Abbeyford Remembered by Margaret Dickinson

Foster.
    As Jamie helped Carrie into the trap the two men’s eyes met. There was no animosity between them, more a look of understanding and mutual pity, for whilst one had lost her, the other had not won her love. There was an unspoken request in Jamie’s eyes. ‘ Take care of her, be good to her’, and an answering promise in Lloyd Foster’s, yet not a word was spoken.
    Lloyd Foster slapped the reins and the trap jerked forward. Twisting round, Carrie watched Jamie’s figure grow smaller and smaller as she was carried away from him.
    Just once, he raised his hand in a final farewell.

Chapter Five
    They travelled for several days, stopping at wayside inns, making for London.
    That first night, their wedding night, she sat in the bedroom, tense and fearful, waiting for him to come to her. She sat by the window, shivering and staring out into the darkness, seeing nothing, but determined to stay as far away from the big double bed as she could. She kept her eyes averted from it, trembling at the thought of what she must endure.
    Carrie was no maiden, afraid of the unknown. Her fear lay only in that, having known the joys of loving with Jamie, she must now submit to the passions of a man she did not love.
    They had been welcomed into the inn by the beaming landlord, who, though she could see the question in his eyes, politely ignored the incongruity of a well-dressed gentleman accompanied by a gypsy girl.
    â€œI’ll be wantin’ a double room,” Lloyd Foster had said firmly, and Carrie had felt a twinge of revulsion at the thought of what was to happen that night. “An’ mind the bed is clean and warm for my wife, an’ a fire in the grate.”
    â€œOf course, sir. Mary Ellen,” the landlord had shouted to one of the kitchen maids, “ away and prepare the room, girl – the best front bedroom.” He had turned back to Lloyd. “And you’ll be wanting refreshment, sir, I don’t doubt. Now we have a nice roast veal, and some of the best wine this side the Channel, sir.”
    Bowing, he had ushered Lloyd and Carrie to high-backed bench seats in a secluded corner. Two brass candlesticks with lighted candles stood on the table. They sat opposite each other and waited for their meal to be served. Carrie’s violet eyes were dark, the soft candlelight highlighting her beauty, but she was unaware of her own appearance. All her senses prickled at the nearness of the man sitting so close, his knees accidentally touching hers beneath the table. Though the meal was such as she had never tasted before – tender veal, sparkling wine which tickled her nose as she raised the glass to her lips, a sweet of delicious meringue and fresh cream, and coffee, real, steaming hot coffee, fresh and fragrant – Carrie could not enjoy it. She felt as if she could never enjoy life itself again.
    Now, as she sat in the bedroom, she felt such a loneliness that she had never before known. Always, she had fought for survival. She had been the strength her weaker brothers – and even her mother – had leaned on. And now, plucked from their midst, even with the promise of security and comfort, she felt bereft. Torn away from all she knew, all that was familiar and – worst of all – torn from the very first man with whom she had fallen in love …
    The bedroom door opened with a scrape and she jumped and turned to see Lloyd Foster standing in the doorway. He came in and closed the door behind him and stood looking at her. The silence between them lengthened until it grated on her nerves. She turned back to gazing out of the window, even though she could see nothing through the blackness. She was acutely aware of him standing behind her. She felt a shiver down her spine as he crossed the room and moved close to her.
    He reached out and touched her shoulder and she flinched from his touch. He sprang away as if burned. “ So, that is how it is to be, is