The crowds were such that the bus had slowed to a walking pace long before they reached the Strand.
‘Oh, let’s get off ’ere. Us’ll do better on foot.’ Dolly’s face was bright with anticipation.
‘Very well.’
‘Yer, let me catch ’old of your arm, else us’ll be parted!’ exclaimed Dolly, gripping Mercy as the crowd swirled round them. ‘Lor’, did you ever see such folk? The world ‘n’ ’is wife be ’ere, seemingly. Oh, Mercy, look ’tis there! The fair!’ Her fingers tightened their grip in her excitement, making Mercy wince.
‘Mind what you’re doing,’she protested, laughing. ‘I’ll be black and blue.’
‘Sorry… Oh, come on, let’s get over there quick.’ The brilliant lights and the breathy discord of steam-organs attracted Dolly, but Mercy firmly pulled her in the opposite direction.
‘Later,’ she said. ‘The fair will be there for a while, never fear. Let’s find somewhere to stand for the fireworks first.’
‘Us idn’t going to see much among this lot,’ complained Dolly, still drawn to the excitement of the fair yet appreciating the sense of her friend’s words.
Mercy was forced to agree with her, and she raised her head to look for a vantage point. Together the girls drifted with the current of bodies towards the pier, then Mercy exclaimed, ‘Look up there! We’d have a marvellous view from there.’ She pointed to the solid mass of the Rock Walk above them, facing the sea.
‘Gawd, I idn’t going up there! I idn’t no bloody fly!’ protested Dolly, who disliked unnecessary exercise.
‘Come on, there are steps we can go up.’
‘’Tis too steep. There idn’t no room, either; do you see all they folk up there?’
Dolly kept on raising objections as Mercy steered her relentlessly towards the Walk.
They made their way upward in the gathering dusk, taking the narrow paths and steep steps with Dolly protesting and puffing all the way. Many people had chosen this particular viewpoint, but somehow the girls managed to squeeze themselves into a space on a rustic bridge which clung to the cliff face. From the bridge they could see everything – the fair, the great sweep of Torbay and, best of all, the pier, from which at any moment the firework display would begin.
‘There, isn’t this worth the climb?’ demanded Mercy.
‘’Ee do ’ave good ideas sometimes,’ agreed Dolly grudgingly. ‘But I idn’t ’alf in a muck sweat.’
Mercy laughed. Clinging to the handrail she looked down to the road below, where there was such a press of bodies that a tram trying to clank its way along the sea front had given up the unequal struggle and remained stranded, like some antediluvian monster, in a sea of summer hats. Everyone was good-humoured, even the besieged tram driver, who was placidly lighting his pipe. It was as though the Regatta had spread a special sort of magic over everything.
In the darkness Mercy savoured the beauty of the night. How she wished she could keep it for ever, captured behind a picture frame or beneath one of the glass domes that covered waxed fruit. While others fidgeted, impatient for the fireworks to start, she gazed about her, taking in each detail to hoard like a miser’s treasure for the future. Out beyond the bay the Channel stretched black and infinite; closer to shore there were so many lights from the yachts riding at anchor that it was hard to tell where the land stopped and the sea began.
Although winter was the usual time for the gentry to come to Torquay, for two days in August they returned for the sailing. Mercy loved to see these wealthy people – the smart gentlemen in brass-buttoned blazers and cheese-cutter caps, and the elegant ladies in huge hats like overblown flowers. Beautiful beings who led beautiful lives, who did not have to break their backs every day wielding flat-irons.
Mercy gazed towards where the grand yachts danced at anchor. Just supposing Blanche’s stories were true, she thought. Someone from my family could be on board one of those, someone important and wealthy. And what if they discovered who I am and invited me to visit them? It was an impossible dream, but pleasant enough to blur the reality of the crowds and the darkening night sky…
‘They’m still lookin’ at us!’ Dolly’s voice broke in.
Mercy started at this rude interruption of her thoughts.
‘Who are?’ she asked.
‘Lor’, ’ee don’t take notice of nothin’, do ’ee? They two swells down there. They keep lookin’ at us.’
‘Ignore them. We don’t want strange men pestering us,’ said Mercy firmly.
Then curiosity got the better of her and she looked down. The steep slope was newly clothed with palms, magnolias, ilexes, and flowering cherries, which were still immature. On the crowded terrace below everyone was looking towards the sea, waiting for the first sign of the fireworks. Only two faces gazed upwards. Even in the gloom she could see that they were both male and young. At the sight of Mercy leaning over they waved their straw boaters with exaggerated gallantry.
‘How impertinent!’ exclaimed Mercy, drawing back abruptly.
‘’Ee don’t ’alf sound like your Gran sometimes,’ chuckled Dolly. ‘’Ow impertinent!’ she mimicked. ‘That’s ’er ladyship to a T.’
‘You wouldn’t talk like that if she could hear you,’ grinned Mercy.
‘You’m right there, I’ve no fancy for a slice of ’er tongue, thanks —Oh my gawd!’
Dolly finished with a shrill squawk as a rocket shot skywards and exploded with an ear-splitting bang which reverberated round the cliffs, setting up the seagulls for miles. A spontaneous groan of approval burst from thousands of throats as golden stars cascaded into the bay. Mercy was so entranced she forgot the impudent young men. She was transported to a different world, filled with light, colour, and beauty. All too soon the set piece at the end of the pier exploded into life.
‘Can ’ee make it out?’ demanded Dolly. ‘I can’t see what ’tis. Yes I can! Tis the King and Queen. Idn’t that ’andsome? Good old Teddy and Alex!’
Dolly’s triumphant shout was drowned by the welter of cheers which broke from the crowd; then the foghorns and hooters of every craft in the bay sounded, adding to the pandemonium. At last the cacophony died down and the people began to move.
‘Ah…Tis the end. What a shame!’ said Dolly. ‘Which way do us go down?’
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Mercy. ‘There seems to be a slope over there, but it will take us out of our way.’
‘Us don’t want that,’ said Dolly firmly. ‘Us wants to get to the fair as quick as possible.’
‘Then, we’ll go down the steps.’
‘Not they steps us come up?’ wailed Dolly. ‘I’ll never manage they in the dark.’
‘We appear to have arrived in the nick of time,’ said a masculine voice. ‘May we be of assistance to you ladies?’
Two young men confronted them, the very two from the terrace below. They had somehow managed to push their way against the human tide on the narrow path. In their brightly coloured blazers and white flannels and with their straw boaters set at identically jaunty angles, they were a typical pair of mashers, young toffs out for some fun.
Mercy felt shy of them, and a little wary. ‘Thank you, we do not need any assistance,’ she said politely.
Dolly had other ideas. ‘Yes, us do!’ she declared. ‘Us wants to get off this danged cliff but us don’t fancy the steps in the dark.’
There was such an open invitation in her tone that Mercy squirmed inwardly. ‘Oh, Dolly,’ she breathed reprovingly. ‘We don’t know them.’
‘And us never will if ’tis left to ’ee,’ replied Dolly in a whisper that was all too audible.
‘In that case may I be permitted to help one of you young ladies down?’ The first young man held out his hand.
Mercy backed away. He was darkly good-looking and there was something a little too bold and self-assured about his manner for her taste.
Dolly had no such qualms, she accepted his hand and the pair of them began to descend.
‘If you won�
��t let me help you at least let me lead the way.’ It was the second young man who spoke. He was quieter than his friend and his voice was good-humoured. ‘Otherwise you’ll have to stay here until morning, which sounds jolly uncomfortable. You had better follow me. Don’t worry, there aren’t many steps, mainly sloping paths.’
Mercy was still unsure. Dolly and her escort were almost out of sight, however, so she had no alternative but to accept the young man’s help. Although the descent was really quite easy, as they reached the bottom Dolly was determined to make the most of it.
‘I don’t know what us’d ’ave done if ’ee ’adn’t come along,’ she declared dramatically.
‘We were only too delighted to help, weren’t we, Lisburne, old man?’ replied the dark young man. ‘Surely you’ll give us the pleasure of your company for a little longer? Can’t we escort you somewhere?’
‘Don’t ’ee talk ’andsome?’ Dolly beamed. Then she added winsomely, ‘Us was goin’ to the fair, supposin’ us ever gets through the crush.’
‘To the fair it is, then,’ said the darker of the two.
Mercy was in an agony of embarrassment. They could not go off with two young men they had just met! Gentlemen they might claim to be but the bold eyes of the dark one were flickering rather too appreciatively over Dolly, taking in every voluptuous curve.
‘I’m afraid we can’t let perfect strangers escort us anywhere,’ she said, surprised at her own firmness.
‘I assure you we aren’t perfect,’ replied the dark young man, his eyes still devouring Dolly, who let out a delighted shriek and thumped him amiably.
Mercy gave a resigned sigh, not at all happy at the way things were going.
‘Perhaps if we introduced ourselves?’ suggested the other young man. ‘Then, at least, we won’t be complete strangers. I’m Peter Lisburne. And this reprobate is Frederick Parkham.’
‘Freddie to my friends,’ added his companion.
‘’Ow d’ye do?’ Dolly said formally. ‘I be Dolly Dyer – Miss Dolly Dyer.’
‘No, not really?’ Freddie Parkham looked at her in delight. ‘Jolly Dolly Dyer, eh?’
‘Yer! What be wrong with my name?’ demanded Dolly defensively.
‘Absolutely nothing. It is delightful,’ Freddie assured her.
‘That be all right, then,’ said Dolly mollified somewhat. ‘Be us goin’ to that fair or baint us?’
The pair of them moved away, never bothering to see if the other two were following. Soon they were swallowed up by the crowd and only the scarlet feathers of Dolly’s hat marked their progress.
Peter Lisburne looked down at Mercy. ‘It seems we’re going to the fair,’ he said. ‘Would you object if I escorted you?’
The scarlet feathers were bobbing further and further away, soon they would be out of sight completely.
‘Oh, very well,’ replied Mercy. Then she realized she had sounded ungracious. It was not that she disliked the company of young men, far from it; and Peter Lisburne was certainly attractive with his fair hair and athletic build; but he and his friend came from a different world - the world Blanche talked about. Her grandmother’s stories, fanciful though they were, had made Mercy all too aware of the difference between their way of life and her own. And now she was overcome with awkwardness, not certain what to say or do.
‘Thank you, you are very kind,’ she added, speaking carefully in imitation of Blanche’s well-bred tones. ‘Please, Mr Lisburne, can we hurry or we’ll lose Dolly and your friend?’
It was no easy matter moving through the sea of bodies. At last Peter said, ‘I’m afraid we have lost Freddie and Miss Dyer for the moment. We’ll soon find them at the fair.’
Mercy felt less optimistic. She knew Dolly of old, and she suspected that her friend was quite happy to be lost if she were in the company of a presentable man.
For some reason the crowd came to a standstill, solid and impenetrable.
‘Look, it’s useless trying to get through this. Let’s make for the Princess Gardens,’ suggested Peter.
Mercy allowed herself to be guided across the road to the gardens which skirted the outer harbour. It was quieter here, though many people were strolling along the gravel paths. Fairy lights had been lit, so that glowing pinpoints of flickering colour edged each lawn and flower-bed. Mercy was enchanted.
‘Oh, this is lovely!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s— it’s like something out of a fairy story…’ She stopped, fearing that she had said something foolish.
But her companion replied, ‘It is, isn’t it? You’d think we could come across the Sleeping Beauty, or maybe find the Princess looking for her Frog Prince in the fountain over there.’
Mercy laughed at his nonsense. Peter smiled back. It was a nice smile that gleamed beneath his blond moustache – in fact, his whole face was pleasing. Not as dashing as Freddie Parkham’s perhaps, nevertheless, it was one where laughter was never far away. She noted with approval that it also lacked his friend’s over-bold, almost predatory expression.
‘I’m glad you laughed,’ he said. ‘I was afraid you weren’t enjoying being in my company.’
‘I’m sorry if I’ve seemed rude!’ exclaimed Mercy in distress. ‘It’s simply— well, we’ve only just met, and I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me.’
‘Let me assure you that you haven’t been at all rude. And as for getting the wrong impression, never for one moment did I think you were… were…’
‘A flighty piece?’ supplied Mercy.
‘Exactly!’ Peter laughed, delighted at the description. ‘You know, I’m the one who is at a disadvantage.’ ‘How?’
‘You know my name – I don’t think you have told me yours.’
‘Oh, it’s Mercy Seaton.’
‘Mercy! That’s a lovely name.’
‘Do you think so?’ She looked at him sharply, suspecting he was laughing at her. To her surprise she saw that he meant it. ‘I don’t like it. People make so many jokes about it. And besides, I don’t know anyone else called Mercy. It was my grandmother who chose my name, and no one dared to argue because she is rather formidable…’ Formidable was a word she had read in a book, and she decided that it suited Blanche perfectly. Now when she spoke she pronounced it with great care.
‘Well, good for formidable grandmothers,’ declared Peter. ‘Ah, we’re nearly there.’
‘At last!’ breathed Mercy. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to the fair.’ She did not mean him to hear her exclamation, but he did.
‘This is your first visit? You didn’t come last night?’
‘No, I couldn’t get away,’ said Mercy with dignity, though the truth was that she could not afford to come for two nights.
‘I suppose you work.’ Peter said the words with surprise, as if such a thought had just occurred to him.
‘Yes, I work in a shop, a high-class dress shop.’
Now why had she said that? What difference did it make if Peter Lisburne knew she worked in a laundry? She felt angry with herself for being so silly – and thankful that her cheap cotton gloves prevented her workraw hands from betraying the truth.
It had taken them quite a time to make their way from the Rock Walk to the Strand; then with a suddenness that was breath-taking they were at the fair. Their eyes were assaulted by myriad lights from the harsh naphtha flares and their ears were stunned by the music from the steam-organs. To Mercy it was all wonderful, and she gazed about, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed.
‘Where shall we start, Miss Seaton?’ asked Peter, who had been watching her evident pleasure.
‘The roundabout! The Golden Gallopers! I always start on they—’ she cried, then stopped. It was not her lapse from well-bred speech which had caused her concern. Til pay for myself, of course. I’d prefer it,’ she said hastily.
‘And I would prefer it if you didn’t.’ Peter turned and faced her. ‘You are doing me a great favour just being with me; it would be no fun alone, I assure you.’
‘But yo
u came with your friend.’
‘If he hadn’t met jolly Miss Dolly, he would have met someone else. He always does.’
‘Then why did you come to the fair if you expected to be by yourself?’ Mercy was determined not to be swayed by his arguments.
‘If you want the truth, to avoid an appallingly tedious dinner party at home. Being here with you is infinitely better than that. I am greatly in your debt, so you must let me do something to redress the balance.’
His face was unexpectedly serious, so serious that she hadn’t the heart to refuse him.
‘If you are sure…’ she said, and saw his expression relax.
‘Absolutely sure! You wish to try the Golden Gallopers, you say? Right, let’s find them.’
How long she had waited for this evening, but even in her most ambitious imaginings she had never dreamed of such an escort! She had never met anyone like him before. Although she addressed him as Mr Lisburne, already she thought of him as Peter. The well-bred, nameless gentlemen who peopled Blanche’s stories she had pictured as cool and haughty, but Peter wasn’t a bit like that. Once her initial shyness had worn off she found him easy to talk to. She liked his manners, too; he was always so proper, calling her ‘Miss Seaton’, and being concerned that she was enjoying herself. He treated her like a fragile being, and Mercy felt cosseted – a rare and very pleasurable experience for her.
His self-assurance impressed her. So this was what wealth and position gave you, confidence and a knowledge of your own worth! Mercy had never realized it before; she had only considered riches to be a means of keeping warm and nicely dressed and having plenty to eat. She was surprised to discover that there was more to it.
Together they sampled everything the fair had to offer. Mercy grew concerned at the amount of money Peter was spending on her. When she protested he was quite astonished.
To Dream Again Page 2