So Long At the Fair

by Jess Foley

  ‘Abbie –’ Arthur began, but she went on, ‘I don’t understand Jane at all. She knew it was through no fault of my own that our engagement came to an end and still she –’ She came to a stop and looked down at her fingers as they worked in her lap. ‘Oh, Arthur, this is so difficult. You can’t imagine how hard it is.’

  He remained silent.

  ‘I had to come here to see you,’ she said after a moment, ‘to tell you – that it’s not too late.’

  ‘Too late?’ He frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. ‘Oh, please, Arthur, don’t be obtuse. You know what I’m saying.’

  ‘I – I’m not sure that I do.’

  ‘I’m saying it’s not too late for us. For you and me. All those – difficulties are in the past. There’s nothing now to keep us apart. We’re both free and we –’

  He interrupted her. ‘Abbie, please. Don’t – don’t say these things.’

  She would continue, though. It was as if she were driven to leave nothing unsaid. ‘Don’t be a goose,’ she said, ‘I’m telling you that things are different.’ She paused. ‘Arthur – please give me back the ring.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The ring you gave me – that I returned to you. I want to wear it again.’

  A little silence, then he said, ‘I don’t have it any more. And even if I did I . . . Oh, please, Abbie, don’t go on.’

  She looked at him in silence for a moment, seeing him lower his glance and turn his face away.

  ‘Is it too late for you and me? Is that what you’re trying to say?’

  ‘Yes.’ He gave a brief nod, still avoiding her gaze.

  ‘That’s not true. You don’t mean that.’ She paused. ‘Are you saying that it really is serious – between you and Jane?’

  ‘Serious? Yes, it’s serious. Of course it’s serious.’

  She gave a deep sigh and briefly closed her eyes. ‘Oh, God . . .’

  ‘Abbie – I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you but you must know that – well, I love Jane. And she loves me.’

  She set down her cup and drew her bag towards her. ‘I can’t listen to this.’

  ‘But – but you have to know the truth.’

  ‘But you loved me. I was the one you loved, Arthur. We were to be married.’

  ‘Abbie –’ He shook his head. ‘Abbie, all that is ended. Anyway, you didn’t really care about me.’

  ‘What? I – I loved you. You know I did.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘How can you doubt it? You know that I –’ She came to a stop, watching as the couple at the next table rose from their seats and started away. Then she went on, ‘You know I loved you. You must know that.’

  ‘I don’t know that at all. But whatever I thought – whatever I believed, I’m afraid it doesn’t matter now. It’s all in the past now.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter? It’s in the past? Can you switch off your feelings just like that?’

  ‘Abbie, when Jane and I met again last summer, quite by chance, I hadn’t heard from you in ages. You had returned my ring to me and had made it clear that it was finished between us. For all I knew, you had gone out of my life for ever.’

  ‘I had my mother to care for, Arthur. My life was not my own. I had my work, and I had the responsibility of my mother as well.’

  ‘Is that truly all it was, Abbie? Was it truly because of your mother’s return that you broke off our engagement?’

  ‘Of course it was. What other reason could there be?’

  ‘Well, I thought –’ He broke off, then said, ‘Abbie – all this talk is only making everything more difficult. I don’t want you to be hurt any more.’

  ‘Are you telling me now that you care how I feel?’

  ‘Of course I care.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that.’

  ‘Abbie, please . . .’

  ‘I shouldn’t have come here today,’ she said. ‘But I came to tell you that – that I love you.’ She watched for his reaction to her words. ‘Did you hear me?’

  He nodded. There was pain and perplexity in his face.

  She frowned. ‘Have you nothing to say?’

  He shook his head, distress in every line of his face.

  ‘Arthur,’ she said, ‘why do you think I came to London in the first place? I came because of you. I could have gone anywhere but I came here. Because I thought we could – make things up and – and be happy together. And this time for always.’ She turned from him, looking through the window. Rain was falling now. ‘I know what you must be thinking. You’re thinking, my God, is there no end to the lengths this girl will go to in order to humiliate herself?’

  ‘Oh, Abbie, please – for God’s sake –’

  ‘Yes, it was for you, Arthur. That’s why I took the post of governess in Balham.’ Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She turned back to him. ‘Oh, Arthur, I can make you happy if you’ll give me the chance. I know I can.’

  ‘Abbie,’ he said, ‘it’s too late for all that. I love Jane. And she loves me. We’re going to be married.’ He paused, then added, ‘Soon. Very soon.’

  ‘Married.’ She gave a little nod. ‘And when exactly is the great day to be?’

  ‘In just a few weeks.’

  ‘So soon.’ She studied him for a moment, then said, ‘And when do you expect the happy event?’

  ‘The happy –’

  ‘The baby, of course.’

  His silent glance told her that she had been right. It could make no difference now, the fact that she had told him she loved him. She had played her last card. She sat there, the tears streaming from her eyes. Apart from her sense of humiliation she felt abandoned, discarded. She felt purposeless, directionless. She had invested all her last hopes in this meeting and it had been a disaster. If Jane was expecting his child, then she, Abbie, did not have a chance.

  ‘You’re making a mistake, Arthur,’ she said brokenly. ‘And someday you’ll realize it.’

  Snatching up her bag, she got to her feet, turned from him and hurried away.

  As she emerged onto the rainswept street she realized that she had left her umbrella behind. She could not go back for it. With the rain beating down she ran for the station where to her relief she found a train standing at the platform. Just before she got on board she turned and looked back to see whether Arthur had come in pursuit of her. There was no sign of him. She got into the carriage and sat down, and seconds later the train was starting away.

  Abbie sat in her room, waiting.

  Three months had passed since her meeting with Arthur, and now it was midsummer. She had no tuition duties on this July Thursday, nor would she have for the next nine days or so. Florence and Mabel had left on Saturday to spend a fortnight’s holiday with their aunt in Brighton, Abbie and Mrs Hayward escorting them there on the train and returning to London the following day. Without the girls the house was quiet.

  Following the recent weather pattern the summer day had been very warm. But now in the early evening a little breeze had sprung up and the air had grown cooler. Abbie, sitting near the window, was glad of the change. She was awaiting the arrival of a visitor. Louis Randolph was due to call at the house to see her.

  In spite of her belief that she and Louis would have no further communication she had heard from him on two or three occasions since her departure from Flaxdown. In a recent reply to one of his letters, Abbie had written that while the girls were away she would be taking the few days’ holiday that were due to her, and Louis had at once written back to say that he had to come to London about the same time – to take care of some business and also to visit his father. So, he had suggested, it might be a good opportunity for them to meet again. She had readily agreed, since which time she had found herself looking forward to his visit. Inwardly remarking on her surprising happiness at the prospect of their meeting again, she told herself that it would be a welcome interruption of the monotony of her present d
ull existence, and would lift her out of her depression and general sense of unhappiness.

  Adding to that unhappiness Jane had written to invite Abbie to her wedding in Flaxdown. In her letter she had gone on to ask Abbie for her understanding and her blessing, saying:

  . . . I had always taken it as a matter of course that when the time came for me to wed, you, Abbie, my dearest friend, would be there to support me and wish me happiness. And it would complete my happiness now to know that you will be with us on the day of our wedding. Or, should that not be possible, at least to know that you do not hate me – indeed that you care for me still and wish happiness for me in my life with him whom I love.

  Abbie had not replied to Jane’s letter, but had torn it up and thrown away the pieces.

  Jane and Arthur’s wedding had duly taken place at St Peter’s church in Flaxdown, the couple then leaving for a honeymoon in France. Eddie’s wife Violet had attended the marriage service, and had afterwards stood at the lych-gate watching as the pair had emerged from the church. Unaware of Abbie’s frustrated aspirations, Violet had later written telling Abbie about it.

  And, Abbie wondered now, would Louis also know of the wedding? It was possible. She thought of his words to her at Easter just before her departure from Flaxdown, when he had asked whether Arthur had anything to do with her moving to London. His question had made her angry. Well, if he had suspected her motives at that time he might also now guess at her present humiliation.

  Interrupting her thoughts a knock came at the door. Abbie called, ‘Come in,’ and Mrs Hayward entered.

  ‘No sign of him yet?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Not yet.’

  Mrs Hayward’s question was an irritation, as was her presence. Since leaving Florence and Mabel in Brighton Abbie seemed to have had barely a minute to herself. Mrs Hayward was constantly calling on her, asking her to do some task or other, which more often than not was merely an excuse to get Abbie’s company. The promise of the diversion of Louis’s visit, therefore, was doubly welcome.

  ‘Perhaps he won’t come,’ Mrs Hayward said with a doleful sigh. ‘Men can be so unreliable. That’s one thing I’ve learned from life.’

  Not allowing her irritation to show, Abbie said, ‘Oh, he’ll be here.’

  ‘Well, I hope so, dear.’

  Abbie was by no means convinced of the sincerity of the sentiment. On the contrary, she could not escape the feeling that Mrs Hayward would be mightily if secretly pleased if Louis failed to arrive. Abbie was convinced that her employer, determined as she was to find so little pleasure in her own life, was reluctant to see it in the lives of others.

  Mrs Hayward had given instructions that when Abbie’s friend arrived he should be shown into the library. Abbie knew that Mrs Hayward was impressed by the fact that Louis was a doctor – though slightly disapproving in other ways, for it was not quite in the order of things for a mere governess to make friendships above her station. At the same time this did not prevent Mrs Hayward from enquiring as to any possible marriage plans. Abbie had brushed aside the idea. ‘Dr Randolph is an old friend,’ she had said. ‘I’ve known him for many years and there’s nothing at all between us of a – a romantic nature. Nor is there ever likely to be.’ Disappointed or relieved, Mrs Hayward had had to be content with that.

  When Louis arrived just after six thirty, he came not by carriage but on foot, walking up the hill from the station. As he turned in at the gates Mrs Hayward, looking from the window, said, ‘Here he comes now.’ Then she added, ‘You didn’t mention that he was so tall – nor that he was so handsome.’

  Mrs Hayward left her then, and after a few moments the parlourmaid appeared to tell Abbie that her guest was waiting in the library. Abbie pinned her hat in place, took up her cape and went downstairs. On entering the library she found Louis in conversation with Mrs Hayward. Louis smiled warmly at Abbie, and came forward and embraced her. And for a brief moment as his arms encircled her she felt once again those old familiar warring emotions: the comfort of his touch, and at the same time a strange reluctance to be close. It did not last more than a moment before they broke apart and Mrs Hayward, clearly eager to keep him there, was pressing him to take some refreshment. He graciously declined her offer, however, and after having helped Abbie with her cape they said their goodbyes and left the house.

  In the pleasant air they made their way up the hill and onto the common where horsemen rode, children played and people walked their dogs. Louis told her that he had arrived in London the evening before, and was staying at a small hotel in Paddington. He intended, he reiterated, to attend to some business matters in London and then to travel out to Gravesend in Kent to see his father, whom he had not seen for some time.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘how does it feel to be free of your charges for a while?’ They had now wandered into the wide area of woodland that stretched as far as the railway line.

  ‘It’s good,’ Abbie said. ‘And if I could be free of their mother too I’d be happier still.’ She shook her head. ‘Be thankful that you don’t have an employer. Particularly one like mine. I’ve never known anyone to fuss so much. With her the merest problem becomes a crisis. There’s no calm in the house. It’s no wonder her husband’s never home.’

  ‘Perhaps his absence is the cause of it.’

  ‘I doubt it. Though whatever it is, it’s hard to live with.’

  ‘Perhaps you need a vacation.’

  ‘Not much chance of that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Have you seen your friend lately? Jane, isn’t that her name?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘I believe she recently got married, in Flaxdown. Somebody told me, I forget who.’

  Abbie, silent, did not look at him and was relieved when he returned to the former subject.

  ‘If you’re unhappy where you are,’ he said, ‘why don’t you look for another post?’

  ‘I intend to. Though Mrs Hayward will have a fit when I do. She’s already told me that the previous governesses had no sense of loyalty. It seems none of them stayed long. And I can’t say I blame them.’

  They ate a rather mediocre dinner in the restaurant of a hotel near Streatham Hill railway station. At the end of the meal Louis pushed aside his empty coffee cup and said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry it wasn’t better.’

  ‘It was fine. It was very nice.’

  He shrugged. ‘Anyway – I hope there’ll be other times. When do your little charges get back from the coast?’

  ‘Saturday the 25th. We’re to go to Brighton to collect them – that’s if Mrs Hayward isn’t having the vapours. If she is I’ll be going alone.’

  ‘So you still have a few days of relative freedom before they get back.’

  ‘Relative is the word.’

  ‘Perhaps we can meet again while I’m here.’

  ‘How long will you be here?’

  ‘Till the weekend. I must get back to Frome by Sunday at the latest, or my patients will think I’ve forsaken them.’ He paused. ‘So that leaves just two days. Are you busy tomorrow?’

  ‘Mrs Hayward has asked me to go shopping with her in the morning. I’d better go to keep her sweet.’

  ‘Then perhaps we could meet in the evening. I could try to get tickets to the theatre or the opera or something.’

  ‘Thank you. Yes, I’d like that.’

  ‘Good.’ He gave a nod of satisfaction. ‘On Saturday I want to go to Gravesend to see my father. Why don’t you come with me?’

  Abbie looked doubtful. ‘Oh – well – I don’t know . . .’

  ‘We could go down by train and if the weather’s fine we could come back by steamer on the river. It could be a lovely day out.’

  ‘But your father won’t be expecting me.’

  ‘I shall write to him at once. He’ll get my letter on Saturday morning. Please say yes. He’ll love to meet you. And I know you’ll like him, too.’ He paused. ‘Will you come?’

  ‘Well – if you’re sure it’ll b
e all right.’

  ‘Of course it’ll be all right. Good. That’s settled, then. Now’ – he raised a hand to summon the waiter – ‘I’ll pay the bill and take you home.’

  It rained for a short while the following morning, only lightly, yet enough for Mrs Hayward to postpone the shopping trip. ‘Oh, dear,’ she cried, hands fluttering, ‘everything conspires against me, I swear it does!’ Abbie, who had not looked forward to the excursion, was relieved at the reprieve. Not for long, however, for in the afternoon Mrs Hayward announced that they would after all set out.

  So – and most reluctantly – Abbie accompanied her to the Army and Navy department stores in Victoria. And as the time wore on she found herself growing more and more anxious; Louis was due to call for her at six o’clock and she was afraid that she would be late getting back. Mrs Hayward, however, seemed intent on dawdling over every possible purchase and to be quite incapable of making up her mind over the most trivial thing. Abbie felt her anxiety and irritation growing, and eventually Mrs Hayward turned to her with wide, uncomprehending eyes and said, ‘Miss Morris, why do you keep sighing so? And this constant shifting from one foot to another . . . Are you ill? Have you got St Vitus’s dance or something?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Abbie replied, ‘but I’m getting anxious about the time. As you know, Dr Randolph is calling for me at six.’

  ‘Well, didn’t you tell him you were coming shopping with me today?’

  ‘I did, yes – but your original plan was to come out this morning.’

  ‘So?’ Mrs Hayward’s eyes widened in an overdone expression of surprise. ‘You saw the weather, didn’t you? It was raining. I can’t control the weather, can I?’

  From that moment on Mrs Hayward seemed to take as much time as she could to make her purchases, at the same time appearing to mock Abbie’s anxiety by asking her views on particular colours and designs. By the time they emerged from the store – with far fewer purchases than could warrant the time spent within – Abbie was seething.

  It was five thirty-five when they got back to the house, and Louis arrived promptly at six. By the time he and Abbie left again it was six twenty.