Chapter 4

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.

"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, it 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 grief 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.