Abby Ch. 02

The day had moved on, and Abby was amazed to find how time had passed in doing nothing. Rising from the stump, she started to make her way down the path. She had not gone too far, before the rider appeared in front of her, it was the same man she had seen before at the station. He raised his crop to the brim of his cap again, and remarked. "Pleasant day isn't it?"

Abby was amused to find his attitude warmer, although it could not have been called unfriendly before. "It's really nice." she replied, "I've just been sitting up there enjoying the view."

He looked up to the copse where she pointed. "Ah, Huish, yes it's one of the best spots. Often go up there myself, good place to think." He paused, "You wouldn't be the Miss Tregonney, who is staying at Combe Inn?" He asked. Abby stared in surprise.

"Well yes, I am, but how did you know that?"

He grinned. "Small place, Combe, if you haven't been here for at least twenty years, you get watched like a hawk, never know, you could be a spy for the Russians."

Abby repaid his grin. "It seems to me that the Russians had no use for you until you had lived anywhere for at least that length of time."

Now the man laughed aloud. "Oh wonderful, someone with a quick mind, just like your m... eh. Mike." He stumbled over the last word, and his horse seemed to jump a little.

The rider made a great fuss about gentling the horse, and changed the topic quickly. "Must get this one back to her stable, she will be wanting her feed. Perhaps I shall see you around, good day." He lifted his crop in salute once more and urged the horse, quickly moving across the open meadow down towards the crossing. Abby was astounded, again he had turned distant in the space of a second or so, and what was it he was going to say, 'just like your m...' and then 'Mike'. That didn't make sense, as she knew no one of that name, and the rider could not possibly know if she did or didn't anyway. If she was fanciful she could think he was going to say mum, but that wasn't possible either. Abby made her way slowly down the hill, half hoping that she would see the man again, just to tell him that she thought he was ... was what? Well did it matter; anyway he had a nice grin. Then another thought struck her: she had been making conversation! No long pauses as she searched for the right words to say; no embarrassing silences, she had even managed a humorous comment, well the rider had thought so, even if he did ride off almost immediately afterwards.

Mary was waiting for her when she got back to the Inn. "Oh there you are. I wondered if you were going to be back at lunchtime, I got quite concerned when you didn't."

Abby immediately apologised. "I'm sorry, Mary, but I rarely eat anything during the day, and after the breakfast you gave me I wouldn't have been able to eat a thing." Mary handed her the key to her room and in a low voice told her that someone had been inquiring about her. Abby was not too surprised, and ventured a guess that it was a man on a horse.

"Oh you've met him," cried Mary, "that'll be James Comberford, he owns the estate. How did you meet him?" Abby didn't want to go into too much detail, but just said she had seen him out on his horse and passed the time of day. She could tell that Mary was not satisfied with this answer and avoided any further questioning by saying she was quite tired and would go upstairs for a rest. In truth Abby was quite tired, she had walked more today than she had in a long time. The prospect of a cup of tea, and a comfortable chair to sit in had many attractions. Once in her room, she made some tea, and wandered to the window, opening it to look out at Huish Coppice, whilst she drank. It was obvious that Mr. Comberford had made the enquiries, as on their second meeting he knew her name, but why? Small communities were naturally inquisitive about strangers, but there was something about Mr. Comberford's manner that spoke of something more than just innocent curiosity.

The fatigue that Abby had used as an excuse was not so much an excuse as she had thought. Deciding to lie down for a while, Abby had fallen fast asleep, and it was much later when she awoke. Glancing at her travelling clock, she saw it was seven fifteen. Quickly she rose, amused by the unusual doze, something she never did back home, indeed at this time she was normally to be found still in the dealing room, with the prospect of at least another couple of hours work in front of her. She showered, which re-established her usual vigour, and dressed quickly in slacks and a blouse. A simple gold chain around her neck gave the outfit just a touch of dressiness, and she was ready to go down.

As she walked into the bar, she was astonished at the reception extended to her. She made her way through with greetings ranging from, 'Good evening, Miss Tregonney,' through, ' Miss Tregonney,' to a simple, 'Miss,' all given with a nod of the head, a half smile, or in some cases a suggestion of a finger being raised to where a forelock would be. She returned these regards with smiles and made her way through to the Lounge area, which was yet again empty, except for the dog lying in the identical position before the fire as yesterday. She took the same chair as last night, as the dog raised its head, and thumped its tail in recognition. Jack was immediately hovering asking if she would like her usual.

Abby laughed happily. "Jack I've been here for just one day and already I seem to have found a new circle of acquaintances, and my drinking habits are noted for posterity, yes please I would love a Spritzer." Jack nodded, pleased that he had given her cause to smile. "Be right up," he affirmed and hurried away. Abby was quite amazed with herself. She was actually talking easily to people, without the diffidence she normally felt. Perhaps it was because of these people who treated her with such friendliness. A few minutes later Mary appeared bringing Abby's drink.

"Hello Abby, here's your drink; now what would you like to eat tonight? I've got some Lamb Stew, or if you like a nice Trout. Jack took a couple out of the river this morning, that won't take long to grill one. Sorry it's not a posh Menu, but..." Abby stopped her.

"Mary I leave it up to you. If it's as good as last night, I know one or two so-called gourmands who would kill to get at your food."

The smile of satisfaction on Mary's face was all that was needed. "Right," said Mary, "My Lamb Stew is the best you will ever taste, even though I say it myself, you'll see." and she swished off to see to the food.

The Lamb Stew was the best Abby had ever tasted, the fresh succulent Lamb tinged with a herb that she couldn't place, served with Dumplings that seemed to have no trace left of the fat in the suet, and slices of crusty bread, which Abby spread thickly with the butter, not presented in little packets, but slabs of the stuff, golden yellow, glistening in a dish. Abby then did something that would be completely infra-dig at any other eatery, she used the last of the bread to wipe round the plate, not wishing to waste a morsel of the stew, so good did it taste. Mary came back just in time to catch her.

"Well, I can see you enjoyed that, would you like some more?"

Abby apologised for wiping round the plate. "But it was so delicious."

Mary beamed, "If you hadn't have done that I would think I was slipping." Abby sat back in the chair, as Mary asked if she would like some Pudding. She shook her head. "If I continue to eat like this I shall go home and have to buy another wardrobe."

"Nonsense, girl, you could do with putting a few pounds on; you're like a scrap of nothing. Well if I cannot persuade you to any more, shall I get you a coffee?" Abby felt she could manage that, and Mary collected the dishes and went off to get it. She returned with the coffee, and sat down.

"Sam has come into the bar, let him have his first pint, but would you like to talk to him later?" Abby didn't have to think at all.

"I would like that, but only if it's no trouble, should I come round to the bar?"

Mary shook her head. "No you stay where you are, I'll fetch him here when its right. Jack will put a pint in his hand don't worry about that. Oh and Sam's a good sort, he won't want to know anything you don't want to tell him."

It was about twenty minutes later that Mary brought Sam round. Abby had built a mental picture of this man; based upon the comments that Mary, Jack and Will had made. Sam was nothing like this imagining; being of average height, wiry, and not looking anything like the eighty odd years he was supposed to be. He greeted her politely, and sat down at her invitation. He surprised her by opening the conversation.

"If Mary hadn't told me your name, I would have known who you were anyway, you're very much like Marion Tregonney. And you kept the name as well?" Abby knew that this last comment was a question, posed in the roundabout way that she was becoming used to. She decided not to prevaricate but tell Sam the truth.

"Mum never married." Sam digested this information, with a pull at the beer that Mary had brought. Mary hesitated about leaving, and Abby asked her to sit down, grateful for her company. She was pleased that Sam didn't mention any of the platitudes most people seem driven to offer upon learning that someone was illegitimate, and his next question set her aback.

"I know a fellow shouldn't ask a lady her age, but how old are you, Miss?" Abby was confused, as she seemed to be answering the questions, not Sam, which was the original intention.

She answered anyway. "Thanks for calling me a lady, I'm thirty-four."

Sam's eyes steadied on her, and she could see some kind of an understanding and then great sadness creeping into them, and he muttered, almost to himself. "You poor, poor, frightened girl."

Abby heard him and thought he was talking to her. "I'm sorry; I don't understand why you say that."

Sam apologised, "Forgive me, Miss, I didn't mean you, I was thinking of your mother. She left the village one day without a word to anyone, not even her Father, just disappeared and nobody ever heard from her again. No one knew why. Now I know why."

It was Abby's turn to start understanding, and pain started to tighten around her heart. She asked her next question with a suspicion of what the answer was going to be. "When was this?"

Sam looked at her with pain in his eyes. "It would have been the summer of nineteen sixty-five."

Her dire suspicion was confirmed. "And I was born in November." There was a silence, broken only by Mary's gasp as she too realised the consequence. Abby could not stay, upsetting her coffee as she jumped up from the table and rushed to her room, where the tears that had threatened earlier finally flooded from her eyes. She cried not for herself, nor for the grandfather, whom she had never known, her tears were for her mother, who had borne all the sorrow and troubles alone, with no one to confide in, no-one to share the burden. Sixteen years old, alone in a City where loneliness afflicts many, but few with a new baby to feed, clothe and protect. She wondered how her mum had managed, and could only half imagine the terrible times that she had suffered.

Mary and Sam sat in silence, until he began to speak, bitterly. "Damn Tregonney! He loved his daughter, she was all he had left in the world, but he was so unbending; so afraid of showing his feelings; never once as far as I know did he ever tell Marion he loved her. No wonder that when she was in trouble, she ran away, rather than tell her father. If only once he could have shown her the slightest emotion, he would probably have kept his daughter, and known this nice lass, his granddaughter." He stopped to think for a moment. "If she couldn't tell him, surely there was one of us she could confide in? We all failed her, just when she needed good friends the most." Mary wanted to ask questions of him, but decided that it would probably be best if she went up to comfort Abby instead.

"Stay here Sam; I'll see if the girl will be coming down again."

Sam nodded. "If she doesn't I'll be here tomorrow evening, that's if she wants to talk."

Mary left to go upstairs, and Sam took his empty glass back to the bar. His bar companions looked worried, and one ventured to say. "Miss Tregonney looked upset, Sam, was there bad news?"

Sam just shook his head. "We both discovered something that was upsetting. If the girl wants to tell us about it she will in her own time. If not, no more will be said." The others nodded, this was a small place, here in this valley, curiosity was one thing, prying into someone else's affairs was different, and Sam knew that none of them would mention the subject again, not to Abby, not to Sam himself, and certainly not to any outsider. Sam had no doubt that eventually the circumstances would be known by everyone, but that would only happen with time and with the hurt having been healed.

When Sam got back to the farm that night, he was pleased to see that Mavis, his wife was still up. Without preamble he said. "There's young lady staying at the Combe, name of Tregonney."

Mavis looked up. "Tregonney?"

"Yes."

"That stationmaster was called Tregonney, would she be any relation?"

"You remember his daughter, Marion?"

"Yes." Then her memory cleared. "The one who disappeared!"

"That's her, and this girl is her daughter, she is called Abby."

Mavis thought for a while. "Wasn't Mr. Tregonney's wife called Abigail?" Sam nodded his head. "Well it's nice to know that Marion settled down. Is she there as well?"

"No Love, you don't understand. She's Marion's daughter, and her name is Tregonney." He waited for a moment then said. "Sadly Marion is dead." Mavis stopped and stared at Sam with understanding coming to her face. "Ah!" Sam went on. "Marion didn't marry, and from the dates it is obvious that she was pregnant when she ran away."

Mavis was stunned. "But how could she be, she was only a child."

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Sixteen I think."

Mavis sat there with misery shadowing her face. "That poor child. How desperate she must have been, running away from her family and friends. There should have been someone who she could turn to surely?"

Sam had already thought this one through. "Obviously not. I can understand why she couldn't tell her father, I mean you know what Tregonney was like. I don't think I would like to give him bad news. But it hurts and angers me that none of us was close enough to the girl; that there was no one for her to talk to. She must have been so frightened, so desperate. It is painful to think of." He sat silently for a moment. "But who could it have been? That's what I would like to know."

Mavis was thinking furiously. "There's none around here who would do that. That I can say."

"Oh come on Mavis. Men and boys have been getting girls pregnant for time immemorial."

"Now you don't understand. They could have but they would have done the right thing, not leave her in the lurch. You did!"

Sam looked aghast at Mavis. "What do you mean? I did."

"You thought that Roger was an early birth, Sam Perry. But when you walked me up the aisle I knew I was pregnant. Only a month mind!" Sam looked at his wife incredulously.

"What a time to tell me, after all these years."

Mavis smiled in that way that women do when their men show incredible lack of awareness. "Didn't make a difference to us at the time, we were already engaged and the church planned, so why tell you?"

Sam smiled fondly at his wife, who after all these years could still surprise him. He lapsed into silence for a while, Mavis watched him shrewdly. "What are you thinking, Sam?'

"Oh nothing really."

"Sam Perry I know you well enough by now, come on, what is it?"

"I was just thinking that our daughter would be about the same age as Abby." Mavis smiled, she knew Sam would have been thinking that. It had surprised them both when Mavis got pregnant again after all those years. Sam was in his fifties and Mavis ten years younger. She thought she had gone through the change. After the initial shock they were happy about it, but three months in to the pregnancy Mavis was rushed to Taunton with abdominal pains. Just a few hours later she miscarried in the hospital. The Doctor told them it would have been a girl. They had already decided on a name for a boy and a girl. The baby would have been Sophie. She and Sam had borne the tragedy together, accepting that that was the way it happens, and stoically reasoning that Nature decided that the child wouldn't have been healthy. She leaned across and put her hand on his arm.

"Well Abby hasn't got a father, and girls always need a dad, so you had better look after this one."

Sam nodded. "Reckon you are right. But it's not as if she was ours."

Mavis had always realised that the loss of the daughter hit Sam far more than her. Funny this thing that men had, they wanted to father sons, but would treasure a daughter far more. She looked up as Sam brought them back from the past. "Well Memory Lane is a lovely lane to walk down, so whilst you are strolling, see if you can try and work out who could be the real father of this girl."

Mavis nodded. "Yes I'll give it some thought." Then another thought struck her. "We had some photos! Reg Purvess took them. I wonder if I can find them. Be nice if we can show the girl what her grandfather looked like."

"After all these years?" Sam exclaimed. "You will be lucky."

"I haven't thrown them away, I am sure. I'll find them." She hurried away, leaving Sam with a wry smile.

How typical of Mavis he thought. Eleven at night, and she would now turn the house upside down searching for something that could easily be found in the morning. Also how typically Mavis that she had only now thought fit to tell him that she was pregnant when they married. He supposed he should have known when Roger was born so soon, but assumed that it was an early birth. Other memories now came to him, meeting Abby Tregonney the catalyst for nostalgia. He could not be sure when he saw Tregonney first. But it seemed as if he had always been there. He didn't realise at that time that Thomas was tutored deeply in the systems of the railway, and it didn't matter what station he was at, the systems and the paper trail was always the same. The same records, bills, chits and ticket procedures. The only thing that changed was the name of the Station and the District Office. So whenever Thomas had arrived at Combe Lyney he would have fitted in seamlessly.

Sam then remembered when he first met Thomas. Sam would have been fourteen and started taking the milk down to catch the dairy train. He grinned to himself. He had left with a flea in his ear. Later he had got on easier terms with Thomas. Not friendly terms, Thomas would never go that far, but easier. Sam was at the station quite frequently, either delivering churns for the dairy, collecting empties and sacks of fertiliser, cattle feed, or any of the myriad of supplies that the farm would need that it could not provide for itself. The railway would deliver home, but that was at an added cost, and Sam's father was always careful about added costs.

Back at the Combe Inn, Abby sat in her room, not crying now, the tears just glistening patches on her cheeks. She stared at the window, now just a frame for the darkened skies, and wished that she had never started this search for her family's background. Then the logical side of her mind came into play and she reasoned that her not knowing the truth would hardly undo the desperation, and unhappiness of her mother's life. She asked herself, 'Why?' Why couldn't her mother approach her father and tell him the truth, what was so terrible about her plight that she had to run away? Abby knew that if she had got herself pregnant her mother would have been there to help, of course there would be recriminations, but even so mum would have never turned her away. So what was it about her grandfather that her mother felt unable confide in him? Her search now took a new turn, no longer just about history, and places, but now concerning the mores and emotions attached to her family.