the stranger had gone from their lives, and now here he was, as bold as brass, come to see Ling and full of the joys of spring. Well, Barney wasn’t having it!
‘She bain’t yere,’ he said affably, since the blackguard mustn’t suspect he was lying. ‘But I’ll tell her you called to see her.’ Barney felt the swell of satisfaction as Elliott’s face fell.
‘Oh,’ Elliott murmured flatly. ‘Well, perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving her this for me. It’s just a short letter with my address in London. She can write to me there. That’s, well, if she wants to. Would you mind?’
A surge of anger blackened Barney’s heart as he took the envelope from Elliott’s hand. ‘No, of course not. When does you go? To London, I means?’
‘Friday.’
‘Ah.’ Barney nodded. ‘Must be getting excited, like?’
‘Well, yes.’ Elliott raised his eyebrows with a wistful sigh. ‘I shall miss all this though.’ He turned to gesture vaguely about him. ‘I don’t get that much time to come up on the moor, but I do love it. I love Tavistock, too, as a small country town. London’s not really for me, but I’ll get the best training there.’
‘Well, good luck with it,’ Barney drawled.
And good riddance too
, he thought to himself.
‘Thank you very much. You will give the note to Ling? And tell her I’m sorry I missed her.’
‘Will do,’ Barney promised.
Elliott seemed reluctant to leave, and his gaze swept sadly about him before he swung himself back into the saddle. ‘Thank you, Barney. Take care of that arm now.’
Barney nodded and watched as Elliott turned Ghost about and set off at a trot. He stood stock still, allowing the scowl to come to his face now. Did the bugger really expect him to . . .? But then Elliott Franfield clearly had no idea that he and Ling were walking out. So, Barney’s brain deduced, that must mean Ling hadn’t told him.
And why not?
Barney crunched the letter in his fist in a jealous rage. Was Ling so dissatisfied with their relationship that she had encouraged the handsome, intelligent, courageous stranger? Or had the devil deliberately tried to woo and impress her? Oh, he must protect her from Elliott Franfield, yes, that was it! The stranger could not
love
Ling as he did. He hardly knew her. She would be a mere dalliance to him, and Ling would be deeply hurt. But . . . what if Ling really did have feelings for . . .
No! He couldn’t let it happen! He and Ling were made for each other. She was the reason for his waking up each morning, why he wanted to outshine all the other apprentices so that he could make a good home for her and their . . . yes, their children when the time came.
He forgot all about his walk and stood, grinding the toe of his boot into the ground. Damn Elliott Franfield! And continuing to swear under his breath, he stomped back home.
‘You’m back then?’ Eleanor grunted. ‘Range ’as gone out. Couldn’t manage ter relight it, could yer?’
Barney pursed his lips as he set about the task, scrunching a few precious sheets of old newspaper – which had hardly been read, of course – into balls and carefully arranging sticks of kindling on top. He managed to hold the matchbox in the exposed fingers of his left hand while he struck the match against it, and, once the firewood had taken, he broke off pieces of dried peat turf to add to the growing flames. Well, at least he still had
some
use!
And then the thought slithered into his brain, bringing him out in a sweat. The letter. He had promised. And morally, he supposed, he had no right. But . . . his love for Ling was too strong.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he glanced over his shoulder. Eleanor had gone outside to the vegetable plot. So . . . no one would ever know. Elliott Franfield was off to London, and Ling would soon be forgotten. It was better this way.
His fingers shook as he threw the letter into the firebox. He watched it scorch at the edges, curl and then flare up
‘She bain’t yere,’ he said affably, since the blackguard mustn’t suspect he was lying. ‘But I’ll tell her you called to see her.’ Barney felt the swell of satisfaction as Elliott’s face fell.
‘Oh,’ Elliott murmured flatly. ‘Well, perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving her this for me. It’s just a short letter with my address in London. She can write to me there. That’s, well, if she wants to. Would you mind?’
A surge of anger blackened Barney’s heart as he took the envelope from Elliott’s hand. ‘No, of course not. When does you go? To London, I means?’
‘Friday.’
‘Ah.’ Barney nodded. ‘Must be getting excited, like?’
‘Well, yes.’ Elliott raised his eyebrows with a wistful sigh. ‘I shall miss all this though.’ He turned to gesture vaguely about him. ‘I don’t get that much time to come up on the moor, but I do love it. I love Tavistock, too, as a small country town. London’s not really for me, but I’ll get the best training there.’
‘Well, good luck with it,’ Barney drawled.
And good riddance too
, he thought to himself.
‘Thank you very much. You will give the note to Ling? And tell her I’m sorry I missed her.’
‘Will do,’ Barney promised.
Elliott seemed reluctant to leave, and his gaze swept sadly about him before he swung himself back into the saddle. ‘Thank you, Barney. Take care of that arm now.’
Barney nodded and watched as Elliott turned Ghost about and set off at a trot. He stood stock still, allowing the scowl to come to his face now. Did the bugger really expect him to . . .? But then Elliott Franfield clearly had no idea that he and Ling were walking out. So, Barney’s brain deduced, that must mean Ling hadn’t told him.
And why not?
Barney crunched the letter in his fist in a jealous rage. Was Ling so dissatisfied with their relationship that she had encouraged the handsome, intelligent, courageous stranger? Or had the devil deliberately tried to woo and impress her? Oh, he must protect her from Elliott Franfield, yes, that was it! The stranger could not
love
Ling as he did. He hardly knew her. She would be a mere dalliance to him, and Ling would be deeply hurt. But . . . what if Ling really did have feelings for . . .
No! He couldn’t let it happen! He and Ling were made for each other. She was the reason for his waking up each morning, why he wanted to outshine all the other apprentices so that he could make a good home for her and their . . . yes, their children when the time came.
He forgot all about his walk and stood, grinding the toe of his boot into the ground. Damn Elliott Franfield! And continuing to swear under his breath, he stomped back home.
‘You’m back then?’ Eleanor grunted. ‘Range ’as gone out. Couldn’t manage ter relight it, could yer?’
Barney pursed his lips as he set about the task, scrunching a few precious sheets of old newspaper – which had hardly been read, of course – into balls and carefully arranging sticks of kindling on top. He managed to hold the matchbox in the exposed fingers of his left hand while he struck the match against it, and, once the firewood had taken, he broke off pieces of dried peat turf to add to the growing flames. Well, at least he still had
some
use!
And then the thought slithered into his brain, bringing him out in a sweat. The letter. He had promised. And morally, he supposed, he had no right. But . . . his love for Ling was too strong.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he glanced over his shoulder. Eleanor had gone outside to the vegetable plot. So . . . no one would ever know. Elliott Franfield was off to London, and Ling would soon be forgotten. It was better this way.
His fingers shook as he threw the letter into the firebox. He watched it scorch at the edges, curl and then flare up
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