by Jess Foley
‘Well, no – but I’ve been there. And there’s no denying it’s a wonderfully exciting place.’
‘Oh, it is that, most certainly.’ He gave a little smile. ‘Is that what you’re looking for – excitement?’
She laughed. ‘A little excitement certainly wouldn’t come amiss – not after living in such a quiet spot as Flaxdown all my life.’
‘Well, London might be exciting, but it can also be a very lonely place. Wouldn’t you be happier in a smaller town – somewhere nearer to your roots? You could go to somewhere like Trowbridge or Warminster.’
She frowned. ‘Please, Louis – I don’t need pessimism at a time like this. I need optimism and encouragement.’
‘I certainly don’t want to discourage you,’ he said. ‘I just wonder whether you’re doing the right thing.’
‘Oh, Louis – please. Don’t play devil’s advocate. This is difficult enough for me as it is without your depressing comments.’
‘Am I depressing you? I’m sorry.’ He stood there for a moment then took a step towards the door. ‘It’s getting late; I’d better be off.’ He put on his hat. ‘Whatever you do, Abbie, I just hope you’ll be happy, that’s all.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s what we all want, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ He gave a little smile. ‘And most of the time it’s too much to expect.’
A moment later he had wished her goodbye and gone from the cottage. She stood there for some moments after his departure and then realized that she was still holding the letter. For a second she considered running after him, but decided against it. She would deliver it herself and without wasting any further time.
She put on her cape then left the schoolhouse and set off to walk the short distance to Hawthorn Lane. Reaching the Grange, the home of Mr Carstairs, she walked up the drive and inserted the letter through the letter box slot. It was done. And now there was no going back.
In the schoolhouse once more she ate a light supper then sat beside the fire, and all the while her thoughts kept going back to the events of the day and to her letter of resignation. She might have expected now to feel some sensation of relief, but she did not. Yet she had done the right thing, the only thing possible in the circumstances. Yes, and as for going to London, that would be all right too. She would find a place without too much difficulty. So why, she asked herself, was she fretting so? Was it due to Louis? Louis, sowing his seeds of doubt? But what did he know?
After school the following day she wrote to Jane, briefly relating what had happened and telling of her intentions to seek work as a governess in London. She would start searching the columns of the newspapers immediately, she said. In addition, if Jane should hear of any suitable position that was due to become vacant she should let her know at once.
After Abbie had put aside her pen she sat for some minutes deep in thought then got up and went to her bureau. From a drawer she took a letter in an envelope. It was the one she had received from Arthur after she had broken off their engagement. She sat down at the table, unfolded the sheet of notepaper and read again the last words that he had written:
. . . If your situation alters and you change your mind you know well enough where to find me. At present you may believe that it is all finished between us but I know that it is not. One day we shall be together; and I will wait for that day . . .
She sat for a long time with the open letter before her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
All but one of Abbie’s pupils had gone – wishing her their last goodbyes before hurrying out into the spring sunshine and the start of the Easter holidays. Only Tom Gilpin was left. He came to her where she stood going through the contents of her desk, stopped and looked up at her. He did not know but it was he who had been the catalyst in the situation that had led to her going.
‘Yes, Tom . . .’ She smiled at him as he stood silently before her.
‘Miss,’ he said, ‘d’you know who we’ll be having for our teacher next term?’
‘No, I don’t – but I expect she’ll be very nice. And I’m sure you’ll work hard for her, won’t you?’
‘Yes, miss.’ He paused. ‘I wish you wusn’t going, miss.’
She did not know what to say. It was at moments like these that she wondered whether she was doing the right thing. But it was too late now – and in any case she could not have remained, with the situation as Carstairs would have it.
‘They say you’re goin’ up to London, miss. Is that right?’
‘That’s right, Tom. I leave tomorrow.’
‘Will you be glad to go, miss?’
‘In some ways. In some ways perhaps not.’
‘London’s a big place, so they say.’
‘Oh, it is indeed.’
‘Are you going to be a schoolteacher in London, miss?’
‘Well – not in a school, Tom. Not right away, at any rate. I’m going to be a governess.’
‘To a rich family, miss?’
‘Well, I don’t know how rich they are.’
‘D’you think you’ll ever come back – to Flaxdown?’
‘Oh, yes, no doubt of that. One day.’
He gave her a grave smile. ‘Maybe I’ll see you again, then.’
‘I hope so, Tom.’
A little silence, then, ‘Well – goodbye, miss.’
‘Goodbye, Tom.’
They stood facing one another for a moment without moving, then she put out her hand. Solemnly he took it. ‘You look after yourself, Tom.’
‘Yes, miss. And you, miss.’
‘I will.’
When he had gone Abbie continued clearing her things from inside her desk. Afterwards she stood looking around her. It was for the last time; she would never come to this classroom again. Gazing about her at the maps, diagrams and pictures on the walls, she thought of the happy times she had known here. After some moments she moved to the door, opened it and went outside into the yard. The March sun was bright, though there was a sharp east wind that caught at her hair and moved her skirt. The yard was quiet now, but this was not how she would think of it. She would remember it echoing with the voices of the children.
In the cottage she set down her things. The kitchen, like the other rooms, had a bare look about it. Over the past week she had packed her box and her trunk. She would be taking to London only those things she regarded as essential – the rest of her belongings she had given to Violet to share between herself and Lizzie and Iris. When she left tomorrow this part of her life would be at an end.
She made tea and sat drinking it at the kitchen table. Eddie would be coming for her in the morning, driving Mr White’s pony and trap to take her to the station at Frome, where she would board the train for London. Everything was set now for her departure. At times over the past weeks it had seemed as if the end of term would never come. Yet at other times the days had seemed to pass too swiftly. She had had much to do – not least in the business of finding employment in the capital. She had achieved it without too much difficulty, however. Following correspondence with prospective employers and the submission of her references – Mr Carstairs had not been able to prevent the School Board giving her work a positive endorsement – she had travelled to the south-London suburb of Balham in mid-February to meet a barrister and his wife and two small daughters. It had been a satisfactory meeting and she had been engaged to begin her work there at Easter.
On her return to Flaxdown she had at once written to Jane telling of her new employment. Very soon, she had added, they would be meeting again. After finishing her letter to Jane she had taken up her pen once more and written to Arthur.
In her letter she told him that her mother had died the previous summer and that since that time her own situation had become intolerable – to the extent, she said, that she had been forced to leave her teaching post and seek employment elsewhere. As a result, she would be arriving in London at Easter to take up duties as resident governess to two children in Balham. She ended
her letter saying:
I’m sure you must be surprised at hearing this voice from the past! Though I do hope that it is not a voice you have forgotten. I remind myself, however, that little more than a year has gone by since last we met – though it is a year which for me has seen many changes.
Perhaps, once I am in London and settled to some little degree, we might meet for a chat – if you would like that. I know I shall be glad to see a familiar, friendly face.
Arthur had written back saying that he had been surprised to hear from her – though nevertheless pleased. He was very sorry to hear about her mother, he said, and yes, of course, once Abbie was settled in London they must find an opportunity to meet.
With her packing more or less finished, Abbie left the cottage to pay a visit to Eddie and Violet and the babies. After remaining with them for a while she set off for Tomkins Row to call on Mrs Carroll and wish her goodbye. On leaving she promised to give her love to Jane at the first opportunity.
She had crossed the green and was just about to turn into School Lane when she heard behind her the sound of a horse and carriage, then the sound of her name. Turning, she saw that the driver was Louis.
She stopped, smiling at him, at the same time feeling a slight sensation of guilt; she had not been in touch with him since her trip to London when he had called on her and she had told him the result of her interview. When they had parted at that time she had promised to write to him so that they could meet again before her departure for the capital. She had not done so.
Now Louis brought the cob to a halt beside her, gave a theatrical sigh and said with an ironic smile, ‘I’ve concluded that if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, the mountain must go to Mohammed.’ With a sad shake of his head he added, ‘You were going to write to me to arrange a meeting.’
‘Oh, Louis,’ she said, ‘you’re reproving me.’
He nodded. ‘Am I wrong to do so?’
‘No, you’re quite justified. It’s simply that I’ve been so busy with all my preparations.’
He glanced up at the sky. ‘It’s a lovely evening. Would you care to go for a drive?’
‘But – oh, I’ve got so much to do.’
‘Just for half an hour or so.’
‘Well, all right – just for half an hour. Then I must get back.’
‘I guarantee it.’
He helped her up into the carriage and they set off. As they drove he turned to her and said, ‘So would you have gone off to London without even saying goodbye? Shame on you.’
‘No, of course not,’ she protested, though as she spoke she could not look him in the eye. ‘Oh, Louis,’ she added, smoothing her hair, ‘you can’t imagine how the time has flown.’
‘Ah, Abbie . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Excuses, excuses.’ He turned, took in her expression and said, ‘Oh, come on, there’s no need to look like that.’
‘Like what? How do I look?’
‘Forget it. Let’s not pursue it.’
Abbie could think of nothing to say, and in a rather awkward silence they skirted the western border of the green and headed towards the edge of the village. As they left the dwellings behind them Louis said without looking at her, ‘I shall miss you, Abbie. And I still can’t think for the life of me why you have to go and live in London.’
‘Well, I have a job there,’ she said.
‘You do now, yes. But I’m sure you could easily have found employment nearer at hand. It isn’t as if work for governesses can only be had in London.’
‘Perhaps so, but what is there to keep me here?’
‘That’s a question only you can answer. And if you can ask it in the first place then I suppose the answer is clear.’
‘I – I’ve got to make something of my life,’ she said after a moment. ‘I must.’
‘And you think you’ll do that by becoming a governess in London?’ Then he added quickly, ‘I know I shouldn’t be talking like this. It’s just that I can’t understand why you have to go running off this way.’
‘Running off?’ she said. ‘I’m not running off.’
‘Perhaps I was wrong in my choice of words.’ A moment, then he added, ‘Are you sure there’s no other reason for your going to London? Apart from your general intention – of making something of your life, I mean.’
‘Of course there’s no other reason – although my friend Jane is there.’
‘Is there no reason apart from that?’
‘Louis,’ she said, feeling her irritation growing, ‘why are you asking all these questions? I’m leaving tomorrow; can’t we just enjoy the drive? Please?’
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘your Mr Gilmore’s in London, isn’t he?’
She stiffened slightly. ‘So?’
He turned to her, his expression bland. ‘It just occurred to me, that’s all.’
‘It didn’t just occur to you.’
‘Abbie – Abbie, stop sounding so cross. Why are you being so prickly today?’
‘Well, perhaps I have reason to be – prickly, as you call it. For one thing, you appear to be impugning my reasons for going to London.’
He pulled the mare to a halt at the side of the road and turning to her said, ‘I’m not trying to be disagreeable, but – well, just tell me one thing . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Has your Mr Arthur Gilmore got anything to do with your going up to London?’
Her nostrils flared in growing anger. ‘Louis,’ she said, ‘I’d be glad if you’d turn the carriage round and drive me back. Would you mind?’
‘Abbie, don’t be angry. Can’t we talk without your getting so cross all the time?’
‘Please – turn the carriage round.’
‘Abbie, calm down . . .’
He reached over to touch her hand, but she snatched her arm away. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘– if you won’t drive me back then I’ll walk.’ She made as if to get out of the carriage, but he said quickly, ‘No, no. Stay where you are.’ Then, shaking the reins, they started off again.
Later, at the entrance to School Lane he brought the carriage to a stop, jumped down and helped her down onto the road.
‘I’ll walk with you to the cottage,’ he said.
‘No, that’s all right, thank you.’
‘You’re still angry with me. Please. You’re going away tomorrow; we can’t part like this.’
She looked up at him now. His expression was earnest. After a moment she put out her hand. ‘No, we can’t. Let us part friends.’
He took her hand. ‘I hope you mean it. It’s what I want – if we have to part at all.’ She moved to withdraw her hand, but he held on to it. ‘Don’t go to London tomorrow,’ he said.
‘What? Not go? Of course I must go. It’s all arranged.’
‘You can write to your employers. Tell them you’ve changed your mind.’
She stared at him. ‘Why on earth should I do that?’
‘Please – stay here.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I care for you. Very much.’
I don’t want to hear these words, she thought, and turned her face away. She had a sudden picture of him as he had been at the fair that day. She heard again the music of the hurdy-gurdy and saw herself sitting with him beside the stream. Other images flashed through her mind. She saw him firing at the target, saw Beatie holding her teaset.
‘I must go in,’ Abbie said. ‘I still have so much to do.’
‘Is that all you have to say?’
‘I’m sorry . . .’ She shook her head distractedly. She could not meet his eyes. ‘I’m just not good company this evening.’
‘Perhaps that’s my fault. Obviously I’m not the one to bring out the best in you. Perhaps your Mr Gilmore will have better luck.’
She stared at him for a moment or two in silence, then, turning, set off along the lane.
‘Abbie . . .’
Louis’s voice came to her as she strode away, but she did not falter, and she entered the cottage withou
t looking back.
That night she climbed into her schoolhouse bed for the last time.
Lying there in the dark, she knew a sense of frustration and disappointment – when she should have felt excitement at the knowledge that in the morning she would be embarking on a new life. But Louis’s words kept coming into her mind: Has your Mr Gilmore got anything to do with your going up to London?
He had no right to say such things. It was none of his business and in any case it wasn’t true. Besides, Arthur was not just any young man: they had been engaged to be married. Why did Louis have to complicate things so – not only with his references to Arthur and questioning her motives for going to London, but telling her that he cared for her. There were times in the past year when he had proved himself such a good friend. Why could he not remain so? Though she could not say why, anything other – deeper – than friendship where he was concerned left her feeling unsettled and uneasy. Aloud into the dark she muttered, ‘Oh, Louis, why do you have to start upsetting things?’ As she lay there the thought came to her that once she had left Flaxdown she and Louis would never meet again. He was a part of her life that was now about to come to an end. With the thought a little stab of sorrow and loss touched her, but then she told herself that it was better this way. He was a part of the past and must remain so. A clean break with the past – that was what was needed. It must make no difference to her, the fact that he cared for her, that she would miss him. Their relationship was over. In less than a day they would be more than a hundred miles apart.
‘Mama says you’re going out, Miss Morris. Is that so?’ Florence Hayward, eight years old, stood beside her sister Mabel, nine, in the doorway of Abbie’s room. They were as alike as two peas, each with small, bright, dark eyes, and dark curls framing their round, rosy cheeks. Standing at the mirror, Abbie smoothed her coat, touched at her hair and made a final adjustment to her hat. Her glance caught that of the smaller Hayward girl in the glass and she nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right, Florence.’
‘Where are you going to?’ Florence asked.
Her sister Mabel spoke up at this. ‘Florrie, Mama says you’re not to ask so many questions.’