So Long At the Fair

by Jess Foley

  ‘It’s over,’ said Beatie. ‘He doesn’t want to see me any more.’

  ‘Beatie . . .’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you say, Abbie, I know. A week has gone by and I’ve heard nothing from him.’ Abruptly she sat up. ‘But he’s got to come. He’s got to.’ Bursting into tears, she threw herself down and buried her face in the pillow.

  That evening their father returned from Trowbridge where he had been working for the past week. When he and Abbie were alone she told him of her meeting with Tom Greening and of his failure to appear that afternoon. He bent his head and sighed. ‘What’s to be done?’

  Abbie shrugged. ‘I don’t think there’s anything to be done. Except wait and hope.’

  Eddie’s reaction, as Abbie could have predicted, was more volatile than their father’s. ‘I’ll go and see ’im,’ he said angrily. ‘I’ll find out what’s ’appenin’.’ And he would have gone to Lullington, charging over in his usual hot-headed way, had not Abbie persuaded him against it. It would solve nothing, she said, and certainly it would do nothing to help Beatie.

  On Monday morning Beatie shut herself in the bedroom with writing paper and pen. When she came down a while later she told Abbie that she had written Tom a letter. ‘He’ll come and see me when he’s read it,’ she said.

  Sorrowfully, and unconvinced, Abbie watched as she left the cottage to post it. Tom had had ample time and every chance to contact Beatie, and he had not done so. She could not imagine how Beatie’s letter would make him change his mind.

  Abbie’s fears were realized. As the days passed, she observed Beatie’s growing despair while she waited in vain for some response to her letter.

  On Saturday morning Abbie saw Beatie watching from the window once again as the postman walked past the cottage gate. In silence Beatie gazed at the old man until he moved out of sight, then she turned quietly away.

  Abbie was preparing to leave for the grocer’s shop and do other errands in the village. ‘Beatie, why don’t you come with me?’ she suggested. ‘You should get a little air. It doesn’t do you any good to stay cooped up in here day after day.’

  Beatie shook her head. ‘No,’ she said dully, ‘I don’t want to see anyone.’

  Knowing that it was useless to try to persuade her, Abbie left the cottage. When she returned some forty-five minutes later, she found the kitchen empty and, on going upstairs, saw that Beatie’s cape was not in the wardrobe. Back downstairs, she busied herself unpacking the shopping and doing other odd chores while she waited for Beatie’s return. Twenty minutes later, when there was still no sign of her, she left the cottage to go in search of her. After wandering around the village for a time she saw Mrs Carroll, who told her that she had seen Beatie some time earlier starting out on the road to Lullington. Abbie at once set out after her.

  Later, as she approached Lullington village, she saw ahead of her the solitary figure of Beatie sitting by the roadside. Abbie hurried towards her. Beatie, seated on the stump of a fallen tree, did not look up as she drew near.

  ‘Beatie,’ Abbie said, ‘I wondered where you’d got to. Then I saw Jane’s mother and she said she’d seen you heading out this way.’

  Beatie sat looking ahead of her. Abbie sat down beside her. After a little silence she said hesitantly, ‘What are you doing out here, Beatie?’ She paused, waiting. ‘Are you – going to see Tom?’

  ‘I’ve already been.’ Beatie began to pluck nervously at her skirt. Turning to Abbie, she added with a strange little smile, ‘He didn’t want to see me.’

  Hearing the tone of Beatie’s words, seeing the strange, humourless little smile on her lips, Abbie felt as if her heart would break. ‘Oh, Beatie – I wish I could say something to –’

  ‘There’s nothing you can say,’ Beatie broke in. ‘There’s nothing anyone can say that will make it right. Only Tom – and it’s too late.’ A brief silence, then she went on, ‘I felt that if I could only talk to him it would be all right again. But he wouldn’t see me. The maid said he’d gone away, to stay with relatives, and that she didn’t know when he’d be back.’ She turned to Abbie. ‘What did I do that he should turn away from me like this?’

  ‘You haven’t done anything,’ Abbie said. ‘Of course you haven’t.’ She put her arms round Beatie’s shoulders, hugging her to her.

  Withdrawing from Abbie’s embrace after a moment, Beatie said, ‘What shall I do now? I don’t know what to do.’

  High in a tree nearby a blackbird was singing, his voice unbearably sweet in the stillness. Below him a squirrel darted, a flash of red among the branches. In the meadow beyond the opposite hedge a cowman was driving a herd of cattle. Untouched by Beatie’s grief the world went on.

  ‘Beatie – come on home now.’

  ‘Home . . .’ Beatie spoke the word as if she had never heard it before and remained sitting there. ‘He doesn’t love me any more,’ she said, ‘and I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do right now. But if it’s true – if it is over between you and Tom, well – I can only say it shows he wasn’t the right one for you. He couldn’t be.’

  ‘Don’t.’ Beatie gave a worried little shake of her head. ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘Oh, Beatie,’ Abbie said, ‘I can imagine how you must be suffering – but in time you’ll get over it. I know right now you can’t possibly see that it could be so, but I’m sure it will happen.’

  Beatie put out a hand and laid it on Abbie’s. ‘Yes, perhaps you’re right.’ She pressed Abbie’s hand, then rose, drawing Abbie up beside her. ‘Come on, let’s go home.’

  They hardly spoke as they walked and the journey seemed to Abbie very long. Eventually, though, they came to Flaxdown. They made their way along Miller Street, past the Lamb and Flag and crossed over the green. As they neared the entrance to Green Lane, Abbie saw a figure drawing near and recognized the Revd Hilldew. In the same moment that she saw him he raised his hand, hailing her and bidding her to wait.

  ‘I’ll go on,’ Beatie said quickly, already turning, starting along the lane. ‘I don’t want to talk to anybody.’

  ‘All right – you go on indoors and put the kettle on. I’ll only be a minute.’

  Abbie watched as Beatie, head bowed, went along the lane and turned in at the front gate of the cottage. A few moments later the Revd Hilldew was stopping at Abbie’s side.

  ‘I was just on my way to see you, Miss Abigail,’ he said, smiling. ‘Though it looks as if I’m lucky I didn’t call a few minutes earlier.’

  ‘Yes,’ Abbie said. ‘I – I’ve just been out with my sister.’

  The man nodded and cast a careful glance along the lane in the direction of the cottage, then said quietly, ‘I was told what – what happened. What a dreadful thing.’ He paused. ‘How is your sister now, may I ask?’

  ‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.’

  He shook his head sympathetically. ‘It will take her some time to get over such a – such an experience. Tell me – is her wedding likely to be delayed?’

  Abbie sighed. ‘I can’t tell you, Reverend. I just don’t know what’s happening. Perhaps there’s not going to be any wedding. I don’t know. We’re all at sixes and sevens.’

  ‘I wish there were something I could do. Would it help if I had a word with her? I might be able to give her a little comfort . . .’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, sir, but – I don’t think she wants to see anyone right now. Outside of the family, I mean.’

  He nodded. ‘I understand. But you will let me know if I can do anything?’

  ‘Yes, I will. Thank you.’

  ‘They haven’t found the men, I suppose.’

  ‘No. We’ve got no idea who they are or where they came from. But I don’t care if they’re never found. I just want it all to be finished with – and for Beatie to get over it.’

  ‘Of course.’

  They stood facing one another a moment or two longer, then Abbie took a token step away, anxious t
o go and rejoin her sister. Observing her move, the cleric said, ‘I don’t want to keep you, but listen – your sister is not the main reason for my coming here today. I wanted to see you on quite another matter.’

  ‘Yes . . . ?’ She saw that his expression was calm. And now he was smiling gravely.

  ‘You’re still as keen as ever to teach, are you?’ he asked.

  ‘What? Oh, yes, of course.’

  ‘Then I think you might get your wish very soon.’

  ‘Oh . . . ?’

  ‘Miss Beacham, the village schoolmistress, is to be married in January. And of course, as you know, married women are not employed as teachers. So – her post will become vacant as from Christmas. There was a meeting of the Board yesterday and in the end it was agreed that you should be offered the post.’

  Abbie shook her head in wonder. ‘I can’t believe it. Is it true?’

  ‘Oh, it’s true enough, all right.’ He added quickly, ‘Though you’ll have to assist Miss Beacham in the classroom in the meantime, to complete a period of training, of course. But if that goes well – and I see no reason why it should not – then the post will be yours.’

  ‘But I didn’t think I stood a chance,’ Abbie said, ‘– not after my interview.’

  ‘Well,’ he shrugged, ‘it would be foolish of me to pretend that all the members of the Board were equally in favour of your appointment. But the majority were and that’s what counts.’ He paused. ‘So – do I take it that you accept the offer?’

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed. Yes – yes, thank you. Oh, thank you, Reverend.’

  ‘You’ve nothing to thank me for. Of course I wanted to help you, but my first consideration is always for the pupils. I think you’ll be good for them.’ Here a touch of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘As long as you use your best judgement and aren’t tempted to try to change the world from your classroom.’

  Abbie smiled back at him. ‘Oh – no fear of that, sir.’

  He put out his hand and, gratefully, she grasped it, shook it.

  ‘I’ll be in touch again in the next few days,’ he said, ‘to settle the details and arrange for you to start working with Miss Beacham.’ He gave a nod of satisfaction. ‘And in the meantime if there is anything I can do to help with regard to Beatrice then don’t hesitate to let me know.’

  ‘I won’t. And thank you again.’

  He bade her goodbye and started away. As if in a dream she stood watching him as he walked back across the green, then, pulling herself together, she turned and headed down the lane. What an irony it was, she thought as she passed through the front gate to the cottage, that such a moment of happiness should come at such a time.

  She called out Beatie’s name as she entered the kitchen, but the room was empty. Moving to the stairs she opened the door and called up, ‘Beatie? Beatie, are you there?’ There was no answer. She called again. Still no answer. She had probably gone outside to the privy. She took off her bonnet and cape, stood before the mirror and ran smoothing hands over her hair. Through her mind ran the Reverend’s words – It was agreed that you should be offered the post . . . If only Beatie had not suffered such a terrible blow; as things were she felt guilt for her own personal good fortune.

  On the mantelpiece above the range stood the envelope containing Louis’s letter. She took it down, pulled it out and read it once again. In her mind she had already composed so many replies. And yes, of course she would see him. She couldn’t wait to see him again. He was in her thoughts so often, from the time of her waking until the time of her sleeping. She would write to him tomorrow.

  She returned the letter to the envelope and replaced it on the shelf. Then she banked the fire, filled the kettle and put it on to boil. Her thoughts reverting to Beatie’s difficulties, she said to herself that perhaps it was not all over and done with. Perhaps Tom had indeed had to go away from home for a while. And even if he had not, even supposing that he had chosen not to see Beatie when she called, then it still did not mean that it was over. After all, he must have been terribly shocked at the news of what had happened. Perhaps in time it would all come right again.

  Moving to the door, she looked out and, after a moment, crossed the yard and moved down the garden path. The privy, its door slightly ajar, stood empty. Puzzled, Abbie turned and started back towards the cottage. As she drew nearer the door she suddenly quickened her pace.

  She entered the cottage almost at a run, swiftly turning inside and starting up the stairs. ‘Beatie . . .’ Her boots clattered on the treads. ‘Beatie . . . ?’

  Her heart pounding, she reached the bedroom and flung open the door.

  It was Beatie’s shadow she saw first; her shadow thrown onto the wall. Then, turning, she saw Beatie herself.

  She hung suspended by her neck from a rope that she had tied to a stout hook in one of the beams. Her body was swaying slightly. Beside her dangling feet lay the overturned chair.

  PART THREE

  Chapter Eleven

  It was 21 July 1872. Abbie had reached her twenty-second birthday less than two weeks previously, and three and a half years had passed since she had begun her work as a teacher at the village school.

  The schoolhouse was flooded with sunshine this summer Sunday as Abbie washed her breakfast dishes and tidied the rooms. It didn’t take long. The little cottage was comprised merely of one bedroom upstairs, and a small parlour and kitchen on the ground floor. In addition there was a tiny rear garden with a privy at its foot, and an even smaller garden at the front. Her housekeeping was something she tried to do religiously every day, always aware of the chance – albeit slim – that a member of the Board of School Governors might, unannounced, call to see her.

  Now, her chores finished, she looked at the clock. Time to get ready to meet Jane and go with her to church.

  A little later, dressed in her bonnet and cape, Abbie picked up her bag and went out into the July sunshine. From the cottage’s front door she turned right along a path across the front garden and entered the gate that led into the schoolyard. Moving past the pump, she walked to the door of the school, unlocked it and went inside.

  Stepping first into a small vestibule holding rows of coat racks, she went on into the schoolroom where lines of desks stood waiting for the pupils who would occupy them in September – pupils who, for the most part, would be spending the summer working on the land and helping with the harvest. Abbie moved through the room, her eyes scanning the windowsills and the floor. The previous year she had found a dead starling that had got in down the chimney and then died of starvation. Her daily check of the premises since then was to try to ensure that such a thing did not happen again. Satisfied, she turned from the room and, after locking the main door behind her, crossed the yard and made her way along the lane.

  At the Carrolls’ cottage in Tomkins Row she found Jane ready and waiting, and after a few minutes’ conversation with Mrs Carroll she and Jane set off for the church.

  Jane was in Flaxdown for her annual summer holiday. She had arrived a week previously and had a further week before returning to London where for the past two years she had been employed as lady’s maid in the household of a wealthy barrister. During her week in Flaxdown she and Abbie had met every day, sitting chatting in each other’s homes, swimming in the nearby clay pit or going for leisurely strolls in the surrounding countryside. During their time together Abbie had swiftly realized that Jane’s time in London had given her an air of elegance and sophistication that she had not previously possessed. It was apparent in her dress; looking at her friend, Abbie could not but be aware of how striking was Jane’s appearance in her blue dress and matching bonnet. Indeed, for a moment Abbie felt very conscious of her own plain bonnet and simple gown of brown and black houndstooth check.

  After the service the two girls made their way towards the village green. As they walked Jane talked of a trip on a Thames pleasure boat that she had recently taken with her mistress. ‘Oh, Abbie,’ she said, ‘it was so exciting.
It sails right through the heart of London. You can see it all. And what a wonderful place. You can’t imagine what London is like. For a start it’s so vast. Just the part where I’m situated – Fulham – is bigger than six Flaxdowns. And Fulham is only one small part. Oh, there’s so much there – the museums, the theatres, the parks – so many sights to see. It’s a different world.’

  Looking around at the dwellings of the little village Abbie said, ‘Then you’d need a good reason to come back to live in a place like this, wouldn’t you? A reason apart from your mother, that is.’ She smiled. ‘One wearing trousers, perhaps?’

  Jane burst out laughing, then said, her expression serious, ‘Perhaps you’re right. I suppose for the right man you’d go anywhere, don’t you agree?’

  Abbie shook her head. ‘I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Jane, ‘I was forgetting – you’re set on becoming an old maid.’

  They talked for a little while longer, arranging to meet again that evening, and then parted, Jane to return home and Abbie to go back to the schoolhouse. There she changed her clothes, gathered a few items together in a basket and set out once more. On reaching the cottage in Green Lane she found her father sitting on the back step cleaning his boots.

  ‘Hello, Father.’ She bent and kissed his cheek.

  Gesturing back into the kitchen, he said, ‘You’ll find carrots and cabbage there. And I’ve peeled the potatoes and lit the stove.’

  ‘Good.’ She tapped the basket hung over her arm. ‘I got us a nice little piece of brisket.’

  She stepped past him into the kitchen, put on her apron and got to work preparing the meal. On taking up her position as village schoolmistress she had continued to do what she could for her father and brother, visiting the cottage most evenings to prepare supper for them and each Sunday to get their midday dinner. The previous summer, however, Eddie and Violet had married and gone to live in a tied cottage on the other side of the village. So now there was only her father to care for. Not that he expected it, he said. Indeed, there were many occasions when he told her that she should be thinking more of herself and less about him; he could manage to get his meals perfectly well. Abbie, however, would have none of it, replying that she didn’t want to spend all her time alone, but wanted company, too.