frustration. Now that the excruciating pain in his arm had completely gone, he longed to be back at work, where his skill and physical strength gave him a feeling of usefulness and pride. But it would be another five weeks or so before he could return to the quarry. What could he possibly do to while away the time, starting with today? Well, he supposed he had two good legs, so he could at least go for a walk. It wasn’t very productive, but, with only one good arm, he couldn’t exactly dig over the vegetable plot!
His legs took him to the tiny chapel at the corner of the square of cottages. During the day, the small building doubled as the school, and, inside, either Mr Norrish or Ling would be teaching the motley band of scholars. He could hear them now, chanting their times tables.
A smile played on his lips at the thought that only the stone walls separated him from his beloved. He breathed in deeply as if he could smell the intoxicating scent of her. At least his accident seemed to have brought them closer again. She had doted on him, and he had supped on each sweet moment, the stranger who had interrupted their relationship seemingly fled from her memory. Barney only had to get back to work and complete his apprenticeship, saving every penny he could. Maybe even next year, he might have enough money to marry her, and everything would be settled.
The idea lifted his spirits, as he walked along the track past Yellowmeade Farm, stepping on the stone slabs or setts from the branch of the original horse-drawn tramway that had preceded the new steam railway. Yellowmeade was farmed by a former quarryman. Like the local miners, all quarry workers and masons grew much of their own food in their gardens, and with livestock all around it was perhaps an easy step to farming, at least on a small scale. Possibly, one day, Barney would retire to a cosy farmstead, and he and Ling would see out their lives in blissful peace.
As he reached the row of humble dwellings known as Red Cottages – renamed as such when their porous walls had been clad in corrugated iron and painted with red lead to keep out the damp – Barney’s pleasant reverie was fragmented into dust. His attention was drawn by the sound of hooves, and, when he saw the distinctive dapple grey horse coming towards him, disdain seethed in his breast.
‘Good morning!’ Elliott brought the mare to a halt and, swinging his leg over the hairy neck, alighted on the uneven track. ‘Barney, isn’t it? Remember me? I’ve come to see Ling. Miss Southcott. Is her ankle better? Oh!’ His animated, gabbling words came to an abrupt end as he took in the sling tied about Barney’s neck. ‘Oh, dear me, what happened to you?’
Oh, yes! I remember you all too well!
Barney growled in his head, but he forced a casual smile to his lips as he shrugged at the young man who was, in his eyes, his rival. ‘An accident at the quarry. Bad break, the prison surgeon said. We always use
him
, you see.’
The last comment was meant to intimate that the Medical Officer at the jail was far superior to any fancy physician from Tavistock, and certainly better than Elliott Franfield. But it totally missed its mark.
‘Oh, you poor fellow.’ The concern in Elliott’s voice was so genuine that Barney’s mouth twitched with remorse. ‘Did he have to reset it? I wish I’d been there. To observe, I mean, not because you were hurt. How does it feel now?’
‘Oh, ’tis proper fine,’ Barney answered, slightly taken aback at Elliott’s genial attitude. ‘Just a nuisance not being able to work.’
‘Yes, I can appreciate that. I wish you well, anyway.’ And the expression on his face altered to one of eager anticipation as he continued, ‘Do you know where Miss Southcott is? I wanted to visit her before, but I’ve been so busy and I didn’t want to appear too forward. I trust her ankle is mended? What a day that was!’
His obvious expectation prickled Barney’s skin. He thought
His legs took him to the tiny chapel at the corner of the square of cottages. During the day, the small building doubled as the school, and, inside, either Mr Norrish or Ling would be teaching the motley band of scholars. He could hear them now, chanting their times tables.
A smile played on his lips at the thought that only the stone walls separated him from his beloved. He breathed in deeply as if he could smell the intoxicating scent of her. At least his accident seemed to have brought them closer again. She had doted on him, and he had supped on each sweet moment, the stranger who had interrupted their relationship seemingly fled from her memory. Barney only had to get back to work and complete his apprenticeship, saving every penny he could. Maybe even next year, he might have enough money to marry her, and everything would be settled.
The idea lifted his spirits, as he walked along the track past Yellowmeade Farm, stepping on the stone slabs or setts from the branch of the original horse-drawn tramway that had preceded the new steam railway. Yellowmeade was farmed by a former quarryman. Like the local miners, all quarry workers and masons grew much of their own food in their gardens, and with livestock all around it was perhaps an easy step to farming, at least on a small scale. Possibly, one day, Barney would retire to a cosy farmstead, and he and Ling would see out their lives in blissful peace.
As he reached the row of humble dwellings known as Red Cottages – renamed as such when their porous walls had been clad in corrugated iron and painted with red lead to keep out the damp – Barney’s pleasant reverie was fragmented into dust. His attention was drawn by the sound of hooves, and, when he saw the distinctive dapple grey horse coming towards him, disdain seethed in his breast.
‘Good morning!’ Elliott brought the mare to a halt and, swinging his leg over the hairy neck, alighted on the uneven track. ‘Barney, isn’t it? Remember me? I’ve come to see Ling. Miss Southcott. Is her ankle better? Oh!’ His animated, gabbling words came to an abrupt end as he took in the sling tied about Barney’s neck. ‘Oh, dear me, what happened to you?’
Oh, yes! I remember you all too well!
Barney growled in his head, but he forced a casual smile to his lips as he shrugged at the young man who was, in his eyes, his rival. ‘An accident at the quarry. Bad break, the prison surgeon said. We always use
him
, you see.’
The last comment was meant to intimate that the Medical Officer at the jail was far superior to any fancy physician from Tavistock, and certainly better than Elliott Franfield. But it totally missed its mark.
‘Oh, you poor fellow.’ The concern in Elliott’s voice was so genuine that Barney’s mouth twitched with remorse. ‘Did he have to reset it? I wish I’d been there. To observe, I mean, not because you were hurt. How does it feel now?’
‘Oh, ’tis proper fine,’ Barney answered, slightly taken aback at Elliott’s genial attitude. ‘Just a nuisance not being able to work.’
‘Yes, I can appreciate that. I wish you well, anyway.’ And the expression on his face altered to one of eager anticipation as he continued, ‘Do you know where Miss Southcott is? I wanted to visit her before, but I’ve been so busy and I didn’t want to appear too forward. I trust her ankle is mended? What a day that was!’
His obvious expectation prickled Barney’s skin. He thought
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