So Long At the Fair

by Jess Foley

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, smiling, ‘so we meet again.’

  As Jane came forward from the shelter of the tree he patted the seat beside him, urging the two to climb in, and with relief they did so.

  ‘We’re going to Flaxdown,’ Abbie said as she settled herself and closed the door beside her, ‘if it’s not out of your way.’

  ‘Not at all,’ the man said. ‘I shall be going through Flaxdown.’ With his words he gave a flap of the reins and the carriage began to move forward once more. ‘This is poetic recompense,’ he said, turning to smile at Abbie. ‘You saved me from a possible soaking and now I’m able to do the same for you.’

  The little covered carriage jogged on, while the rain continued to lash down. The man asked the girls their names and in turn introduced himself. He gave his name as Arthur Gilmore. His voice was quite deep, his accent not of the West Country. Abbie was sure that she had never seen him before in the area of the village. Taking in his profile, she placed his age in his late twenties. Well-dressed, tall and slim, he was a good-looking man with clear-cut, regular features, brown eyes and dark-brown hair.

  It eventually emerged in the conversation that he was employed by Her Majesty’s government as an assistant factory inspector and had come down from London on temporary secondment as a substitute for an officer who had recently died. Jane asked how long his work would keep him in the area and he replied that as soon as a permanent replacement was found he would be returning to London. With Jane saying that her own regular employment was in the capital, the talk then turned to the subject of the city and the facilities it had to offer. Abbie, knowing nothing of the place from personal experience, left the conversation to Jane and the stranger, content to listen to them and relax in the rhythmic jogging of the carriage.

  The rain was still falling, albeit far less heavily, when they came at last to Flaxdown. As they entered the village the man turned to the girls saying, ‘You’ll have to direct me to where you live, ladies. I’m not familiar with the village.’

  At this Jane spoke up, saying that Abbie’s home was the nearer, following which she proceeded to give him directions to School Lane. A few minutes later the end of the lane came in sight, and as they drew near it Abbie thanked the man for his kindness and asked him to let her down at the corner.

  When he had brought the carriage to a stop, he got out and quickly moved around to the other side to help Abbie down. Taking up her belongings, she told Jane that she would see her later, then took the man’s outstretched hand and stepped down. After thanking him once more she turned and began to hurry away along the lane. She had hardly gone ten yards, however, when she heard his voice calling, ‘Miss Morris – just a minute,’ and turning saw him hurrying after her, raising his umbrella as he came.

  ‘I thought you lived in the house on the corner,’ he said as he came up beside her, lifting the umbrella over their heads.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I live in the schoolhouse at the end of the lane. But, please – it’s really not necessary. It’s not very far.’

  ‘Far enough for you to get wet,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I’m here now.’

  As they walked side by side along the lane he said, ‘Is your father the local schoolmaster?’

  ‘No,’ Abbie replied, ‘I’m the local schoolmistress.’

  ‘You?’ He bent his head slightly, looking into her face.

  ‘You sound surprised,’ she said.

  ‘Well, yes – rather.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I remember my own schoolteachers. They were not like you.’

  She did not ask how they were different, and a moment later they had arrived at the gate of the schoolhouse.

  ‘Thank you again,’ she said.

  ‘It was a pleasure.’

  ‘Well – goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Taking her key from her bag, she turned from him, pushed open the gate and hurried up the short path to the front door. On reaching it she turned and saw him walking away, back down the lane.

  Later, when she had changed her clothes and rested for a while she went to call on her father. The rain had long since finished and the evening air was pleasant. On her arrival at her old home she found her father sitting in his chair beside the range. At her enquiry he replied that he was feeling a good deal better, though to Abbie he appeared not much improved. She gave him some of the medicine she had brought and then set about preparing supper for the two of them, heating soup and setting out cheese, ham and bread. Her father had little appetite, though, and as Abbie cleared away he remarked that he might soon go to bed to have an early night.

  Once the dishes had been washed and put away Abbie wished her father goodnight and set off for the short walk to Tomkins Row. There she found Jane and her mother folding Jane’s newly washed, ironed and aired clothes, and packing them in her box in preparation for her early morning departure. The task was soon finished, then Jane made tea and they sat chatting over their cups, their hands busy with their needlework. Jane and Mrs Carroll were mending underwear while Abbie worked on a frock she was making for Violet’s coming baby. Throughout the conversation Jane made no mention of Mr Gilmore and Abbie saw no reason to bring up the subject. At nine thirty Abbie packed away her sewing and, saying her goodnights to Mrs Carroll, got up to leave. Jane followed her out to the front gate.

  ‘Well, I reckon it’s goodbye again,’ Abbie said. ‘Though I expect you’ll be glad to get back to all the excitement of London.’

  Jane clicked her tongue. ‘Get back to a lot of hard work, you mean. I wish I could stay on for a few more days.’

  ‘So do I.’

  After a moment’s silence Jane said, ‘Tell me – what did you think of Mr Gilmore?’

  Abbie laughed. ‘Oh, Jane – shame on you. He’s the reason you’d like to stay on, isn’t he?’

  A frown of annoyance flashed across Jane’s face. ‘No, of course not,’ she said. Then with a shrug she added, ‘Well, all right, then, he is.’

  Abbie nodded. ‘I could tell you were smitten with him right at the start.’

  ‘You couldn’t,’ Jane said, her frown reappearing. ‘How could you?’

  ‘Don’t get cross,’ said Abbie. ‘But I could. For a start you were so anxious for him to drive you on home.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ Jane said. ‘I hope it wasn’t that obvious. To him, I mean.’

  ‘No, of course not. But I know you.’

  Jane smiled now. ‘Oh, but Abbie, he’s such a handsome man, don’t you think?’

  ‘Well – yes, I suppose he is.’

  ‘You suppose he is? When did you ever see his like around Flaxdown? London either, for that matter. For all my living there I don’t get a chance to meet men like him – Mr Gilmore. Personable men with responsible jobs. When I do meet them they don’t look twice at somebody like me – somebody in service. A footman is about as high as I can aim. It’s all right for you.’

  ‘Why d’you say that?’

  ‘Well, you don’t intend to ever get married, so it doesn’t matter if you don’t get the chance to meet the right man or not. I do intend to get married, though – if I ever find the right man.’

  ‘You’ll find him.’

  ‘Maybe. Sometimes I wonder. I shall be twenty-three next January. So many girls of our age are engaged, or already married with families.’ After a moment of silence she gave a little shake of her head. ‘Anyway, I don’t think Mr Gilmore was that interested in me.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that. He talked to you all the time in the carriage.’

  ‘Well – only because you didn’t seem interested in conversation. Look at how he ran after you to shelter you with his umbrella.’

  ‘He was only being – gallant.’

  ‘You think so?’ Clearly Jane did not support such a notion. After a moment she said, ‘He’s staying in Keyford, on the way to Frome. He’s got rooms.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I asked him. And he’s an on
ly child. And he has no parents now.’

  ‘He told you all that?’

  ‘Well.’ Jane shrugged. ‘I asked him about his family.’

  ‘Did your mother see him?’

  ‘No, he let me off at the corner. It wasn’t raining then.’ She was silent for a moment or two, then she added, ‘He spoke about you after you’d gone.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He said he wouldn’t have guessed you were a schoolteacher. He asked whether we had been friends a long time. I told him we’d been friends almost since we were born . . . The best friends in the world, I said.’ She paused. ‘Did you like him, Abbie?’

  ‘Oh – he seemed nice enough.’

  ‘Nice enough,’ Jane repeated to the sky.

  ‘What d’you want me to say?’

  ‘No, it’s all right. Anyway, what does it matter? I’m going back to London in the morning and that’ll be the end of it.’

  ‘How can you be so sure? He might still be here when you come back at Christmas.’

  ‘Yes, and there again he might not.’

  ‘True, but don’t forget that when he leaves here he’ll be going to London too. So you could well meet him there.’

  ‘Abbie, have you any idea how big London is? And with him living in Notting Hill? We’d never run into one another.’

  ‘How d’you know he lives in Notting Hill?’

  ‘I asked him.’

  ‘So what if you don’t meet him again,’ Abbie said. ‘You’ll get back there and soon forget all about him. Besides, he might already have somebody. He might already be promised.’

  ‘Yes, he might at that. I didn’t have the nerve to ask him.’

  ‘Really,’ Abbie said, ‘you surprise me.’

  Jane stared at her for a moment, then began to laugh. ‘Oh, Abbie, what should I do without you!’

  They laughed so hard that soon they were holding their sides, shrieking out into the night air. After a little while the door opened and Mrs Carroll’s head appeared around the jamb. ‘It’s all right,’ Abbie said between laughs. ‘It’s just that your daughter amuses me.’ She and Jane burst into new peals of laughter. Mrs Carroll gave a nod and pursed her lips in an ill-disguised smile. ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘And if you raise your voices just a shade more I should think you could amuse them in Trowbridge too.’

  On returning to the schoolhouse, Abbie went to insert her key in the door but found to her surprise that it was already unlocked. Strange – she was sure that she had locked it after her. Turning the handle she pushed the door open and entered the little parlour. As she did so she started slightly as a figure rose from a chair.

  ‘Lizzie . . .’ She stood, staring at her sister. ‘Lizzie what are you doing here?’

  Lizzie returned Abbie’s gaze in silence for a moment or two, then, stepping forward, threw herself into Abbie’s arms and burst into tears.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Lizzie – what’s the matter?’

  Lizzie did not answer but only sobbed, her tears wet against Abbie’s neck. Abbie held her for a minute or two, then led her to a chair. After a while Lizzie said through her tears, ‘I knew you kept a spare latchkey under the flowerpot in the yard – so I let myself in. I haven’t seen Father yet. I didn’t want to give him a shock – have me suddenly appearing on the doorstep.’ She was growing calmer now. Wiping her reddened eyes, she added dully, ‘Abbie, I’ve been dismissed.’

  ‘Dismissed? From your position? What for? What did you do?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything. That’s just it.’

  ‘Tell me. What happened?’

  ‘She accused me of stealing.’

  ‘Stealing? Who did? Mrs Carling?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Abbie gazed at her in disbelief. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  Lizzie sighed. ‘Oh, I had such hopes for this position, Abbie. To be lady’s maid for the first time. I thought – well – being lady’s maid to Mrs Carling’s visitor was a real step up. And I worked hard, I really did. And I thought she was so nice at the beginning – the visitor, Mrs Cresswell. But she changed. She became so demanding and pernickety. I was on the go from morning till night. I managed, though, and I did well. I know I did. But then she lost a piece of jewellery – a brooch. But I didn’t take it, Abbie, you must believe that.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t.’ Abbie pressed her hand. ‘You don’t need to tell me that.’

  ‘Both Mrs Cresswell and Mrs Carling questioned me – about the brooch. I told them I didn’t know anything about it, but Mrs Cresswell said it had to be me; it couldn’t be anyone else. It didn’t matter what I said; she wouldn’t believe me. She insisted that my box was searched – and then when she couldn’t find it she said that I must have hidden it somewhere else. And that was it. Mrs Carling dismissed me. Oh, Abbie, I’ll never get another position without references.’

  ‘Well, that’s something we’ll have to think about.’ Abbie got to her feet. ‘Have you eaten anything?’

  ‘Not since breakfast. But I couldn’t eat. I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Nonsense. You must be starving. I’ll get you something.’

  Abbie began to prepare tea and scrambled eggs. As she worked Lizzie sat quietly in the chair. Her tears had dried now, but still she looked the picture of misery. When the food was ready Abbie set it out and Lizzie obediently came to the table and ate. When she had finished, Abbie took away the plate and sat down facing her. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘we’ve got to decide what to do.’

  ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Supposing I go and see her – Mrs Carling.’

  ‘What good will come of that?’

  ‘I don’t know. But we must do something. It’s so unfair. Why should you want the woman’s stupid brooch. Either she mislaid it, or someone else must have taken it. Who else is in the house?’

  ‘Three other maids and the cook. But I can’t imagine that any of them would think of stealing.’

  ‘Well, it must be somewhere,’ Abbie said. Then she added with a sigh, ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps there’s nothing we can do about it. In which case we’ll have to think what to do about your references. I suppose you could apply to your previous employer.’

  ‘Write to Dr Ellis?’

  ‘Well, he gave you a good reference when you left to go to Mrs Carling. And I’m sure if you saw him and told him the situation he’d be happy to do the same again. And he knows you couldn’t be capable of stealing.’

  ‘D’you think I could?’

  ‘Why not.’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘I’ll write to him. And I’ll go and see Father first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, you don’t want him to hear from somebody else that you’re back. Besides, he’s not well at the moment. He’s been home from work the past couple of days – which is unusual for him.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘A severe chill, I think. He’ll be all right as long as he rests in the warm. Anyway, come on. Let’s get to bed.’

  The next morning, Sunday, Abbie accompanied Lizzie to Green Lane to see their father. Having passed a restless night, he had not long got up when they arrived. As Lizzie followed Abbie into the kitchen he looked at her in surprise.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  When Lizzie told him her story he reacted with anger and amazement. ‘What? Accuse my girl of stealing? Accuse my girl of being a common thief!’ Getting up from his chair, he strode across the room and snatched his coat from its hook. ‘I’m going to see that woman. I’m not standing for this!’

  ‘Father, please,’ Lizzie said, ‘it won’t help. There’s nothing to be done.’

  ‘Of course there’s something to be done! She can’t accuse you of theft and get away with it.’ His face pale with rage, he stood in the middle of the room, perspiring, his breathing sounding harsh and laboured.

  ‘Come on, Father,’ Abbie said, ‘you’re not in a fit state to go anywhere.’

  He rem
ained standing there. ‘Well, what do you suggest we do?’

  Abbie was at a loss. ‘Perhaps we could write Mrs Carling a letter.’

  ‘A fat lot of good that’ll do.’

  ‘Well, then,’ Abbie said, ‘if you’re set on going to see her, wait a day or two – at least till you’re feeling a bit better. Then we’ll go together.’

  He continued to protest for a few minutes, then hung up his coat again and sat down. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘but I’m not just letting this ride.’

  After Abbie had insisted on preparing some breakfast for him she and Lizzie left for the schoolhouse, telling their father that they would be back to get midday dinner. However, when they returned just after twelve o’clock, they found the cottage empty. A hastily scrawled note from their father, left on the kitchen table, told them that he had gone to Trowbridge to see Lizzie’s former employer.

  Abbie groaned and shook her head. ‘You wonder where Eddie gets his hot-headedness and then you find out. Well – there’s nothing we can do now but wait for him to get back.’

  Frank Morris had got a ride in a cart as far as Westbury, his benefactor one Fred Haroldson, a local tradesman who told him that he would be returning to Flaxdown that afternoon. ‘If you wants a lift,’ he said as Frank Morris got down from the cart, ‘I’ll be passin’ by the crossroads ’ere again about quarter past three. If I see you waitin’ you’re welcome to ride back with me.’

  Frank Morris thanked him and said he’d do his best to be there. ‘If I look sharp,’ he said, ‘I can just about get to Trowbridge and back in time.’

  He set off then to walk the remaining six-odd miles. The rain that had begun to threaten started to fall heavily when he was within a mile of his destination, but he pressed on; there was no time to stop for shelter. By the time he reached the Laurels, the family home of the Carlings, he was soaked through.

  His ring at the back door brought a young maid before him. He told her his name and said he had come to see Mrs Carling. The girl glanced at him curiously for a second, then invited him to step inside while she went to inform her mistress.