So Long At the Fair

by Jess Foley

  Mrs Carroll made tea and they sat facing one another over the kitchen table.

  ‘I meant to come round and see you before now,’ Abbie said, ‘but – well, what with one thing and another . . .’

  ‘Oh, you must be very busy, I’m sure of that,’ Mrs Carroll said, ‘what with your teaching and everything. But you’re on holiday now, right?’

  ‘Yes, thank heaven.’

  ‘I heard from Jane in the week,’ Mrs Carroll said. ‘You know she’s a lady’s maid now?’

  ‘Yes, she wrote and told me. I’m afraid I owe her a letter. When you write do please tell her I’ll be in touch very soon.’

  ‘I will.’

  Abbie gave a sigh and glanced from the window. ‘I’ve just been for a little walk over the fields. It’s such a beautiful day.’ Turning back to Mrs Carroll, she added, ‘Did you know that Violet’s expecting again?’

  ‘No, I didn’t Well, that’s nice. I’m sure Eddie makes a good father, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’ Abbie smiled. ‘Perhaps surprisingly, but he does.’

  ‘It’s amazing what fatherhood does for some men. It can be a great calming influence.’ She paused. ‘And how is Lizzie? She and her young husband going on all right?’

  ‘Yes, they’re fine. She and Adam have got a tied cottage now. She’s still working for her same employers, but going in daily instead of living in. She’ll keep on with her work as long as she can, she says.’

  ‘Well, that’s sensible.’

  ‘Which won’t be for much longer, though. Her baby’s due in a couple of months.’

  ‘It was nice that you were able to get to the wedding,’ Mrs Carroll said. ‘Shame, though, that she didn’t get wed here in Flaxdown. I thought she might have got married from Eddie’s. But still, you and Iris were there and that made all the difference, I’m sure. Though it’s a pity your mother couldn’t make the journey.’

  ‘Yes.’ Abbie nodded.

  ‘Do you hear from Iris?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She writes regularly. Not like Lizzie. They’re as different as chalk from cheese, those two. Yet they’re very close.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know when I’ll see them again. Lizzie won’t be coming to Flaxdown this summer, I know that much.’

  ‘Well, she’s a married woman – and now she’s expecting her baby . . .’

  ‘Yes.’ A little pause. ‘Iris won’t be here either.’

  ‘Well, once they move away from home they begin to build new lives, don’t they? They spread their wings. It’s the way of it.’

  ‘That’s part of it, I suppose.’

  Mrs Carroll was regarding her a little more keenly. Abbie, aware of the look, gave a shrug and said, ‘To tell you the truth, it’s because of Mother. It wasn’t exactly a happy time for them when they came back in February to see her. There was a terrible row. Which was why Mother didn’t go to Lizzie’s wedding.’ Abbie lapsed into silence. in the quiet she became aware of the ticking of the kitchen clock and the sound of birdsong.

  ‘You look troubled, Abbie,’ Mrs Carroll said.

  ‘Oh – oh, it’s just – just the way things are right now.’

  Mrs Carroll gave a little nod. ‘I’ve realized for some while that you’ve been unhappy – though I didn’t like to say anything.’ Then quickly she added, ‘I’m not prying, Abbie. I just don’t like to see you like this. But I’m always here if I can do anything to help, you know that.’

  ‘Yes, I know – thank you.’ At the woman’s warm, sincere tone, Abbie felt like weeping. She said with a shake of her head, ‘I feel so – so disloyal, but – well, I just don’t know what to do any more.’

  ‘About your mother, you mean.’

  ‘Yes.’ Abbie lowered her glance and looked into her cup. ‘As I said, the last time the girls came home they had a miserable time. Mother behaved so badly. They were just small children when she left and you’d hope that now she’s back everything would be so good between them.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever understand her. It was unfortunate that Lizzie had her – her news to tell just at that time, but you don’t plan these things. I couldn’t believe it – Mother being so harsh.’

  ‘Well,’ Mrs Carroll said, ‘I don’t suppose any mother likes to learn such a thing. They’d all rather it was different.’

  ‘I know that, but she had no right to take on so. I mean, she hadn’t been near us for years. She had no right to make Lizzie feel so bad. Nor Iris for that matter. I’d thought at the start that everything was going to be fine. And it seemed to be – but then Lizzie told us and suddenly – well, everything went sour. But it’s not only that. It’s Mother’s attitude, her general behaviour. I shouldn’t say it, I know, but – oh, sometimes I wish she’d never come back.’

  And suddenly the tears that had threatened came spilling over and running down her cheeks. And as the tears flowed she spoke of her mother’s drinking, her slovenliness and selfishness, her unwillingness to do any work about the house. It all came pouring out. ‘What makes a person behave like that?’ she said. ‘I don’t know her any more. Though maybe I never did.’ She paused. ‘The thing is, she just won’t stop. The drinking, I mean. Or she can’t stop. One or the other. She makes promises, but they never last. I used to believe her when she’d promise – but I don’t any more. I suppose I have to realize now that she’ll never change. And it isn’t only her drinking – though that’s bad enough.’

  She fell silent. Mrs Carroll briefly leaned across the table and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘You poor girl. You’ve been carrying this around with you all this time.’

  ‘How could I tell anyone?’ Abbie raised her head. ‘I feel bad enough coming to you with my sad stories. Eddie doesn’t want to hear. He’s long since washed his hands of her – and the way she is now, and with the way she behaved towards Lizzie, I can’t see that he’ll ever change his attitude.’

  ‘So it all rests on you. What are you going to do?’

  ‘What can I do except put up with it? And now, with each day that goes by, I just feel less and less able to reach her.’

  ‘Oh, Abbie, I wish there was something I could do to help you.’

  Abbie sighed. ‘There’s nothing.’

  ‘How does she come by the money – to buy the drink?’

  Abbie hesitated, then said, ‘She used to steal it. She used to steal the money from me. I changed the hiding place for my money several times, but she usually managed to find it. Not any more, though. Now I keep it with me.’

  ‘So how does she manage to pay for it now?’

  ‘Well – when things are desperate I buy the drink for her.’ A bitter little laugh. ‘Can you believe such a thing?’

  ‘But –’

  ‘I know. Crazy, isn’t it? On occasion I’ve actually gone out and got it for her. I’ve had to – otherwise she’d go and get it herself somehow – money or no money. It’s happened. And I’m sure you’ve heard about it, haven’t you?’ She looked into Mrs Carroll’s face with her question, but the older woman avoided her glance.

  ‘Yes,’ Abbie said with a nod, ‘I can see that word has got back. But how could it not? It makes a good story for the village, doesn’t it? My dear mother, going into the Wheatsheaf – cadging drinks from the locals. And it must have made a pretty picture too. How could I allow it to happen again? So – as I say – if she’s that determined, then I go and get it for her. I’m just wondering when I’m going to hear about it from some member of the School Board – Mr Carstairs or the Baptist minister. It’s bound to happen. It’s just a matter of time.’

  Now Mrs Carroll faced her again. ‘Does she – drink every day?’

  ‘No. It goes in cycles. There are days when she drinks, but then there’ll be several days when she doesn’t touch a drop. That’s when she’s full of remorse, when she makes her promises to give it up. But it always starts again. And the expense of her drinking is something I don’t know how I’ll keep up with if it continues.’

  ‘It must be an ex
pensive habit, I’m sure of that.’ Mrs Carroll paused. ‘What do you feel for her, Abbie?’

  ‘Feel? For my mother?’ Abbie frowned, as if addressing the question for the first time. ‘I don’t know. Not affection, I know that. I suppose I feel a certain duty towards her. Well, she is my mother. Apart from that, though – sometimes I think I hate her.’ She looked at the other woman, expecting to see a reaction of horror and disapproval. It was not there. ‘Mind you,’ she went on, ‘I don’t think she’s that fond of me. She blames me a great deal for the situation we’re in – or rather the situation she’s in.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well if I hadn’t broken off my engagement she’d be in London now – so she believes – living in a fine house with every possible comfort. What she’s always wanted, in fact. I suppose I’ve denied her that. But how could I take her to London with me – the way she is? Though perhaps if I’d married Arthur and taken her to live with us she would never have got like this.’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself,’ Mrs Carroll said. ‘You can help others only to an extent, then there comes a time when they have to take responsibility for their own actions. They can’t always be putting the blame on others.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  After a moment Mrs Carroll asked, ‘Do you ever hear now from your Mr Gilmore?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Abbie shook her head and gave a melancholy little smile. ‘And neither am I likely to, ever again. No, I’m afraid that part of my life is over.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  While Abbie sat at the kitchen table with Mrs Carroll in Flaxdown, Arthur Gilmore was sitting on a bench in London’s Hyde Park. In his hand he held an open book, but with all the distractions around him it was not easy to concentrate and he had more or less abandoned his intention to read.

  The park before him made a colourful scene. There were numerous children there, some playing – quietly or boisterously – while others walked, or sat with their parents on the benches or the grass. There were elderly couples, strolling sedately, and lovers walking hand in hand and arm in arm. About them dogs dashed after sticks or balls thrown by their owners. Arthur watched as a few children, taking advantage of the breeze, flew kites. Their shouts and cries rang in the summer air, while up above their heads the bright, dancing shapes rose and dipped in the blue sky.

  Since the spring Arthur had taken to coming to the park on some Sunday afternoons – taking a cab from Notting Hill along the Bayswater Road. After spending the week inspecting working conditions in the factories in the East End it made a pleasant change. It was good to be away from the bustle, the noise, the heat and the grime, and instead to relax in green surroundings and breathe cleaner air.

  Glancing to his left he saw that a young woman and a little girl of about seven had taken occupancy of a bench nearby. With her back to him the woman was bending, adjusting the lace on one of the child’s boots. When the operation was finished she straightened and the child took up a brightly coloured ball, got down from the bench and ran a few feet away. Turning, she awkwardly tossed the ball to the young woman. It fell into the grass, several feet too short. With a shake of her head the young woman moved forward, picked up the ball and tossed it back to the child – who immediately tossed it back again – and again with no sense of aim, so that once more it fell short.

  Arthur watched. His keen attention, however, was directed solely at the young woman. She wore a trim little jacket over a pale-lilac muslin dress that was trimmed with threaded silk ribbons and lace. Her corn-coloured hair was, as was the fashion, set in a chignon. Perched forward on her head was a small, neat lilac hat decorated with a white frill. Notwithstanding that she had her back to him, Arthur was quite sure that he had seen her slim, straight figure and blonde hair before. He waited for her to turn so that he could see her face.

  And then came his chance as the child’s ball came bouncing past her feet, and with a laughing groan the young woman turned to follow it. Seeing her face he at once got up from the bench, and as he did so she saw him and came to a halt.

  ‘Arthur . . . !’

  ‘Jane.’ He smiled broadly. ‘Well, I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘nor I you.’

  She came forward and they shook hands. ‘What a lovely surprise,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘It is for me.’

  He saw that the child’s ball had come to rest close to his foot. He bent, picked it up and held it out to the little girl. ‘Here you are, miss.’

  The child took it from him and thanked him.

  ‘Anne’s a little shy,’ Jane said, smiling. She turned to the child, ‘Anne, this is Mr Arthur Gilmore.’ To Arthur she said, ‘This is Miss Anne Linden. I’m lady’s maid to Anne’s mama – but today I have the very pleasant task of bringing Anne to the park.’

  Arthur nodded and smiled at the little girl. ‘Hello, Anne. And how are you?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, sir.’

  Jane looked around her at the bright summer scene. ‘Oh, it’s so lovely here in the park when the sun is shining.’

  ‘It is indeed,’ Arthur said. ‘I’m something of a regular weekly visitor of late. I like to get out in the air. Relax a little.’

  ‘Yes, I can understand that.’

  A moment of silence fell. Jane broke it by saying: ‘Well – how have you been?’

  ‘Very well, thank you. And you?’

  ‘Yes, quite well.’

  Another little silence, then Arthur said, ‘Do you hear from Abbie?’

  Jane nodded. ‘We correspond regularly. Though of course she’s kept pretty busy these days. She was very well the last time I heard – a couple of weeks ago.’

  He hesitated. ‘I’ve heard nothing from her these many months. Not since January, in fact.’

  After a little hesitation Jane said, ‘I was very sorry to hear of what happened – between the two of you.’

  ‘Yes.’ His tone was non-committal. Then with a shrug he added, ‘Ah, well – it’s over now. And I trust she’s happy.’ He paused. ‘Is her mother still living with her, do you know?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  Arthur gave a little nod, while Jane turned to Anne who was showing signs of restlessness. ‘This isn’t what you came to the park for, is it, Anne – to stand around while we talk?’ Turning back to Arthur she said, ‘It’s time we left. We’re meeting Anne’s parents at Marble Arch.’ She put out her hand to him and he took it in his. ‘It’s so nice to see you again,’ she said.

  ‘It’s very nice to see you.’

  Abbie had walked through the village on her return from Mrs Carroll’s and was just approaching the schoolhouse when she heard the sound of a horse and carriage. Turning, she saw a pony and trap coming up the lane. Curious, she waited, one hand on the front gate. The carriage came to a stop and the driver, a young man, jumped down. He was in his twenties, wiry and lithe, with reddish-brown hair and freckles.

  Touching his cap he said, ‘I’ve come looking for Miss Abigail Morris, miss. Would you happen to be her?’

  Abbie dimly registered that his accent was not of the West Country but was more likely of London. She also noticed an urgency in his speech and movements.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m groom and coachman to Mr and Mrs Pinnock, miss,’ he said. ‘I’ve just drove over from Radstock.’

  ‘Radstock?’ Abbie’s heart began thudding in her breast. ‘It’s Iris, isn’t it? My sister Iris?’

  ‘Yes, miss. I’m afraid so.’

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘She – she’ve had an accident, miss . . .’

  ‘Oh, dear God . . . Is she – badly hurt?’

  ‘She fell down the stairs, miss. Early this mornin’ it happened. The missis sent me to tell you. Says I got to bring you back to the house if you’ll come.’

  ‘Oh, yes – yes, of course!’ Abbie turned on the spot for a second, directi
onless in her sudden panic. ‘How is she? Is she badly hurt?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know how bad, miss.’ He paused, then added, ‘The other maid – Mary – she told me Iris was insensible.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Briefly Abbie put her head in her hands. Raising her eyes to the young man again she said, ‘I’ll just get my coat and put a couple of things in a bag. I’ll only be a minute.’

  ‘Right, miss. While I’m waiting I’d be glad of a drop of water – for meself and the horse. It’s hot work, driving in this heat.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Abbie directed him to the pump in the schoolyard and then, in case he should have need of it, the water closet at the end of the small cottage garden.

  As she entered the kitchen a few moments later her mother looked at her from her chair. ‘You’ve been gone a long time,’ she said. The level of the brandy in the bottle, Abbie vaguely noticed, had sunk considerably. She was not concerned about it now, however.

  ‘Mother,’ she said, ‘I have to leave. I’ve got to go to Radstock. Iris has had an accident and Mrs Pinnock has sent her man to fetch me.’

  ‘What kind of an accident?’ Mrs Morris’s voice, affected by the alcohol, was a little too loud, as if she had difficulty in controlling it.

  ‘Apparently she fell down the stairs,’ Abbie said. ‘I must go to her.’

  ‘Iris sent for you.’ Now Mrs Morris’s tone sounded rather aggrieved.

  ‘What?’ Abbie frowned, preoccupied.

  ‘Iris – she sent word for you to go to her?’

  ‘I don’t think Iris is in any fit state to send for anybody. Apparently she’s unconscious. It would be her employer, Mrs Pinnock. Anyway, what difference does it make?’ She took from a cupboard her little travelling bag – not used since her trip to London. ‘Mother,’ she said, ‘why don’t you come with me?’

  ‘To Radstock?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Mrs Morris frowned, shook her head. ‘It’s such a long way.’

  ‘But Mrs Pinnock’s carriage is outside. And it’ll bring us back – the young man said.’