So Long At the Fair

by Jess Foley

  He smiled. ‘Aw, it wasn’t any trouble, miss. She don’t weigh no more’n a butterfly.’

  Mrs Pinnock had had a little feather mattress and some cushions placed in the carriage, and Alfie gently laid Iris down upon them. Mrs Pinnock handed a parasol to Abbie saying, ‘You’ll probably need this – to keep the sun off her face. The doctor said the light will continue to bother her.’

  Abbie thanked her, checked that Iris was comfortable, then turned back to the woman. ‘Mrs Pinnock – I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing, my dear.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve done so much.’

  Mrs Pinnock put out her hand. As Abbie took it she said, ‘When Dr Hinton sends you his bill, please send it on to me.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see,’ Mrs Pinnock said. ‘Now you take Iris home. And remember that as soon as she’s well again her position will be open for her.’ She looked into the carriage. ‘Did you hear that, Iris?’

  Iris smiled faintly. ‘Yes, mum – thank you.’

  Abbie thanked Mrs Pinnock once more and Alfie helped her up into the carriage. As she settled herself at Iris’s side he took up the reins and a few moments later they were starting away on the road to Flaxdown.

  In order to avoid jarring Iris more than was absolutely necessary, the young coachman drove without haste. For a little while Iris talked with Abbie, but she soon lapsed into silence and lay back with her eyes closed. Abbie, sitting beside her, did her best to ensure that Iris’s face was kept in the shade and soon, with the rhythmic jogging of the carriage, Iris fell asleep. While she slept, neither Abbie nor the coachman spoke.

  Iris awoke again a while later, saying that she was thirsty, and Abbie poured into a mug some of the water that Mrs Pinnock had provided in a bottle. Iris drank a little then settled back against the cushions. Seeing that she was not sleeping, but merely resting, Abbie turned her attention to the young driver. She was curious about him, and after making reference to his accent, asked where he was from. Obviously, she said, he was not originally from Radstock. No, he told her, he had worked for a London employer and accompanied him to Wiltshire to his country residence. Later, when his employer had planned to return to London, he, Alfie, had decided to stay.

  ‘What was the attraction?’ Abbie asked him. ‘Why did you stay in this part of the world?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, I got involved with the village band.’

  ‘You play in a band?’

  He turned in his seat and grinned. ‘Yeh, I play the cornet. And the trumpet too on occasion.’

  ‘Well,’ Abbie said, ‘I’m impressed.’ She turned to Iris. ‘Did you know that, Iris? Mr Timson is a musician.’

  ‘Yes.’ Still with her eyes closed, Iris smiled. ‘I know.’

  ‘Have you heard him play?’

  ‘Yes. He’s very good.’

  ‘You hear that, Alfie?’ Abbie said to the young man’s back. ‘You’re getting some praise.’

  ‘Well, that’s good to hear.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘A bit of praise is always welcome.’ He gave a short laugh, ‘Specially when it’s deserved.’

  Abbie laughed. ‘Oh, and he’s modest too. You hear that, Iris?’

  ‘Yes.’ Iris smiled. ‘I heard it.’

  ‘So,’ Abbie said, turning again to the young man, ‘what’s your other reason for staying?’

  ‘My other reason?’ He didn’t turn but kept his eyes on the road ahead.

  ‘When I asked why you’d stayed, you said that for one thing you’d got involved in the band. So obviously there were other reasons.’

  He nodded. ‘Well, yeh, I suppose there are.’

  ‘And . . . ?’

  At this he turned around in his seat and looked at her, a half-smile on his face. Abbie was about to speak again, but his glance quickly moved on and settled briefly upon Iris. Abbie, turning to her sister, saw that her eyes were still closed. Abbie grinned at him and gave a nod. Then, bending close to Iris’s ear she whispered, ‘You, Iris Morris, are a dark horse.’

  Iris was not sleeping. After a moment, her eyes still closed, she smiled again.

  A few minutes after entering Flaxdown they were coming to a halt outside Eddie and Violet’s cottage in Green Lane, and almost at once Violet was there, coming out to welcome them. They had received Abbie’s letter telling them that Iris would be coming home, she said, and in preparation had made up a bed for her in the parlour.

  Alfie gathered Iris up in his arms again, followed Violet into the cottage and in the parlour gently laid Iris down. Abbie drew the curtains against the light and got Iris settled while Violet took the young coachman into the kitchen and gave him some bread and cheese, a large slice of apple pie and some tea. By the time he was ready to leave again Iris was fast asleep. Briefly he looked in on her still, peaceful form and then Abbie followed him outside to wish him goodbye, to shake his hand and thank him for all his trouble.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head and nodded towards the cottage. ‘Nothing’s trouble where she’s concerned.’

  ‘Well – thank you anyway – for everything.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ He swung up into the driver’s seat. ‘Say goodbye to her for me, will you?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘She’s going to be all right, is she?’

  ‘Yes, she is. The doctor said the worst is now behind her. With complete rest, he said, he’s sure she’ll make a full recovery.’

  ‘Good. That’s good.’ He smiled down at Abbie. ‘Well, you just see she gets back to Radstock soon, all right?’

  She returned his smile. ‘Don’t worry, Alfie, we shall do our best.’

  Returning to the parlour with Violet she saw that Iris was still sleeping and together they crept from the room. Violet wanted Abbie to stay and drink some tea with her, but Abbie declined. ‘I must get back home,’ she said, then added, ‘I don’t suppose Eddie called on Mother while I’ve been gone. I suggested he might.’

  Violet shook her head. ‘No, he didn’t.’ She shrugged. ‘But you know your brother as well as I do.’

  The church clock was striking four as Abbie, carrying her valise, made her way along School Lane. She was looking forward to getting back indoors, into the comfort – such as it was these days – of her own home; to be once again among familiar things.

  Looking up at the sky she saw that dark clouds were gathering and she quickened her step a little. She felt dusty and grimy, and also drained of energy. The anxiety over Iris’s accident had taken its toll, added to which she still felt rather stiff from the long, slow journey. Nevertheless, she was aware of the most enormous sense of relief. Iris was going to be all right; that was the important thing.

  As Abbie turned in at the gate of the schoolhouse she untied her bonnet and took it off. She wondered what kind of reception she would get from her mother. And how, she wondered, had her mother coped with being on her own for the past five days?

  Going round the side of the house she let herself in at the back door. As she entered the kitchen from the scullery she opened her mouth to frame a greeting and then stopped in her tracks, her words freezing on her lips. The next moment she was letting fall her valise and bonnet, and hurrying forward.

  ‘Mother . . .’

  Mrs Morris lay sprawled on the sofa. Her face was deathly pale and there were dark stains over her bodice and skirt. Abbie bent over her. Her mother’s breathing was harsh, her breath foetid. The stains were not only on her dress but on the sofa and the floor.

  ‘Oh, Mother,’ Abbie muttered distractedly, ‘how long have you been in this state?’ She raised a hand to her mother’s pale cheek, and at the touch her mother’s eyelids fluttered open, her lips moving as she struggled to speak. Abbie could just make out the words.

  ‘I – I can’t breathe . . .’

  ‘Here – try to sit up a little.’ Abbie put her arms around her and tried to pull her into a more upright position, putting cushions behind her back for support.
Her mother’s head lolled on her neck as she gasped for air.

  Abbie fetched a little water and held it to her mother’s mouth. Mrs Morris took a sip, but a moment later vomited, bringing up a heavy blackish fluid. Abbie straightened, frantic. ‘Mother,’ she said, ‘I’m going for the doctor.’

  ‘No . . .’ The protest came in a faint, breathless groan.

  ‘I’ve got to.’ Abbie moved towards the door. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  She did not want to leave her mother, but she had no choice. Her cape flying out behind her, she ran from the cottage and down the lane. As she crossed the green towards the western side of the village the threatened rain began to fall and she realised she had come out without her bonnet.

  At last she reached the house of Dr Parrish, and hurried up the drive, and rang the bell. To her dismay the maid who opened the door told her that the doctor and Mrs Parrish were out and were not expected back until later that evening. ‘But if it’s really urgent, miss,’ the maid added, ‘you best go and call on Dr Mason. He usually stands in for Dr Parrish. You know where ’e lives, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes – on the Warminster Road.’ Abbie had never met Dr Mason; had only heard of him – that he was a dour, impatient man – but with Dr Parrish being out she had no choice. She thanked the girl and turned away. The rain was falling more strongly now. At the gate she turned towards the east, in the direction of Warminster, but when she came to Tomkins Row she ran and knocked sharply on the door of number three.

  A few moments later it was opened and Mrs Carroll was there.

  ‘Abbie,’ she said, frowning, taking in Abbie’s expression, ‘what’s up? What’s ‘appened?’

  ‘It’s Mother,’ Abbie said, gasping and breathless. ‘Oh, Mrs Carroll, she’s so ill. She’s having trouble breathing, and she keeps being sick. D’you think you could go round and stay with her for a while, please? Dr Parrish is out and I’ve got to get Dr Mason from the Warminster Road. I’m sorry to come running to you, but I don’t know who else to ask. Violet’s got the baby and now Iris as well to look after.’

  Mrs Carroll did not hesitate. ‘Of course, my dear.’

  As the two left the cottage Mrs Carroll buttoned her coat and raised an old umbrella over their heads. ‘You ought to have a hat,’ she said. ‘You’ll catch cold in this.’

  ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘How are you going to get to Dr Mason’s?’

  ‘I’ll go to Barton’s stables and get a fly.’ Abbie was already hurrying ahead. ‘Please tell Mother I’ll be back with the doctor as soon as I can.’

  ‘Here –’ Mrs Carroll said, ‘take the umbrella. I don’t have far to go.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Abbie cried, and with a wave of her hand was dashing away.

  Just past the Harp and Horses she went to the stables owned by the fly proprietor, Mr Barton. She found him just driving the fly out of the yard, and seeing her he brought the horse and carriage to a stop. He was a lean, short-sighted man in his early sixties, well-known to Abbie from her childhood.

  ‘It’s Abbie, is it?’ he said peering down at her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Oh, Mr Barton, I’ve got to get to Dr Mason’s on the Warminster Road. Can you take me there, please?’

  ‘Well, I would, my dear, certainly,’ he said, ‘but I’m going to pick up a passenger from Frome station. I’m just off this very minute.’

  ‘Oh, please – can’t you help me? My mother is ill.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that, my dear, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. I’m already late.’

  She groaned, shaking her head distractedly. She would just have to walk; there was nothing else for it. She started to move away, stopped, then turned back. ‘Mr Barton,’ she said, ‘could I ride with you to Frome?’

  ‘But you just said you wanted to go out Warminster way.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ll pay you, of course.’ As she spoke she realized that she had come out without her purse. ‘When I get home again – I’ll pay you then.’

  ‘That don’t matter,’ he said, ‘I’ve got to go to Frome anyway.’ He beckoned to her. ‘Come on – get in afore you gets drownded.’

  A little less than half an hour later Abbie had reached Frome and was hurrying to Louis’s house. The rain had eased during the journey, and now came to a stop as she ran up the drive to the front door and rang the bell. The young maid who answered told her yes, Dr Randolph was in, then showed her into the library, took her name and went away. Abbie glanced at the clock and saw that it was a little after six.

  How, she wondered, would Louis receive her? They had not seen one another since their meeting on the train on her journey back from London. That had been just after Christmas. Due to her lack of transport he had then brought her back to Flaxdown in his carriage. And not very long after his departure her mother had appeared on the doorstep.

  Now, months later, here was Abbie, again seeking his help.

  She heard footsteps in the hall, and then all at once Louis was entering the room. ‘Abbie!’ he said, smiling. ‘Well, this is a surprise. You’re the last person I expected to see.’ Having taken in her somewhat damp appearance he added, ‘But what brings you out here on such a miserable afternoon?’

  Quickly she told him something of the condition in which she had found her mother. ‘And our local doctor is away,’ she finished. ‘So rather than go for the locum I came here – for you. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course not. Wait here a minute and I’ll get my coat and hitch up the horse. I’ve haven’t long been back myself.’ As he moved to the door he said over his shoulder, ‘I’ll get Lily to bring you a towel.’

  He went from the room and a minute later the maid was coming to her with a towel. Abbie thanked her and dabbed at her face and hair. After a little while Louis returned, now wearing his coat and hat and carrying his bag.

  ‘All right,’ he said, ‘let’s be on our way.’

  The rain had turned much of the road to mud, but nevertheless the horse and carriage made fairly good progress. As they rode, Abbie told Louis some of what had happened since their meeting in December. She spoke briefly of how her mother had come back into her life and had since been living with her. She then spoke of Iris’s accident, of how she had gone to Radstock to see her and had returned home to find her mother prostrate and vomiting. Looking up into his grave face, she said earnestly, ‘Can you help her? You can, can’t you?’

  ‘I’ll do whatever I can – you can be sure of that. In the meantime, try not to worry too much.’

  At last they came to Flaxdown and the schoolhouse, and even as Louis was reining in the horse, Abbie was getting down from the carriage and hurrying to the front door. As she reached out her hand for the latch the door opened and Mrs Carroll stood there pale-faced and obviously very distressed.

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Carroll,’ Abbie said reassuringly. ‘Dr Randolph is here, and –’

  ‘Oh, Abbie, my dear.’ Mrs Carroll said, breaking in on Abbie’s words. ‘You’re too late. Your mother – she died just a few minutes ago.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was August. Although Abbie enjoyed the annual school summer holidays, nevertheless there were times when she found herself looking forward to being back at her desk in the classroom again. Now, in these days of high summer her pupils were in all probability occupied with their usual seasonal employment – working in the fields to bring in the harvest. She looked from the window at the small, sun-drenched front garden, and beyond it to the lane, then turned back to the looking-glass and ran a smoothing hand over her hair. She was expecting Louis to call at any moment. He had written to say he had to be in the area, and that if she was not otherwise engaged he would like to see her.

  If she was not otherwise engaged. No, that was not the case, and indeed was not likely to be. Turning from the glass she once again glanced along the lane. She felt strangely restless. She wondered at it, but told herself it was
due to her absence from the schoolroom – and also to the loss of her mother.

  A month had passed since her mother’s death. On the day of the funeral Abbie, Eddie, Lizzie and Iris had gathered at the schoolhouse from where their mother’s coffin was borne. Abbie and her sisters had wept. Perhaps, if truth were told, not so much for their mother’s passing as at regret that they had never been close to her. Eddie – who was there mostly for appearances’ sake – had remained dry-eyed.

  After the funeral he had returned to the contentment of his family life with Violet and daughter Sarah, Lizzie back to her husband in Lullington to await the birth of their baby – due in mid-September – and Iris to her employment with the Pinnock family in Radstock. Abbie, whose life had been more strongly touched by their mother’s return, was the most affected by her death.

  Movement caught her eye, and looking further along the lane she saw Louis’s tall figure coming towards the schoolhouse. Moments later there came his knock on the door and she moved to open it.

  As he entered, taking off his hat, she said, ‘I saw you walking along the lane. Didn’t you come by carriage?’

  ‘It’s with the smith for repair,’ he said. ‘I had to take a fly.’ He stood before her and gave a little – almost imperceptible – nod of approval. ‘I must say you look very nice, Abbie.’

  ‘Well – thank you.’ She felt herself colouring slightly under his glance. Then, quickly, turning, without purpose, she gestured towards the window. ‘Shall we walk, or would you like to stay in and have some tea?’

  ‘Why can’t we do both?’ he said. ‘Let’s walk and then come back for tea.’ He smiled. ‘There’s plenty of time – and after all, it’s Sunday. I’m allowed the occasional time of rest.’

  Abbie nodded. ‘Absolutely – I agree. Have you finished your business in the village?’

  ‘Yes, it didn’t take long. So – shall we go for a walk?’

  A few minutes later the two of them left the schoolhouse and set off along the lane, their steps taking them away from the village and into the deeper peace and quiet of the surrounding countryside. After following a meandering footpath through meadows they made their way onto the heath and there followed a rough track that skirted a small lake where willows grew along the water’s edge. From across the water came the ringing sound of voices as a few of the village children swam and splashed in the sun-warmed shallows.