A Dream Rides By Read online

  Table of Contents

  Recent Titles by Tania Crosse

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Part Two

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Recent Titles by Tania Crosse

  MORWELLHAM’S CHILD

  THE RIVER GIRL

  LILY’S JOURNEY

  CHERRYBROOK ROSE *

  A BOUQUET OF THORNS *

  A DREAM RIDES BY *

  *available from Severn House

  A DREAM RIDES BY

  Tania Crosse

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain 2009 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  9-15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

  First published in the USA 2010 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS of

  110 East 59th Street, New York, N.Y. 10022

  eBook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2009 by Tania Crosse.

  The right of Tania Crosse to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Crosse, Tania Anne.

  A Dream Rides By.

  1. Railroads–England–Dartmoor–History–19th century–

  Fiction 2. Teachers’ assistants–Fiction 3. Railroad

  accidents–Fiction 4. Dartmoor (England)–Social

  conditions–19th century–Fiction 5. Love stories.

  I. Title

  823.9'2-dc22

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-377-8 (epub)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6843-5 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-183-6 (trade paper)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This eBook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  For the Uxbridge Folk.

  And, as always, for my dear husband, who helped me

  catch my dreams.

  Acknowledgements

  With grateful thanks to my publishers and my agent for bringing this work to fruition. Once again, I must thank my good friend, Paul Rendell, Dartmoor guide and historian and editor of The Dartmoor News, for all his input and loans from his private library. In particular, my deep gratitude goes to Dr Marshall Barr, retired physician and co-founder of the Berkshire Medical Heritage Centre, for his help with the medical matters in the story. And, finally, railway historian Nick Luff filled me in on details concerning the Princetown Railway. My thanks to you all.

  PART ONE

  One

  ‘Oh, Fanny! Now look what you’ve done!’ Ling Southcott sighed in exasperation. She and her mother had spent all morning washing the laundry they took in from The Saracen’s Head, the isolated coaching inn three miles away slap in the middle of Dartmoor. It was August, and heating the required gallons of water on the range in the downstairs room of the one up, one down workman’s cottage had made their red faces stream with sweat. It was a case of running back and forth to empty the pans into the washtubs outside, adding the soap flakes and the dirty linen, and plunging the wooden dolly up and down in a pall of steam. The snowy material was then rolled through the mangle and rinsed in fresh water, ready to be put through the mangle yet again. And now, as they pegged the washing on the lines that were strung across what was known as Big Tip, Fanny had dropped a pillowcase on the ground and was staring out across the moor.

  Ling bit her tongue. It was hard to be angry with Fanny. As well as being partially deaf, she wasn’t quite ‘all there’, as their mother would say with a patient shake of her head. It was such a pity. A gentle, pretty child she was, like an angel. Everyone who lived at the quarrymen’s hamlet of Foggintor, high up on the lonely, windswept wastes of western Dartmoor, knew and loved her, and made allowances for her affliction. Everyone except Harry Spence, who was the bane of everyone’s life. Ling still had the remnants of a bruise on her eye from a recent scrap with him when she had felt the need to protect her vulnerable little sister from his lewd mockery. And now her heart softened as she looked from the soiled pillowcase to the slip of a girl standing motionless beside her.

  ‘What is it, Fanny?’ she asked as Fanny silently raised her thin arm and pointed. It was the kind of action she often performed in her muted world, her fascination drawn by a butterfly, a wheatear fluttering from stone to stone, or a buzzard circling overhead. But there was something in her expression that made Ling follow the direction of her sister’s gaze.

  Her own eyes almost bolted from her head. Big Tip was literally that, a colossal mound of waste granite from the quarry accumulated over decades. The top of the dump extended outwards on the same level as the cottage gardens, and from the washing lines there was an uninterrupted view across the barren moorland. Ling’s deep, hazel eyes focused on something moving slowly around the base of King Tor, puffing little clouds of smoke as it chugged up the steady incline towards the far end of the Foggintor quarry settlement.

  The very first steam train on the new Princetown Railway!

  Ling’s heart gave a bound of excitement. Over the past two years, they had watched the track being constructed across the moor to the terminal at the prison settlement two miles away at Princetown. She had read that at the bottom end, the line swung westward to join the existing Great Western Railway at Horrabridge, connecting passengers to the main line and the entire national network. Oh, what a difference it was going to make to their restricted lives!

  Ling beamed across at Fanny, her face illuminated with the spark of mischief that frequently heralded some mad escapade. ‘Look! A train!’ she called to anyone who might be listening, and grasping Fanny’s hand, ran with her towards the quadrangle of little cottages.

  ‘Mother! It’s the train!’ she yelled gleefully as they scudded past the long, narrow gardens that radiated from the outer
side of the square. In the gardens grew row upon row of vegetables, essential for supplementing the men’s meagre wages. Ling saw her mother look up in amazement as she bailed out the water from the washtubs with an old enamel jug. But Ling didn’t wait for a reply and instead raced with Fanny to the end of the gardens and skidded around the corner.

  It seemed that they weren’t the only ones to have spotted the train, even though it was well camouflaged against the green and brown of the moor and was really only distinguishable by the grey-white smoke coming from the steam-engine chimney. The news had spread in moments. It was shortly after midday on Saturday, and as the men and boys who worked in the massive amphitheatres of Foggintor quarry knocked off for their well-earned half-day they joined Ling and Fanny as they made their way towards the post-and-wire fencing that separated the railway track from the surrounding moor.

  ‘We’d better wait for your mother,’ Arthur Southcott told his daughters as he found them in the gathering crowd, and Ling turned impatiently to watch her mother pant up behind them.

  ‘Well, I never did!’ Mary exclaimed as she reached them. ‘All they delays over the past weeks, and now the thing arrives totally unannounced! We could’ve missed it!’

  ‘Best hurry then!’ Arthur called to his family, and they ran along the wide path, laughing and joking and making a grand commotion as they joined the other men and their wives and children, all anxious to see the first great iron horse to conquer the rugged heights of Dartmoor.

  ‘Well, this’ll be a day to remember! August eleventh, 1883! Summat to tell our grandchildren one day, eh, Arthur, don’t you think?’

  Ling looked up at the beaming face of her father’s best friend, Ambrose Tippet, but she was damned if she was going to stand at the back of the crowd to witness this historic moment!

  ‘Get out of the way, Barney Mayhew, you great lummox! Let the little ones see!’ she said as she gathered up the smaller children and ushered them to the front.

  The healthy, glowing face of the young lad blocking her way split with a grin. ‘Not till you gi’e us a kiss, Miss Southcott,’ he teased.

  Ling gave a light giggle and planted a hearty kiss on his cheek. A chorus of jaunty ribaldry bantered about them, for everyone knew that Barney and Ling were walking out. Besides, this was a moment of deep joy and expectation, and everyone was in convivial mood.

  Barney obediently stood back, and Ling felt his dark eyes, full of admiration, upon her. The children, Barney’s two younger brothers among them, all stood in an orderly line under her direction. She was proud to have their respect as their school assistant. She loved her work and tried to make afternoon school – when she was in charge – everyone’s favourite time, singing and playing learning games with her pupils. Her heart would swell as, out of the corner of her eye, she caught Mr Norrish, the school teacher, looking on approvingly while he supervised the little tykes who had been naughty in the morning and so had to repeat their formal lessons instead.

  ‘I’m really proud of you, you know,’ Mr Norrish had said, taking her aside when she had shortly been expecting to leave the schoolroom behind for ever. ‘Always stood out from the rest, you have. And I’ve really enjoyed those extra history and geography lessons I’ve given you after school each day. You’ve taught both your parents to read and write, and you’ve even cultivated your speech. So, how would you like to become my assistant? You know how Mrs Warrington is so keen on schooling for the little ones? Well, she’s willing to pay you four shillings a week.’

  That had been nearly three years ago, but the vivid memory flashed like a beacon across Ling’s brain. It was no time for such thoughts now, though, as she eagerly watched the smoke-snorting engine labouring along the track. She knew it would not be stopping since there was no station here, just a siding where it was planned that goods trains would call three days a week to transport the stone. Any passengers from Foggintor would be obliged to walk into Princetown before they could ride in one of the carriages that were trundling towards them now. The clattering engine was looming larger and larger, gathering speed as the track became less steep, the wheels turning faster, clickety-clack, on the metal rails. On spying the festive throng, the driver blew the whistle three times, and the gigantic train thundered past with a whooshing roar, making the ground tremble beneath the spectators’ feet. Some threw their caps in the air, others waved with abandon to the dignitaries on board, children squealed with delight or screamed in terror. And then it was gone, wending its way, quite straight now after its tortuous climb, to the end of its journey.

  Ling stood mesmerized. It was magnificent, a thing of noise and power, and, in some strange way, of beauty. Close to, standing next to it on ground level, the size of the majestic beast was overwhelming. Her eye had caught the fascinating motion of the coupling rods that drove the wheels, the incandescent blaze in the open firebox as the fireman shovelled in more coal. And this wondrous sight was to be part of their daily lives from now on. People were cheering all about her, children tugging at her skirt and calling, ‘Miss! Miss!’ But she was staring rapturously after the train. Somehow that brief moment had opened up her heart. She loved Dartmoor, its wild uplands, its calm, wooded valleys with bubbling brooks and rivers, and she had never thought beyond her life at Foggintor, despite all she had studied in Mr Norrish’s books. But the railway had suddenly made the outside world seem accessible, and it had plunged her into a dreamlike reverie.

  It was Fanny’s hand on her arm that snapped her back to reality. The younger girl’s face was flushed with elation, though she said nothing, her brain, as so often happened, unable to find the words she needed to express her emotions.

  Ling grinned down at her. ‘Wasn’t that marvellous?’ she cried.

  Fanny nodded, her fair curls bobbing around her head. Ling drew in a quivering breath, but, before she could release it, Barney pulled her against him. He was as excited as all the apprentices were, for young men would always be inspired by gleaming machines of such strength and magnitude, but he was the only one among them to have a sweetheart, and this public show of affection was a way of boasting about it. Ling knew that some of the adults would frown upon his action, but she allowed him to hold her for a moment, her mind lost elsewhere.

  The crowd was slowly dispersing with much elbowing among the apprentices, and Ling pulled a disparaging grimace at them as she disengaged herself from Barney’s arm. The eldest of them, a quiet lad called Sam, gave her a sympathetic wink, and she took Fanny’s hand as they all walked back towards the hamlet, her mind already returning to the laundry. But, as she went to turn down between the square of cottages and the short row of similar dwellings opposite, she glanced back once more in the direction of the railway line.

  Two

  ‘The celebrations are going to be on Wednesday,’ Arthur announced, ‘and Mr Warren’s said we can have the day off!’

  ‘Oo, hear that, Fanny?’ Ling grabbed her sister’s hands and bounced up and down, almost bursting with anticipation. ‘What fun we’re going to have! They’ve had bunting up in Princetown for the last two weeks, just waiting for the word. There’s going to be a big party with fireworks and everything, isn’t there?’

  ‘There certainly is,’ her father said, grinning back at her. ‘’Twill be worth the waiting for! Apparently, after all the delays, the Board of Trade suddenly decided on Friday evening to certify the train for public use. It were all so sudden, the two committees in Princetown had no time to put all their festivity plans into action, so they’ve decided on Wednesday instead.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t wait! I don’t think I’ve ever seen fireworks, have I? It’ll be marvellous, Fanny! And there’s going to be sports and a band, to say nothing of the train itself and all the special people in their fine clothes. Oh, Mother, what a treat it’ll be!’

  Ling let go of Fanny’s hands and danced her mother round the tiny room instead. Arthur watched, amusement curving his mouth upwards at the corners. There might be dignitaries in splen
did attire travelling on the train, but not one of them would possibly be able to match the picture of passion and vivacity that was his elder daughter. With his comely wife, and Fanny, who was like a fairy, no man could ever be more proud of his family than Arthur Southcott was!

  When Ling came round the corner on Wednesday morning, Barney was lounging against a boulder waiting for her, whistling to himself with his hands thrust into his pockets in what he evidently considered a manly fashion. Ling smiled to herself, her eyes shining as they took in his best suit and well-brushed hair, all to impress her, she knew. Just as he had struggled, albeit with little success, to improve his literacy to show her how much she meant to him. Not that there was any need. At nearly eighteen and with his apprenticeship nearly over, he was the only man for her. Only Sam Tippet came anywhere near him for looks. A nice lad was Sam, but so quiet and reserved that he could never touch her heart as Barney did.

  ‘Morning, Barney!’

  ‘You looks proper lovely,’ he greeted her.

  ‘Why, thank you, Barney. I’m really looking forward to the day, aren’t you? Where are the others?’

  ‘They’ve gone on ahead.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ling’s face fell, and she glanced over her shoulder as her family came up behind her.

  ‘You two’d better catch ’em up then,’ Arthur said with a wink. ‘You young folk should be together on a day such as this.’

  Ling drew in an expectant breath and her eyes met Barney’s. ‘Come on then!’ she goaded him. Taking his hand in one of hers, she picked up the hem of her skirt with her other – showing more than a little ankle – and began to run. Barney was jolted forward, his cap flying from his head so that he had to break away to retrieve it. As he returned to Ling, hand outstretched in sure anticipation of holding hers again, she dodged neatly out of his reach and, laughing merrily, launched herself along the track in a froth of petticoat and flying feet. When he finally caught her, they danced about each other, panting and gasping, before hurrying on again and disappearing from view.