A Dream Rides By (8 page)

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 tempered 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?

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 grass 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!

‘Very nice, dear,’ her mother commented, ‘but could you see to the vegetables? And Fanny, set the table, please.’

Ling raised her eyebrows, catching her sigh in mid-breath. Never mind. She could have a good read later. After all, the book was hers for ever, the first she had ever owned.
Oh, Mr and Mrs Warrington, thank you so much!

When dinner was over – goose adorned with vegetables from Arthur’s garden, followed by a small plum pudding – and the dishes had been washed and stowed away, it was time to exchange the gifts their shallow pockets permitted. Barney had eaten with them, and Ling noticed him lower his eyes to the tiny parcel in his hands that was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

‘I’m sorry tidd’n much,’ he said sheepishly. ‘But we’m only just catching up from when I couldn’t work cuz of my arm.’

‘Well, at least it healed properly and that’s the most important thing.’ Her mouth moved into a soft, compassionate smile and Barney wondered why he had been so worried. But, then, it wasn’t the only thing he was ashamed about. That little secret still niggled at the back of his mind. He wanted to make it up to Ling, and the ribbon he had bought for her hair hardly came near the mark.

‘Oh, it’s beautiful, Barney, and such a lovely colour! Thank you so much!’ She reached up, placing a kiss on his cheek, and he felt himself flush. ‘And can I read a poem to you all now?’ she asked excitedly.

‘Of course,’ Arthur answered, sitting himself down like a dignitary at some official event so that the rest of the family followed suit.

Ling chose a short verse by someone called Keats – whoever he was, her audience thought. She read it with such feeling, the words so beautiful and evocative that they brought a lump to her own throat so that she struggled to finish her moving rendition. She glanced at the bemused faces watching her. Fanny’s eyes were wide, as if her sister had been speaking in some foreign tongue, and Barney was frowning quizzically.

‘Very good, I’m sure.’ Mary smiled indulgently at her daughter. ‘Now, what games shall we play?’

It was only Arthur who sat for some moments, slowly moving his head up and down in appreciation as the words settled in his brain. Yes. This elder child of his was special. He had known it the minute she had come into the world.

‘I’d best be getting home,’ Barney announced reluctantly when the day was finally over. ‘Thank you so much for such a lovely day, Mrs Southcott, Mr Southcott.’

‘You’m welcome, lad.’

Barney rammed his cap on his head and grasped his coat, Ling following him to the door. She shivered on the threshold as the cold night air caught in her lungs. The frosty stillness was almost tangible, and she glanced up at the bright full moon that scattered a silvery dust over the frozen earth.

‘Good night, Ling.’

Barney’s voice was husky as he brought his lips softly against hers in a lingering kiss that tumbled down her spine. Her eyes rested on his face as he drew away, and then he was waving at her as he hurried down the path.

Back inside, Fanny had gone up to bed, and Arthur and Mary followed shortly afterwards. Ling sat for a while, contemplating the glowing embers in the range, the door of which she had opened to allow its warmth to reach into the room. She languidly picked up the little tome of verse and, by the flickering light of the last red festive candle, feasted on two more poems, the inspiring, spiritual images lifting her soul to sublime heights.

She sat back with a rueful sigh. There was something more out there, something great and elusive that she had the passion but not the means to attain. It had been a pleasant Christmas Day, another year of her life ticked off the list.