture on Fanny’s angelic face melted the ice in Ling’s breast, and she caught the smile that crept on to her mother’s face.

‘Well, at least you’m doing it in the right order, if only just.’ Mary embraced her daughter as if welcoming her back into the bosom of her family, where, in her opinion, Ling belonged. ‘And I’m to be a granmer. Fancy that!’

It was only Arthur who said nothing as they sat down to eat. Ling hardly touched the bowl that her mother put in front of her, while Mary and Fanny chatted merrily. What sort of wedding celebration would they have? Would they rent one of the empty cottages now Barney was a fully fledged quarryman? Arthur barely spoke, eating his dinner in pensive silence. As soon as he cleared his dish, he rose to his feet and shrugged back into his old working coat.

‘You’m going back to work already?’

‘We’ve just finished drilling the last hole and I want to get the powder in and ready for blasting this arternoon.’

His voice was low and tight as he made for the back door. He hadn’t spoken a word to Ling, cutting into her wretchedness as she watched him leave the cottage. She was so proud of her father, who was not only second in command to the quarry foreman but also the most experienced and respected ‘powder monkey’ of all three quarries in the vicinity. Poorly educated, Ling knew he had reached this position by his natural intelligence and determination. There was a special bond between them, one which Ling was not prepared to sacrifice, and she shot out of the door after him.

‘Father,’ she begged miserably. ‘I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me. And . . . and you will give your consent, won’t you?’

He stopped in his tracks, his back to her for several tense, shattering seconds, before he slowly turned round. ‘Of course,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ve no objections to Barney. But –’ he paused, his eyes boring into hers – ‘’Tis not what I wanted for you, cheel. The wife of a quarryman, struggling to make ends meet. I’d hoped that by working for the Warringtons you might have made yersel a better life, found a young man of a higher status. Like that young doctor fellow, remember? Look at you! So clever and beautiful. And now this. ’Tis not what you deserve.’

Ling lowered her eyes, unable to hold his gaze. ‘Perhaps it
is
,’ she muttered. ‘It was my own fault.’

‘Well, ’tis too late now. I’ll speak to Barney later. And you should go inside. You’ll freeze to dead without a coat. And make certain you leave in plenty of time to get back to Fencott Place afore ’tis dark. Assuming they’ve not thrown you out.’

‘No. Not at all. In fact, I’m welcome to stay on as long as I can.’

‘Good people, the Warringtons. Now, you look arter my grandchild.’ And, with that, he spun on his heel and strode off towards the quarry.

Ling rubbed her crossed hands on opposite shoulders. Yes, it was bitingly raw, and her teeth were chattering. She hurried back inside, and Mary pressed a cup of weak, black tea into her hands. They talked about where she and Barney would live and what they would do for furniture. Second-hand, probably, but perhaps Arthur and Barney could cobble together a table and a couple of chairs using odd bits of wood. Ling inwardly sighed. Yes, her father was right. The struggle had already begun.

She was pulling on her coat ready to leave when the explosion silenced their conversation and their eyes met, wide with dread as the sound rolled away like a distant thunderclap. It was far too soon. The other workers were still at lunch and there had been no blowing of whistles to clear the area before the fuses were lit.

They stood, frozen like three statues hewn out of ice. A numbing fear spread through Ling’s limbs. She . . . must . . . run. But her legs were like lead, immovable. And then she broke free, hurling herself outside like some mad, demented creature, and streaked across to the quarry entrance, screaming out to her father as her gaze swooped over the towering rock faces before her.

They caught her up then, the men who knew from experience that something was horribly, unutterably wrong. It was Ambrose Tippet, her father’s closest friend, who grasped her arm. He had been working with Arthur on the drill holes all week and knew exactly where he would be.

Ambrose’s eyes flashed as he looked into Ling’s wild, bloodless face. ‘Keep her here,’ he growled at his son and, scudding across the quarry floor, began to shin expertly up the series of ladders.

Ling watched as if in some horrendous nightmare. And then, as reality clawed at her throat, she struggled to escape from Sam’s tight hold. The young man was tall and strong, pinning her arms to her sides, but when she sank her teeth deep into his hand he yelped in pain, releasing his grip, and she plunged forward, stumbling blindly in Ambrose’s wake. She could hear Sam hot on her heels as she climbed the ladders like a mountain goat. This was all her fault. Her father had been distracted by her news, not concentrating on his perilous work. And now . . .

She came to the broad ledge, and there was Ambrose kneeling on the exposed rock. He glanced up at her, his face a taut, ghastly mask. She saw then. As the appalling cry scraped from her lungs, shock seared through her like a burning flame, and she shuffled forward and sank on to her knees.

She wasn’t sure what she saw first: the raw, scorched, mutilated flesh that until a few moments ago had been strong, dexterous hands, or the shattered wooden swopstick that he would have been using to tamp down the powder in the drill hole. The blast that had thrown Arthur on to his back had driven the stick up through his stomach to . . . to God knew where. His savage, stricken eyes stared at Ling out of his blackened face and he coughed convulsively. A scarlet fountain sprayed from his mouth, smothering his cry of agony, and the horror closed about Ling’s chest in a crushing vice.

‘Father,’ she mouthed, for her voice had no sound. She wanted to take his hand but . . .

‘Heather,’ he gurgled, the crimson bubbling from his lips. ‘Do . . . what’s best for
you
. You deserve . . . more than . . .’

He spluttered, choked and gasping. A final breath wheezed frantically into his chest, and, as his head sagged back on to Ambrose’s arm, Ling watched the life flow out of him. Ambrose’s work-worn fingers reached to where Arthur’s pulse should have beaten beneath his jaw. And he shook his head.

The unearthly howl that rasped from Ling’s lungs reverberated inside the quarry and spiralled upwards, echoing across the moor in a deep, sepulchral lament. Her senses fell away, and it was only Barney’s strong arms, as he joined them on the ledge, that stopped her from dissolving on to the cold, hard granite. There were others about them now, shocked and horrified. And they would decide how best to lower the body to the quarry floor.

Ling glanced down. Her mother was shrieking hysterically, while, beside her, Fanny stood like a silent effigy.

Oh, dear God. What had she done?

They buried him in the traditional quarryman’s way.

Mr Warren held a short Methodist gathering in the cramped chapel-cum-school where Arthur had worshipped and Ling had both learnt and taught for so long. It was just for the family and their closest friends, and Mary had agreed to Ling’s inviting Mr and Mrs Warrington – since Arthur would have liked that, she had sobbed. Only Ling knew how much he would have done.

And then the procession had begun. The bowler hats and black waistcoats, contrasting starkly with the white trousers and gloves, had appeared as if by magic from every male’s closet. In time-honoured fashion, every worker and mason from the local quarries assembled in a double column. The coffin was solemnly born along on the shoulders of the six quarrymen at the rear. At intervals, their six comrades leading the procession would stand back, allowing the mourners to pass between them. When the sad burden finally reached them, they would step forward again to relieve the bearers, and thus each man in his turn was able to perform his sombre duty to the deceased. Hence Arthur Southcott made his final journey alongside the railway to Princetown and the good Christian burial that awaited him at St Michael and All Angels.

Mary stumbled along behind the procession supported by Ambrose and his wife, while Sam took kind and gentle care of Fanny, who seemed totally bewildered by everything that was happening. Behind them, Ling walked on blindly, not knowing how her feet placed themselves one in front of the other. She had not slept for the three days and nights since Arthur’s death, tortured by her sorrow and guilt. Everyone knew how Arthur had died. Only she knew why. Every time she closed her eyes, his blackened face swam before her, his agony and his love for her in his dying moments driving the arrow deeper into her heart.

‘’Twill do the babby no good if you doesn’t get some rest,’ Barney had told her anxiously.

Dear Barney. Good and steady, a pillar of strength. She couldn’t tell him that he was part of the reason why Arthur had died because it wasn’t really true. Her father had lost his concentration for that fatal split second, not noticed whatever it was – a small flint or stray fragment of metal – that had slipped into the drill hole and caused the spark as he rammed down the swopstick. He had not noticed because he was thinking about
her
, not Barney. And now he was dead, and it was all her fault. As for the baby, she scarcely cared. If it weren’t for the life that was growing inside her, her father would still be alive.

The two miles or so into Princetown seemed to take for ever, with the coffin being periodically passed to a new set of shoulders. A train was puffing down from the station, but when the driver saw the funeral cortège he brought the engine to a respectful halt.
So he might!
Ling thought bitterly. Without the railway, she would never have met Elliott Franfield, and without that chance encounter neither she nor her father would ever have considered there could be more to her future than being a poor quarryman’s wife. Yes. That was how the dream had started. And this was how it had ended.

No more stupid, selfish aspirations. She must face up to her responsibilities. She had her mother and sister to care for. And soon she would have a husband and a child as well. Look after my grandchild, Arthur had said as he went back to work, a fit and healthy man barely in his forties. She saw his face again as his coffin was lowered into the ground. Smiling at her. Heard his voice.
Look after my grandchild
.

Yes, Father
, she thought.
I know where my duty lies now. I won’t let you down this time. I promise.

She and Barney were married between Christmas and New Year. There were no celebrations. How could there be when the marriage took place in the church where her father’s funeral service had been held just a few weeks before? When her father was no longer there to give her away to her new husband? As her employer on the day of Arthur’s death, Seth had been asked to take over the role. Rose was there, too, seated by Ling’s mother and showing her respect for the unfortunate situation. After the ceremony, everyone was standing awkwardly outside in the churchyard, not quite sure what to do in view of the circumstances, and Ling felt grateful when Seth took command by firmly shaking Barney’s hand.

‘And may I be permitted to kiss the bride?’

It was the first and only moment when Ling glimpsed at what a bride should really feel on her wedding day. She raised her head to receive Seth’s fleeting peck on her cheek, and somehow had the most overwhelming desire to burst into tears.

‘And I mustn’t forget our wedding present to you.’ Seth’s light, sensitive voice drove away the damning sensation as he placed an envelope in her hands.