So Long at the Fair

by Pat Herbert

  “A little boy?”

  “Oh, yes, sorry. We had a little boy staying with us for a while. Some relative of Mrs Aitch’s.”

  “Dear old Mrs Aitch. How is she?”

  “Oh, very well. She sends her regards, by the way.”

  “Do send her mine.”

  “Anyway, what d’you think about what I’ve told you? About this woman falling from the Big Wheel.”

  Dorothy looked thoughtful. “All the while you’ve been telling me, I’ve been trying to remember something.”

  “Remember something?”

  “Yes, it struck a memory chord, but I can’t think for the life of me why.”

  “You’ve seen her too?” Bernard prompted eagerly.

  “No, no, nothing like that. Be quiet for a minute, Bernie, and let me think…”

  Bernard sat beside her patiently, enjoying the late spring sunshine and watching the people passing by, heading for the cathedral.

  “I’ve got it!” she suddenly exclaimed.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, I remember now. When I first came to Wandsworth, I managed to get a few clients before I had to come back here and one of them was a young man, a teenager, actually. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. I can’t remember his name, but I can look him up later.”

  “So, did he say he saw a lady falling from the Big Wheel?”

  “Yes, he did, Bernie.” She paused before continuing. “Except it was only in a dream.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  June 1959

  When Bernard returned to the vicarage from Exeter, he immediately sought out Robbie to tell him what Dorothy had told him. He still couldn’t get over it. Robbie was amazed too but wasn’t as sure as Bernard that there was any connection with the falling woman he had seen.

  “Come off it, Robbie,” protested Bernard. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face. It must be connected. We must try and find this man.”

  “Hmmm,” said Robbie doubtfully. “Assuming he still lives in Wandsworth. He could be anywhere by now.”

  Dorothy had told Bernard about the young man who had come to see her just before Christmas ten years ago. It was shortly before she left Wandsworth to go and look after her dying mother. After checking her files, she told Bernard the young man’s name was Latimer, Hal Latimer. It was an interesting case, she had remembered. He had consulted her because he was having a recurring and very vivid nightmare.

  Apparently, he was at the fair on the Big Wheel when a woman suddenly appeared in the passenger car in front of him. The nightmare never varied. Each time she turned around and stared at him before falling from the car to the ground below. He then rushed off the Wheel, seemingly with wings as he never waited for it to stop (it was a dream, after all) and ran to the spot where she had fallen. She wasn’t there.

  Dorothy had asked Hal Latimer to describe the woman and it concurred in every detail with Robbie’s description: late Victorian, beautiful and haunting green eyes. It was too much of a coincidence not to be connected, insisted Bernard.

  “You’re probably right. But how do we find this Latimer?”

  “That’s the difficulty,” agreed Bernard. “Maybe we could advertise in the local paper?”

  “That’s an idea,” smiled Robbie, glad to have got his companion back and seemingly with an interesting tale to tell.

  However, he couldn’t get anything out of Bernard about how he and Dorothy had got on or where their relationship now stood. That, it seemed, was a closely guarded secret. But Robbie wasn’t fooled. It simply meant Bernard had got nowhere at all, let alone as far as a proposal of marriage. On balance, he was rather pleased about that.

  

  It was two days later, that Bernard and Albert paid their promised visit to the newspaper archives. They were both optimistic they would find something about Olivia Ayrton-Williams’ fate in the local papers, if not in the national ones. A sensational murder would no doubt be in the main papers of the day, but both men were of the opinion that Olivia’s little drama would only be of mild interest to those who knew her. Hence, they decided to start their search with the local papers.

  A small, mole-like old man in horn-rimmed spectacles brought them two large bound volumes which seemed almost too heavy for him to carry. Albert took them from him quickly, with profuse thanks. Bernard and he then proceeded to wade through the pages of the Wandsworth Gazette for the year 1895. It was a slow process, but they plodded on diligently, hardly exchanging a word as they did so. Privately, they each wanted to be the one to uncover the truth first.

  It was Albert who won. He let out a loud ‘whoop!’ causing the other researchers ranged around them to look up in annoyance. Albert put his hand over his mouth and whispered ‘sorry’ to them. He waited until they seemed satisfied and all heads were bent over newspapers once more. The little mole with the horn-rims was in the process of coming over to them but turned back when he saw that peace had been restored.

  “What is it Albert?” hissed Bernard. “Have you found something?”

  “Yes, look!”

  He passed the open volume to Bernard, who read as follows:

  WOMAN IN DEATH FALL AT FAIR

  A young woman was involved in a tragic and fatal accident yesterday when she fell from the Big Wheel at the funfair on Wandsworth Common. Witnesses described their shock and horror as they saw her fall and hit the ground. She was pronounced dead at the scene. The woman has been identified as Miss Olivia Ayrton-Williams. Foul play has not been ruled out, a police spokesman said.

  “Goodness!” exclaimed Bernard. “Well, now you know. She fell from the Big Wheel. Who would have thought it?”

  His mind was racing. Could it be? It had to be. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The woman Robbie and Alfie had seen was none other than Albert’s dead grandmother! He was in two minds whether to tell him but decided to consult Robbie first.

  “Let’s read on and see what else we can find,” he said to Albert, playing safe.

  “They say that foul play can’t be ruled out,” said Albert. “If that’s the case, then I can understand Dad’s reluctance to tell me.”

  “I suppose so,” agreed Bernard.

  Continuing to turn the pages of the Gazette, Bernard suddenly came to something that almost made him ‘whoop’ himself. There it was. The headline said it all.

  WOMAN MURDERED BY FORMER LOVER

  He didn’t say anything to Albert as he read on. This is awful, he thought, when he’d finished the entire piece. How on earth would the young man take it? It would have been better if Ernest Williams had told him the truth from the outset, not leaving him to find out for himself. He could see father and son falling out over this, and he didn’t want that. According to Albert, his father was ill, so the last thing either man needed was an irrevocable family split.

  He continued to stare at the newspaper and reread all the gory details. The name of the murder suspect wasn’t mentioned, however, which was annoying. He turned over some more pages, but he was now at Christmas. The volume for the following year was needed.

  Mr Mole did his bidding promptly, and Bernard eagerly turned the pages. Albert meanwhile had found nothing further in his volume.

  “Have you found anything else about it, Vicar?” he asked.

  “Er, not so far,” lied Bernard.

  “Well, at least it would seem there wasn’t any ‘foul play’ after all,” observed Albert, “otherwise it would have been reported, wouldn’t it?”

  Bernard didn’t reply for, just at that moment, he found what he was looking for.

  MURDER AT THE FAIR:

  MAN TO HANG

  He could hear Albert talking quietly beside him. “So, it was probably an accident – or suicide. I hope it wasn’t suicide.”

  Bernard now knew there was no fear of that. But what he had discovered in this latest news item was even more shocking than he could have envisaged. Albert’s grandmother had been murdered by her former lover who had admitted
the crime. He hadn’t admitted he was the father of her child, however, which was odd. The most shocking thing of all was the identity of the murderer. Richard Latimer. He was, apparently, the brother-in-law of a man called Humphrey Downing, who had adopted Olivia’s child. To Bernard’s mind, that child must have been Ernest Williams, Albert’s father.

  All this was going through his head as he tried to dig up something else from the deep recesses of his brain. What was it? But he could hear Albert talking to him, so he finally gave him his full attention.

  “You’re looking as white as a sheet,” observed Albert. “What is it? What have you discovered? You must tell me!”

  “Er, it’s nothing, nothing at all,” gasped Bernard, patently lying. “It’s just that – it’s too hot in here. Don’t you find it too hot?”

  “No, if anything it’s rather chilly,” said Albert, puzzled. “Are you all right? Are you going to faint?”

  “No, no, but I think I’d like to go if you don’t mind,” said Bernard, slamming the volume shut just as he saw Albert’s gaze wandering over to the newspaper he had been reading. Whatever happened, he mustn’t find out yet, not until he’d asked Robbie’s advice.

  But what was it he still couldn’t quite grasp? What had he seen in that last news item that had alerted him? Then he realised what it was. The name of the murderer. Latimer. It was the name of the man who had consulted Dorothy. Hal Latimer.

  They had placed the advertisement in the local paper the day before, so Bernard hoped they would soon find him. Latimer, like poor Albert, needed to be informed about all this. Latimer, particularly, had more to contend with, being the grandson of a murderer. At least he supposed he was the grandson. Some sort of relative, anyway. If he’d been visited in his dreams by Olivia, it was clear he was close to her in some way.

  “Are you really all right, Vicar?” he heard Albert say as they walked down the street towards the tube station.

  “I’m fine, Albert,” Bernard assured him. “Now I’m out in the air, I’m fine. I think I was feeling a bit claustrophobic, that’s all.”

  He hated lying to the young man, but he couldn’t divulge all he knew, not before he had spoken with Robbie. Maybe it would be better to first warn Ernest Williams about what he had found out. That would give him the opportunity to tell Albert himself, rather than hearing it from relative strangers. Otherwise, he doubted Albert would ever forgive his father for hiding the truth from him.

  Yes, thought Bernard, as the train roared into the station. That would be best, by far.

  Chapter Thirty

  June 1959

  Mandy Fisher was a feisty woman. A spell in hospital with a dodgy gall bladder (now back at home without it) hadn’t daunted her spirit in the slightest. Her lazy husband was content to let her work at the factory putting bits of metal into other bits of metal (at least, that was his vague understanding of what she did) and then come home and clean the house and cook his and young Alfie’s tea. He was never tired of telling her that his work at the electronics plant was extremely difficult and hard – hers was a ‘doddle’ in comparison. He had to use his brain in his job, he never tired of telling her. Mandy just bit her tongue and said nothing; she knew there was no point.

  Ever since she got out of hospital, her son had been talking about his stay with his great aunt at the vicarage and about that funny vicar and that jolly doctor. To Mandy the pair, if her son was to be believed, must have been as entertaining as Laurel and Hardy.

  “That’s a lovely fire engine,” she said, taking it from him and examining it carefully. She was always worried that children’s toys contained lethal death traps like exposed nails or sharp pins. But this toy looked fine, and she handed it back to him.

  “They seem like very nice gentlemen, especially because they took you to the fair and bought you that engine. I hope you were grateful, young man.”

  Alfie sighed. “Dad said that, but I told him I wasn’t ’cos they took me to the fair where this woman kept falling from the Big Wheel. I was scared, Mum.”

  “Why do you persist in telling fibs? Ladies falling off wheels, whatever next? I’ve a good mind to send you to bed without any supper.”

  “Mum, it’s true! Honestly!”

  There was no more time to argue because at that moment the doorbell rang. It was Nancy Harper.

  “Thought I’d pop in and see ’ow you’re doing, ducks,” she said, giving her niece a peck on the cheek. This was an uncustomary show of affection from the vicar’s housekeeper, but one she permitted as it was ‘family’.

  “Nice to see you, Nancy,” said Mandy, giving her aunt a hug. “I’m so grateful you could look after Alfie for me. Charlie’s neither use nor ornament. I don’t know what would have become of Alfie if I’d left him in charge. Probably fallen off the roof or something.”

  “No, I wouldn’t!” interrupted Alfie. “I’m not that daft.”

  Mrs Harper sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh of relief. Her work at the vicarage could be a bit much sometimes, although she would never have admitted it.

  “You look all in, love,” said Mandy, concerned. “Cuppa?”

  “Lovely. By the way, these are for you.” So saying, Mrs Harper fished out a rather bedraggled bunch of chrysanthemums from her shopping basket. “Oh dear, the greengrocer put the potatoes on top. They’re a bit squashed.”

  Mandy smiled as she took the flowers. “Don’t worry. I’ll soon have them looking good as new. Alfie, love, can you fetch a vase for me?”

  “Nah! Henry’s here.” He pointed at the kitchen window. An urchin designed along the same lines as Alfie had his nose pressed up against it.

  “Be careful crossing the road!” was all Mandy had time to say before her son disappeared out of the house, slamming the door after him.

  “Kids, eh?” she smiled. “Let me put the kettle on and then I’ll find a vase myself.”

  A few minutes later, the tea was in the pot, and the flowers stood in pride of place on the kitchen table. They were already beginning to revive.

  “Here, have a custard cream,” invited Mandy, offering her the plate. “Tea won’t be long, just mashing.”

  “Ta, ducks. Don’t mind if I do.” Nancy helped herself. “Now you put your feet up. You’ve ’ad an operation, and you need to take it easy.”

  “Fat chance I get for that,” sighed Mandy. “Charlie still wants his tea on the table when he gets home, and the housework won’t do itself.”

  “I can ’elp, you only ’ave to ask,” said Nancy.

  “Thanks, love, but you’ve got enough to do at the vicarage. I can manage. I’m still off work at the moment, so I’ve got the time.” She sat down at the table opposite her aunt. “Can you shed any light on what Alfie’s been telling me?”

  “What about?” asked Nancy, removing the top of her biscuit and licking the cream.

  “About the woman who’s supposed to have fallen from the Big Wheel. Alfie’s talked of nothing else ever since I’ve been back.”

  “Oh that. Just some childish joke, I reckon. Kids like to make up stories. ’E’ll grow out of it.”

  “Do you really think so? Seems a really odd thing to make up, though. And he said he’d been really scared.”

  “Didn’t show much sign of it just now, the little rapscallion.”

  “I’m still worried, though. What did the vicar and doctor make of it? They didn’t see this woman, did they?”

  “Well, from what I gather, they weren’t there. They were in the tea tent the first time while Alfie went off on ’is own. Didn’t think it was right, mind. But I couldn’t see the vicar on the Big Wheel some’ow. Anyways, the next time Alfie was with ’is schoolmate and ’is father. They didn’t see anything either.”

  Mandy was thoughtful as she poured out the tea. “But why would he make up something that he knows we won’t believe?”

  Nancy shrugged. “Who knows what goes in their ’eads? I wouldn’t worry, though. Your Alfie’s a good lad. ’E’s just ’aving a
bit of fun.”

  After Nancy had gone, Mandy cleared away the tea things, thinking over what her aunt had said. She still couldn’t quite dismiss the matter as a childish prank. There was something more to it than that, she was certain.

  

  “I did see her too, so there!”

  “Nah you didn’t! You’re a fibber!”

  Alfie Fisher was leaning against the playground railings the following day waiting for his mother to collect him from school. His friend Henry was taunting him, and several other boys were joining in. Like Henry, they didn’t believe Alfie’s story about the falling lady at the fair and, no matter how many times he swore it was true, they just poked out their tongues at him and ruffled his hair. Most of this was good-natured and didn’t upset Alfie too much, but he wished that someone would believe him. Why hadn’t Henry seen her too? He was beside him when he saw her fall. How could he not have seen her? It didn’t make any sense to him.

  While the boys were teasing poor Alfie, a woman passing by stopped to watch them. Their noisy banter had reached her still sharp ears despite her advancing years, and she was very interested in what the boy who was being taunted was saying. It had been a long time ago, but she had never forgotten and never would.

  As she stood and watched the boys, wondering if she should intervene, she was relieved to see a young woman run up to the school gates and shoo the children away. The boy being teased was obviously her son.

  “I’m glad you’ve come, dear,” she said. “The little chap was getting very upset. I was about to tell them off myself. I don’t like to see that kind of tormenting, especially not when it comes to children or animals.”

  Mandy smiled at her. “That’s all right, thank you anyway. But he can take care of himself.”

  “My name’s Effie Barker, by the way,” said the woman.