So Long At the Fair

by Jess Foley

  ‘I didn’t know you cared for me in that way,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you cared so – so deeply.’

  ‘Oh, I do, Abbie. I think you’re such a grand young woman. And I know we could be so happy together.’

  After a moment she gave a nod, then heard her voice as if from a long way off: ‘Yes, Arthur – I will.’

  ‘Oh, Abbie.’ He stepped to her side, drew her to him and put his arms around her. ‘You won’t regret it. I promise you’ll never regret it.’

  It was nearly midnight. The two hours since Abbie had accepted Arthur’s proposal had flown by. She had made tea and served a simple supper of bread, cheese and pickles, and as they had eaten and drunk they had talked of their future together.

  Now it was time for him to go, and with a taper lighted from the fire he lit his lantern again, picked up his hat and moved to the front door. Abbie followed close behind him.

  ‘I suppose,’ Arthur said, ‘I ought to go and see your brother; ask his permission; do the right thing. I’ll go and see him tomorrow.’

  Abbie smiled. ‘He’ll be so relieved. He’s had visions of me remaining here for ever – his old maid sister the schoolmistress, getting more eccentric by the year.’

  During their discussions it had been decided that they would marry in Flaxdown in the spring, at Easter time, Abbie being wed from Eddie’s home. In the meantime she would formally give notice that she would be leaving her teaching post at Easter on the termination of the winter term.

  ‘And then,’ Arthur had said, ‘after our honeymoon I’ll take you back to London with me – to your new home. I should get a promotion soon. But even without that I can promise you a good life. My father left me fairly comfortable, financially. I’m sure you’ll like the house too.’

  ‘Is it a big house?’

  ‘Well, not so big, compared with other houses. It has twelve rooms.’

  ‘Twelve rooms!’ Abbie said. ‘Not so big? That’s enormous.’

  Arthur laughed. ‘Anyway, you won’t have the work of cleaning it. You’ll have maids. And a cook, too.’

  ‘Maids and a cook? What shall I do with my time?’

  ‘It won’t hurt you to have a little less to do. I don’t want to see you working as hard as you do now. Besides, there’ll be plenty to keep you occupied. But whatever you do, you’re not going to have any more of these problems. There’ll be no worrying in case your pupils don’t pass their school tests and the Board docks your wages. Nor whether Carstairs is coming round to check up on you. No more wondering whether you’ll still have a job come the next school term.’ He took her hands. ‘Abbie, I know we shall be happy. I know it. Our interests are so in tune. How could we not be happy together?’ He sighed, a sound of pleasure. ‘I can’t wait to bring you to London.’

  He put on his hat, drew her to him again and kissed her on the mouth. For the first time in so long she felt needed, wanted. After a moment he broke away and stood looking down at her. ‘I think I’d better leave now,’ he said. ‘For the sake of your reputation if not of my own.’

  Another kiss, lingering this time, and then he straightened and stepped out into the night.

  Later, upstairs, Abbie put out the candle on the little table beside her bed and lay back on the pillow, looking into the dark. How could so much have happened in one single day? Not so many hours ago she had been utterly miserable and now everything had turned around.

  Had she done the right thing in accepting Arthur’s proposal? she asked herself. And then the answer came to her – yes, of course it was right. He was a good man, strong, dependable and, more important than that, he loved her. And the love of such a man was something to be prized, to be treasured. But love, on her part . . . ? How important was that? Once again there came thoughts of Beatrice and her Thomas Greening – of her own father and mother. Beatrice had loved, her father had loved – and love for them had brought no happiness whatsoever. No, she said to herself, where she and Arthur were concerned, it was important that she had such affection for him – and not only affection, but great respect and admiration. So many, many marriages had succeeded on so much less. And her coming marriage to Arthur? Yes, that would succeed. She was determined on that. For one thing she was going into it with no illusions; she was a sensible woman with both feet on the ground – not some starry-eyed teenager who could be swept off her feet by the first kind word and handsome face. They would be good for one another, she was sure. And apart from that, how good it would be to leave behind all the present frustrations that had arisen through her work. There were other things she could do with her life. She would not be idle – perhaps she could help Arthur with his work in some way. In any case, together they would build their happiness. A happiness for which they surely had sound foundations. Yes. Yes. She gave a little nod in the dark – she was doing the right thing. She had no doubt now, nor would she in the future.

  She closed her eyes. After a while she slept.

  The following evening was the last before Arthur was to return to London. Following his arrival at the schoolhouse he and Abbie went to call on Eddie and Violet. When told by Arthur of his wish to marry Abbie, Eddie said drily, ‘Well, thank God for that. I was beginnin’ to think it’d never ’appen.’

  The day after Arthur’s departure Abbie wrote to Jane, Lizzie and Iris telling them of her engagement. They responded with warm congratulations and expressions of gladness. ‘And you,’ Jane wrote, ‘always swore that I’d be the first to wed. So much for all your protestations, all your determination to remain an old maid.’

  As the days passed Abbie heard regularly from Arthur and replied promptly to his letters. They had little to relate to one another apart from the progress of their daily lives, but nevertheless she looked forward to hearing from him and was disappointed when the old red-coated postman did not call.

  In mid-December Arthur wrote inviting her to spend Christmas with him in London. Anxious to do the right thing, he also wrote to Eddie, asking his permission for the visit and telling him that Abbie would be properly chaperoned during her stay. Eddie, pleased to be asked, replied that it was up to Abbie. Abbie wrote to Arthur that she would be delighted to go.

  A few days later she stood in the classroom as her pupils left their seats for the last time that year, their calls of ‘Merry Christmas, Miss’ making a ragged chorus as they trooped out into the cold afternoon air. As always, she watched their departure with a mixture of regret and relief. They did not know it yet, she thought, but the next term would be the last they would spend with her. From next Easter they would have a new teacher. When she returned from her trip to London she would write her letter of resignation.

  She could scarcely believe that she was to spend Christmas in London and was thrilled at the prospect of a visit to the capital. Not only would she see the huge London shops, perhaps visit the theatre and go to a museum, but she would see Jane, too. Having learned that Jane would have some time free from her duties over Christmas, Arthur had urged Abbie to invite her to come and see them, and arrangements for visits had consequently been made.

  Abbie had spent several days getting things ready for her trip – including going to Trowbridge to buy some new clothes – and when the Sunday morning of her departure came she was up early to make last-minute preparations. She had intended to hire a cab to take her to the railway station at Frome, but Eddie had spoken to his employer and borrowed his carriage. When Eddie called just after nine o’clock Abbie was all ready and waiting. She was wearing a newly purchased grey ulster with dark-blue braiding, and a trim little jockey hat decorated with ribbons. She knew that she looked well in the outfit, but nevertheless she felt somewhat overdressed and self-conscious – particularly when Eddie whistled at the sight of her and said, ‘Oh, plannin’ to ’ave tea with the Queen, are we?’

  At Frome station Eddie shouldered her box and carried it onto the platform while Abbie bought her ticket. As she joined him to await the arrival of her train he said, ‘Now you’re sure yo
u’re gunna be all right?’

  She rather suspected that he had some misgivings about her trip; he didn’t really approve of her going off to spend a week in the house of a single man, not-with-standing that she was engaged to be married to him and would be chaperoned. His anxieties were somehow bound up with Beatie, she felt; since Beatie’s death he had become very concerned for the welfare of his sisters.

  ‘Of course I shall be all right,’ Abbie insisted, then added, ‘Arthur is a gentleman, Eddie. I shan’t come to any harm.’

  ‘Oh, ah,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘there’s many a maid ’ave believed that to ’er lastin’ misery.’

  The train came in and when Abbie’s box had been safely stowed away in the guard’s van Eddie saw her aboard. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek as she leaned from the window to him, then the train was starting off.

  At Trowbridge she changed for the London-bound train. There were three other travellers in the compartment she entered, an elderly cleric and two middle-aged women. Abbie exchanged murmured good mornings with them, then settled into her seat for the remainder of the long journey ahead. Sitting at the carriage window, her book momentarily forgotten, she gazed out through the smoke-begrimed window at the fields, woodlands and villages. The train stopped at the stations of unfamiliar towns, too: Chippenham, Calne, Swindon . . . After a time she grew bored with watching from the window and turned to her book and to eat and drink some of the refreshments she had brought along.

  Didcot, Oxford, Reading and finally, at last, the train was entering the suburbs of London. And the nearer it carried her towards the heart of the city, the stranger the scenery became. She had never seen so many houses, so many buildings – and built so close one upon the other. It was like a different world. The dusty, dirty, smoke-grey buildings rose up on either side of the track like a forest. Seen from such a viewpoint, London seemed a very ugly place.

  At last the train drew into Paddington Station. She got off, moved to the guard’s van to take possession of her box and, turning, saw Arthur striding along the platform.

  Looking very handsome in his dark-brown chesterfield, he embraced her and kissed her on the cheek. Then, while the other travellers milled about them, he held her at arm’s length and looked at her. ‘Oh, Abbie,’ he said, ‘you’re a sight for sore eyes and no mistake.’

  With Abbie’s box following in the care of a porter, they went out to where the hackney cabs waited for hire and minutes later were sitting in a carriage, moving through the London streets. Here again was something new for Abbie. Now her journey took her through streets lined by tall, elegant houses, through areas with huge shops with wide front windows. She had never in her life before seen streets so busy; even Trowbridge on a market day did not see so many carriages and people bustling back and forth. And the town was so vast – it was seemed to be going on for ever – why one could live here for a hundred years, she thought, and never see the half of it.

  ‘Where are we going to?’ she asked. ‘This city goes on for ever.’

  ‘We’re heading for an area known as Ladbroke Grove,’ Arthur replied. ‘We’ll be there soon.’

  When before too long the cab came to a halt, it was in a quiet, residential street. Arthur helped her down while the driver took up her box and carried it up a small flight of steps to the front door of an attractive terrace house.

  ‘This is it?’ Abbie said with a slight note of wonder, looking up at the tall building.

  ‘Yes.’ Arthur nodded. ‘This is it.’

  Once the coach driver had put Abbie’s box in the hall, and taken his fee and left, Abbie was introduced to the resident cook-housekeeper, Mrs Appleton, and the young daily housemaid, Ida. Mrs Appleton was a pleasant-mannered widow in her fifties; Ida a shy, plain-looking girl of nineteen or so. Abbie found herself standing self-consciously while the introductions were made; she could not but be aware of her own very humble beginnings. Indeed, had things worked out differently, she herself could have been in the situation that Ida, the housemaid, was presently in. Could they see through her? the thought flashed through her mind. Were they aware that her present role was, in her eyes at least, part reality, part performance. But no, they spoke to her with respect and her moment of unease passed swiftly.

  The introductions over, Arthur shouldered Abbie’s box and led the way up to her room. While his own was on the first floor, Abbie, for propriety’s sake, was to be installed on the second, just across the landing from Mrs Appleton.

  With the maid Ida behind her, Abbie followed Arthur into the room, which was warmly and attractively furnished, and had a bright fire burning in the grate. As Arthur set down her box she looked about her in delight. ‘Oh, Arthur, it’s lovely.’

  ‘You like it? I’m afraid it needs a little attention. But that will be a good job for you to take in hand once you’re here to stay. Anyway, you’ll be comfortable enough in the meantime.’ Taking in the maid with a smile, he added, ‘If you need anything I’m sure Ida will be only to glad to oblige.’ He turned and moved to the door. ‘Come down when you’re ready and we’ll have some tea.’

  When he had gone from the room the young maid asked Abbie whether she should unpack her box for her. Abbie thanked her but said she could manage on her own. While the maid hung up Abbie’s hat and coat, Abbie moved to the window that looked out over the back garden and, beyond it, to a large rectangle of lawn and shrubbery. ‘Who does that belong to?’ she asked. ‘– the little green area in the centre there?’ Ida replied that it was a communal garden, for the use of the square’s residents. What an odd concept, Abbie thought, and wondered again at the strange ways of London and its people. When Ida had gone from the room, Abbie moved to the bed and lay back across it. How luxurious it felt compared with her narrow little bed at the schoolhouse. And how luxurious the room itself when compared with those she had inhabited in the past, both in her family home and the little schoolhouse. Once again it came to her that she was entering a new world. And for all her dreams it was a world she had never foreseen as a reality.

  That evening she and Arthur enjoyed a quiet, pleasant dinner together. The food prepared by Mrs Appleton was excellent, as was the wine – not an elderberry or dandelion wine such as Abbie had drunk on occasion in Flaxdown, but a wine from France. Afterwards, Arthur played for her on the piano and sang a couple of simple songs in his pleasant baritone. Warmed by a bright fire that burned in the wide fireplace, Abbie sat drinking her coffee while above her head the gas lamps glowed, reflecting in the crystal and the china that decorated the room.

  She could not get over the newness of everything. It was almost as if it were happening to someone else, perhaps some heroine in one of the romances that her mother had used to read. But it was true enough. And, she reminded herself, such a way of life would soon become the norm for her. The realization brought, not for the first time, a little frisson of pleasure. What would her father have thought, she wondered, if he could only have seen her now?

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  The music had come to an end. Arthur sat on the piano stool smiling at her. She smiled back at him and shook her head.

  ‘Oh, nothing – and everything.’

  ‘I’m sorry I shan’t be able to spend much time with you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Until the evening, anyway.’ Like most other people, he would be working right up to Christmas Day. ‘But at least Jane’ll be coming here to see you in the afternoon,’ he added, ‘so you won’t be bored.’

  ‘Oh, no. It’ll be wonderful to see her again.’

  ‘What are the two of you going to do? Have you thought about it?’

  ‘Not yet. We’ll think of something. We might well just stay here and talk.’

  ‘ . . . And talk, and talk.’

  Abbie laughed. ‘Very likely.’

  There was a little silence, then Arthur said, ‘Do you think you could be happy here, Abbie?’

  ‘Happy? Arthur, anyone could be happy here.’

  ‘It’s
you I’m thinking of.’ He got up and came to sit beside her on the sofa. After reaching into his waistcoat pocket he took her left hand and slipped a ring onto her third finger. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘it’s official.’

  She held up her hand and looked at the ring. It bore a large diamond in an ornate gold setting.

  ‘Do you like it?’ he asked. ‘We can always change it for another.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s beautiful. And it fits perfectly.’

  ‘I want to make you happy, Abbie,’ he said. ‘That’s all I want.’

  Leaning forward he gently kissed her. Then he wrapped his arms round her, drawing her close to him. He kissed her again, softly at first, but then more insistently and then drew back, gazed at her for a few seconds and said, ‘I think you should go up to your bed, Abbie. You’ve had a long day and you must be tired.’ Then he gave a groan and, shaking his head, added, ‘Listen to me – what a hypocrite! I’m not that much of an altruist. Please – go up to bed now before I make a fool of myself. I promised your brother he’d have no cause to worry where you were concerned.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Arthur had left the house for work the next morning before Abbie was up, so she breakfasted alone, served by Ida, the maid. She did not linger over the meal. The previous day she had voiced a wish to see some of the London shops and it was arranged that this morning Mrs Appleton would accompany her into the West End. Abbie would never have dared make the excursion on her own and was extremely grateful for the company of Arthur’s cook-housekeeper. A native of London, Mrs Appleton knew her way around, and Abbie felt herself to be in safe hands.