Chapter 12

Sarah

"Time gliding by without our knowledge cheats us, and nothing can be swifter than the years."― Ovid

September, 1865

Sarah examined her reflection in the dressing table mirror. She was not in the habit of doing so, having long ago given up on any claims to vanity, but she was curious to see whether the face staring back at her looked like a confirmed old maid now she had reached the grand old age of thirty.

She saw large grey eyes and a clear complexion with no lines or wrinkles to show her advanced age. She smiled to herself. Perhaps there was still a residue of vanity in her after all. She finished brushing her light brown hair and with the efficiency of long practice, pinned it up in a neat bun. Satisfied, she rose to her feet and made her way down the stairs to have her breakfast.

The dining room table was laid out with fresh coffee, bread, butter and some slices of cold ham. There was no sign of Ambrose, who was in the habit of leaving for his work duties as estate manager in the early hours of the morning. Sarah was used to eating breakfast alone, except on Sundays, when her brother joined her. She ate quietly now, thinking of the day ahead.

In the mornings, on Tuesdays through to Fridays, she tutored Rosemary and Fanny Collins in French, Literature and Classics. They were the daughters of a retired naval commander, Colonel Collins, who had settled in the locality a few months ago, renting Gorston Manor, which had been vacant since its last tenant, old Mrs Nugent, had passed away last year. Shortly after their arrival, he had made enquiries about a suitable person to tutor Rosemary and Fanny, respectively seventeen and eighteen years old, and Daniel had suggested Sarah for the job. She was not in any need of additional funds, for Ambrose was well paid in his role as manager of the Stanton estate. However, Daniel had thought that Sarah would welcome the opportunity for useful employment, and in this, he was quite right.

Sarah embraced her new position with relish. Her two new charges were quiet, self-effacing girls who were keen to learn. The pay was generous, and the three hours a day she spent at Gorston Manor were not onerous, leaving her plenty of time still to indulge in her own pursuits.

Having finished her breakfast, she called Elsie, the housemaid, to clear the table and had a quick discussion with her about the day's duties. With this done, she slipped on her boots and coat, tied on her bonnet and headed out to Gorston Manor, which was an easy twenty-five minutes' walk from Ivy Cottage. The day was dry, with an occasional hint of sunshine breaking through the bank of clouds in the sky. She walked briskly, letting her mind wander.

She was stubborn in her habits, so of course, the first stop in her ruminations was her beloved Mr Templeton. She had observed him closely in church yesterday and concluded that he was aging well, like a fine wine. Perhaps it was because she had only recently turned thirty and was thus more preoccupied with the concept of aging than usual, that she had scrutinised his countenance looking for signs of his advancing age. He would be thirty-eight years old now, she knew, an age that to her once might have seemed approaching decrepitude. How silly! Thirty-eight was not so old at all, especially when it gave a gentleman a dashing thread of silver at his temples and in his whiskers.

In an instant, her thoughts skipped to Benjamin. She wondered if he too looked older now, after several years in the army. Logic dictated that he would, though she could not picture it. It had been nearly five years since she had last seen him. She could recall him clearly as he had been on that last day when he had come to say goodbye—smooth-shaven, showing off the fine cheekbones and firm jaw that all Stanton men seemed to have, the malleable mouth that curved into an engaging grin, and those dark brown eyes of his that shone with every emotion he felt. She knew that face well, for she thought of it every night.

It was odd that when it came to stimulating her senses at night, it was not Mr Templeton, but a man she had not seen in years, that dominated her thoughts. She stroked herself and reached her orgasms to dreams of Benjamin, imagining herself with him in bed, in a barn or in a deserted meadow doing all manner of wicked things. She read and re-read his letters often. They were infrequent, due to the war in America, but he still wrote whenever he could with raw honesty about himself.

There had been no repeat of the incident at Gettysburg with the kindly whore. Benjamin wrote that he knew well enough to avoid the whorehouses, where the women were often diseased and desperate—but more than that, he realised how desperate and vulnerable they were. It had been a sign of his own desperation that night that he had overcome his usual disgust of such places and gone there. More like an act of self-loathing, suspected Sarah, that he was still alive with blood on his hands when his friend had not been so fortunate.

His letters this past year had been imbued with a deep sense of melancholy and loneliness. She wished sometimes that she could reach out and hold him to her, whispering in his ear that he was not alone. He wrote to her, baring his soul, without receiving any word in return. He did not even know that she read his letters and treasured them. Her heart ached for her friend's pain.

On the move from place to place with his cavalry regiment, enduring difficult conditions and blood-soaked battles, there was rarely any time or opportunity for frolicking with women. He was mostly celibate, he wrote, obtaining sexual release through the stroke of his own hands. Then in his last letter, he had written of how he had met and had a lone assignation with a widow, a Mrs Davis, who lived not far from where he was quartered in Macon, a small town in Georgia. His regiment had been stationed there since April, giving him a touch more stability than before—though he was often absent for days on solo scouting missions.

Benjamin's letter had arrived just a few days ago, dated July 1865. Now, as Sarah walked to Gorston Manor, she recalled the one passage in the letter that she had read and re-read so many times that she almost had it memorised.

I arrived at Mrs Davis's house at the appointed time and rang the bell. I was shown in by her servant, who told me that the mistress awaited me in her bedchamber. "First door on the right," she said, pointing upwards. Without further ado, I strode up the stairs to said bedchamber, knocked briefly on the door, and entered.

Inside, I saw Mrs Davis laid out on the bed, naked as the day she was born, reclining on one elbow. She gave me a sultry smile and said, "Corporal Stanton, what took you so long? I have great need of you." So saying, she splayed open her legs, revealing to me the delightful folds of her cunt. I needed no second invitation. I pounced, laying my lips on those muskily scented folds. But Sarah, here's the thing. As I did so, I thought of you, or more accurately, I thought of how I would describe this all to you in my next letter. My poor girl, you have never experienced the delights of having a man worship your cunt with his lips, have you? Or perhaps, if you are married now, you have, but then you would not be reading this letter.

On the off chance that you are still unmarried, and that you are reading this, then let me describe it to you. The taste of a woman down there is unforgettable—or perhaps you have tasted yourself? Wicked girl! Do it, if you have not yet done so. Back to Mrs Davis. I put my mouth to her soft, fragrant cunt and I licked, lapped her up as if she were the most delectable morsel. With each lap of my tongue, she writhed in pleasure beneath me, secreting more of her delightful juices. Her clitoris was engorged, such was her state of arousal, and after a time, I surrounded the stiffened bud with my mouth and sucked. You should have heard her cries of pleasure. It was not long before she spent in my eager mouth.

A moment later, I had freed my swollen member from my pants and plunged into her steamy depths. And Sarah, as I did so, I imagined you in your bed, the lights out late at night, touching and tasting yourself to dreams of me licking your cunt, sucking your sweet little bud and then pounding you relentlessly with my hard cock the way I pounded Mrs Davis. It was the thought of you, dear invisible friend, that drove me to the peak, a climax so intense that I shook from it.

Dearest Sarah, it is the very strangest thing, but every time I am with a woman, you are there with me too in my mind as I imagine writing to you of it, as I envision you in your bed pleasuring yourself to thoughts of me. It is probably all an illusion in my mind. You are most likely in your staid marriage bed, all thoughts of me far from your mind, but a man can dream, can he not?

If he only knew how true his words were, thought Sarah as she turned off the main path to take a shortcut through the woodland that belonged to Mr Johnson, a local squire. She was trespassing, but it was only a short way until she emerged onto the lane that led to the entrance of Gorston Manor, and this route saved her at least ten minutes of walking. It was then that she heard the sound. A whimper. She stopped in her tracks and listened. There it was again. Was it an injured animal? No, the sound was distinctly human. With care, she stepped in the direction from whence it came.

As she rounded the side of a thick oak tree, she saw a boy, no more than ten years old, lying on the ground, his right foot caught in a man trap. It was one of the newer, humane traps, without teeth to cut into a person's flesh, designed to catch poachers in the act. The metal chain of the trap was firmly attached around the trunk of the nearest tree, preventing a poacher from escaping.

But this was no poacher. It was just a small boy in pain, by the sounds of his cries. She approached him carefully, looking down at her feet to ensure she did not step on any other trap. Really, it was too bad of Squire Johnson. Why anyone could have been caught in the trap, including herself, but this poor boy was the unlucky one. She was clearly not the only one to cut through the wood to save time on her journey. Feeling the beginnings of righteous anger in her chest, she knelt down by the boy. "Now, now," she said, "do stop crying and tell me your name."

The boy hiccupped and spoke in a tearful voice, "Mattie. My name's Mattie."

"Well, Mattie, let me take a look at your leg." With a gentle hand, she palpated his leg and immediately saw the problem. When the trap had caught his foot, the boy must have stumbled and fallen at an awkward angle, causing a fracture. Already, the flesh around his ankle was badly swollen. She examined the metal trap around his foot and saw that the only way to release it was to unlock it with a key, most likely in the possession of Mr Johnson's gamekeeper. What was she to do? She thought quickly.

"Mattie," she said softly. "I am going to go find someone to help release you from this trap. In the meantime, I want you to lie as still as you can. Try not to move your leg. Can you do that?"

He sniffed. "Yes."

"Very well." She stood. "I will be back as soon as I can." Carefully, she walked towards the lane, looking down at her feet the whole time, fearful of setting off another trap. A few minutes later, she emerged onto the rutted track of the lane and began to walk rapidly in the direction of Gorston Manor. She had not gone far before she heard the sound of a horse's hooves. Before long, a rider appeared in the distance. She waved at him to stop, and it was only then that she saw the rider was Mr Templeton.

He brought his mare to a stop before her and doffed his hat. "Miss Cranshaw. Are you in any trouble?" he enquired.

She spoke quickly. "Not myself, no, but there is a little boy beyond in the woods that needs our help. His foot has got caught in one of Squire Johnson's traps, and he must have fractured it as he fell. I need help to release him from that trap and get him to a physician as soon as possible."

By now, Mr Templeton had dismounted his horse and was passing the reins around the thick branch of a tree. Once it was secured, he went to one of the saddle bags and removed from it a pistol that was securely wedged inside one of the pockets. He loaded the weapon as she looked on, explaining as he did so, "A shot from this should sever the chain holding him trapped."

"What a good idea," she said approvingly, then frowned. "Only it will alert the gamekeeper, who will come to investigate. I do not want the poor boy to be found and charged with a crime."

"It is a risk we shall have to take. The gamekeeper is usually filling his belly at the village inn around this time, so we should be fine. In any case, I will carry him straight to my horse and we can be away soon after. Now, which way do we go?"

Impressed at his decisiveness, she led him back the way she had come, saying over her shoulder, "I did not see any other traps on my way out, but do be very careful where you step."

"I will."

Stepping cautiously, they made their way back to where Mattie lay, his tearful eyes wide with surprise. "His name is Mattie," said Sarah, touching the boy's head gently.

Mr Templeton smiled and crouched down at eye level with the child. "Mattie, my name is Mr Templeton, and I am here to help you. I want you to stay very still as I fire my pistol to break the chain and release you. It is very important you do not move though, are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled the boy.

"Good."

Mr Templeton then stood and pointed his pistol at the middle link of the chain. He grinned at Sarah. "You may wish to cover your ears," he said as warning. She did as he instructed, as did Mattie. "Ready? One, two, three." The pistol went off with a bang and a small cloud of smoke. Mr Templeton looked down at the chain. "I think that did the trick," he said. Placing the pistol on the ground, he pulled at the rings of the chain, and with a small clang, they came apart. "There we go, all done," he said in satisfaction. "Now let us get out of here." He disarmed the chamber of the pistol and handed it to her. "Miss Cranshaw, please hold this while I carry Mattie back to my horse. Do not be afraid. It is quite safe."

She snorted and took it from him. "I am well versed in the workings of a pistol, Mr Templeton."

He smiled admiringly. "You really are quite an intrepid female, Miss Cranshaw."

She flushed in pleasure at the praise, but Mr Templeton was already turned away, bending down to lift the small boy into his arms. "Careful now, this may hurt a little," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. The boy went to him trustingly, putting small arms around his neck. Mr Templeton straightened to his full height and began to walk towards the edge of the wood, all the while keeping his eyes tracked to the ground. In a minute or two, they reached the lane and the waiting horse. With strong arms, Mr Templeton lifted the boy into the saddle, then nimbly mounted behind him. He looked down at Sarah. "I will take him now to Dr Benson. Will you be alright on your own?"

"Of course," she replied calmly. "I was on my way to Gorston Manor, which is but a few minutes' walk from here."

Mr Templeton nodded. "Very well, I shall leave you to walk there. I would suggest, Miss Cranshaw, that you avoid this perilous shortcut in future and take the long way around. I should hate for this to happen to you."

"On this, I am in full agreement." She hesitated. "Mr Templeton, you will let me know how he gets on?"

"Of course. I shall ride over to Ivy Cottage later today once I know the boy is in safe hands and give you a full report. Now, we better make haste. Good day, Miss Cranshaw."

"Good day," she murmured.

With a light tap of his shoes to the flank of his horse, he was off. Sarah watched him go, then remembered that the gamekeeper, alerted by the sound of the pistol, could be on his way. She set off hurriedly in the direction of Gorston Manor. She arrived there only a few minutes later than normal, and only slightly dishevelled, not occasioning any comment from her young charges. Her mind half on the events that had occurred that morning, she managed to get through the lessons of the day. Just before midday, she bid the Collinses goodbye and walked back home, electing sensibly to take the longer route.

It was not much later that there came a knock on the door and Elsie opened it to let Mr Templeton in, showing him to the main parlour. Sarah hastened down from her room, where she had been refreshing her appearance. "Mr Templeton," she said, walking into the parlour. "I must thank you for your timely assistance today."

He stood and bowed over her hand. "No thanks are needed, I assure you."

She invited him to sit and took a seat opposite him. "Tell me sir, how is Mattie?"

"As well as can be," said Mr Templeton cheerfully. "With a bit of work, we were able to remove the trap from his foot. The good doctor re-set the fracture and bandaged it, but the poor boy will be on crutches for a good few weeks until it heals."

"Will he get into trouble over this?" wondered Sarah.

Mr Templeton shook his head. "The gamekeeper will no doubt discover the broken chain and see that the trap is missing, but there is no way for him to prove it was the boy that walked into it. Dr Benson is tight-lipped and will not speak of it to a soul, so as far as anyone is concerned, Mattie took an unfortunate tumble and fractured his foot."

"Good," said Sarah in relief. "I am glad, and very grateful to have come across you today, Mr Templeton."

"It was indeed providential that I decided to take this route on my way home, but I do believe you had the matter in hand. You strike me as a most capable sort, Miss Cranshaw." He got to his feet and Sarah did so too. "Well, I will not keep you. Please give my best to Mr Cranshaw." He walked to the door, and Sarah followed him. He bowed. "Good day, Miss Cranshaw."

"Good day, Mr Templeton."

He left, leaving a pleasant cloud of his cologne hovering in the air around her. She took a long sniff of it and sighed happily. The rest of the afternoon was spent in reminiscences of every word and gesture from Mr Templeton today. He had called her an intrepid female and a most capable sort. It was not exactly the most fulsome of compliments, but it was praise nonetheless.

It was not until early evening that Ambrose returned home. She had thought to regale him with tales of her adventures today, but all this was erased from her mind with a few simple words as he walked into the parlour. "Sarah, good news," he said quickly. "Daniel received a telegram from America today. Benjamin is back home from the war."

She rose to her feet and stared at him. "He's home? Really home?"

His face broke into a grin. "Safe and sound back in Ohio."

"Oh thank the Lord!" she cried and burst into tears.

With infinite patience, Ambrose took her into his arms and let her have her cry, patting her back comfortingly. When finally, she had herself in hand, he said, "There is more. Daniel is all set to sail to America as soon as possible with Isabella. He's going to see Benedict and Grace in the morning to ask if they wish to go too. It got me thinking. With all these letters you've received from Benjamin over the years, now might be your chance to send one to him in return."

She looked up at him with glistening eyes, a smile forming on her face. "I shall write tonight," she declared, "straight after supper."

Later that night, she indeed took pen to paper and wrote a very long letter to her dearest friend. It was past midnight when she finally put down her pen and sealed the missive. She tiptoed downstairs to leave it on the dining room table for Ambrose to take with him to Stanton Hall the following morning. With this mission accomplished, she returned to her room, undressed, dimmed the light and got into bed, though sleep was not quick to come.

The day had felt momentous. Benjamin was back home. He had kept his promise and returned from war. Her heart swelled in her chest at knowing he was safe. Now, they could resume a two-way correspondence—though for how long she did not know. Eventually, Benjamin would settle down in the bosom of his family and find himself a wife. That was the natural order of things. And once he did so, she did not think he would continue with the wonderfully frank correspondence they had shared up till now.

Then there was Mr Templeton. Today, she had spent more time in his company than she had done in years, when she was used to only receiving a smiling greeting from him at church. He had acted heroically, rising in her estimation, and more importantly, she had excited his admiration. Could it be that finally, after all these years, he was truly beginning to note her worth? She could not help but feel that her life, so long in stasis, was about to change.