So Long at the Fair

by Pat Herbert

  “I still don’t understand why my father didn’t want me to know,” said Albert.

  “I think he just wanted to protect you,” said Faith.

  “And you don’t mind about it?” Albert gave her an incredulous look. “I mean about having a murdered person in the family?”

  “Of course, I don’t,” she said, smiling. “How could I? I love you, you idiot. It’s hardly your fault that your grandmother got herself murdered.”

  Bernard wanted to laugh but could see the young woman was entirely serious.

  “Anyway, let’s drink to the young couple,” said Robbie, eyeing the Glenfiddich.

  “We need champagne for that,” Bernard pointed out mischievously.

  “Have you got some, then?” asked Robbie.

  “Er, no.”

  “Then just pour what you do have. The whisky for me.”

  “As if I needed telling,” grinned Bernard.

  It was a happy occasion. Albert had taken the news about his grandmother with equilibrium, at least on the surface. If he was seething because his father had refused to tell him himself, he didn’t let it show.

  “Can I have a cup of tea, do you think?” asked Faith.

  “Of course – er, or would you rather have a sherry?”

  “No, thanks, I don’t really like alcohol,” said Faith apologetically.

  “You can’t have a toast with a cup of tea!” protested Robbie.

  “Oh, stop it, Robbie,” said Bernard. “Go and ask Mrs Aitch to put the kettle on, there’s a good fellow.”

  

  “It’s like Piccadilly Circus tonight,” declared Nancy Harper as she answered the door to Mandy Fisher.

  She was irritated that her wireless listening had been interrupted. The strains of The Archers theme died away as she showed her niece into the parlour. There was a pile of woollen socks and an overflowing sewing basket on the table by her fireside chair. It seemed it was more than just her wireless programme that had been interrupted.

  “That Walter Gabriel’s a rogue, ain’t ’e?” suggested Nancy, trying to thread a needle with an eye too small for the wool to grow through. “’Is voice is enough to set me off.”

  Mandy laughed. “Yes, I know what you mean, but I haven’t been listening to The Archers recently. I’ve been too busy. Here, let me thread that for you.”

  Nancy gladly gave her the needle and thread.

  “Haven’t you got a needle with a bigger eye than this?”

  “’Ave a look in the basket, love. I couldn’t find one. The vicar don’t arf get through ’is socks. I told ’im to cut ’is toenails more often, like, but I don’t think ’e does.”

  Mandy rummaged through Nancy’s chaotic sewing basket, tutting as she did so. “Why don’t you tidy this up a bit, Auntie? No wonder you can’t find anything.”

  Finally, she unearthed a whole pack of darning needles and soon had the wool threaded through one of them.

  “Are you busy?” she then asked, as Nancy plied her needle through a holey grey sock. It seemed an unnecessary question.

  “You got eyes,” came Nancy’s tart reply. “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to snap. But I seem to ’ave been answering the door all night, what with the doc, then the plumber and some young woman who’s ’is intended, I think. Pretty thing she is too. But all these interruptions don’t get the darning done, and now I’ve missed the end of The Archers.”

  “You can catch up tomorrow, though, can’t you?” suggested Mandy.

  “Oh, yeah, ’course I can, but it ain’t the same. I missed Walter’s words of wisdom when you rang the doorbell.”

  It seemed Nancy wasn’t prepared to forgive Mandy for missing her programme. “Anyway, what brings you ’ere at this time of the night? Are you stopping? Are you wanting a cup of tea?”

  Mandy would have quite liked a cup of tea but decided not to say so. Nancy’s darning needle looked dangerous.

  “No, you’re all right. I just wanted to tell you about this woman I met earlier today.”

  “Woman? What woman?”

  Mandy wondered why she had bothered. Her aunt would normally have been interested in hearing about Effie Barker and how her testimony had vindicated Alfie. She would also have liked to pick her brains as to what it meant.

  Nancy dug the needle into the sock suddenly and got up. “Don’t know about you, but I’m thirsty.”

  “Let me do it,” suggested Mandy, getting up too.

  “No, ducks, you stay put. You’re looking very pale. I think you’ve been overdoing it. If you’re stopping, there’s a play on the wireless at nine o’clock. I’m looking forward to it. Why not stay and listen to it with me?”

  Nancy, it seemed, had forgiven her at last, and Mandy breathed an inward sigh of relief. “That’ll be lovely,” she said. “I could do with a rest from Charlie. He can put Alfie to bed for a change.”

  When the tea was poured, Mandy told Nancy all about Effie Barker and how she had seen precisely the same woman falling from the Big Wheel when she was eight years old as Alfie had seen only the other week. Nancy, although very interested and glad Alfie hadn’t proved a liar, after all, could offer no explanation as to what it meant. Suddenly, a deep, masculine voice interrupted their conversation.

  “You say this woman saw what Alfie saw?”

  Both women looked up to see Robbie standing in the doorway.

  “Er, yes, that’s right.”

  “That’s very interesting,” said Robbie. “Very interesting indeed. Did you know I saw her too?”

  “You did?” said both woman in unison.

  “That’s right. It seems our falling lady friend has something to impart.”

  “Gawd knows what, though,” said Nancy. “’Ave you got no idea, Doc?”

  “Not at this precise moment, but we’re all working on it.”

  “Anyway, Doc, did you want something?” asked Nancy.

  “Did I want something?” He looked blank for a moment. “Oh, yes, of course. Can you make a cup of tea for our lady visitor upstairs?”

  “’Elp yourself. There’s still some in the pot. I’ll get a cup.”

  

  No sooner had Nancy sat down again, than the doorbell rang once more. “See what I mean?” she said to Mandy. “Like Piccadilly bleedin’ Circus.”

  This time, the visitor was a complete stranger. A young man stood there, looking vaguely wary but very handsome. Nancy was smitten at once. Soon he was following her up the stairs to Bernard’s study.

  “There’s a young man ’ere says you advertised for ’im,” she told Bernard.

  Why the vicar should have advertised for him was beyond her, although it occurred to her that, if one were to advertise for a young man, this is the sort of young man to advertise for.

  When Nancy had returned to the parlour downstairs, it soon transpired the stranger was Hal Latimer. The young man stood in Bernard’s study looking around him at the assembled company, a very puzzled look on his face. He took in the kindly vicar, the smiling doctor and the young couple holding hands. They all looked very nice. But what was he doing here, he wondered. What did the vicar want with him?

  “I – I understand you advertised for me,” he began. “I didn’t see the advert myself, but a friend of mine saw it and told me.”

  Bernard shook him by the hand, followed by Robbie. They introduced themselves and, when everyone was accounted for, they all sat down together and waited for the first one to speak. It was Robbie.

  “Mr Latimer, forgive me but are you in any way related to a Richard Latimer?”

  Hal looked at him in astonishment. “Well, my grandfather was called Richard,” he said, a little cagily,

  “Forgive me again, but is he – was he – hanged for the murder of a woman called Olivia Ayrton-Williams?”

  A gasp was heard from Albert, and Hal’s gaze turned to him. He seemed even more puzzled now, and a little scared. “Er, well, how d’you know about that?”

  Bernard intervened at this point
. “My friend here doesn’t mean to offend or upset you, Mr Latimer, but we have reason to believe that you might be the man we’re looking for in connection with this tragic event.”

  Hal looked down at his feet, a flush passing across his face. “I don’t know why you want to dredge this all up now, after all this time,” he mumbled.

  Robbie then explained about the newspaper articles that Bernard had discovered in which the murderer had been named as Richard Latimer.

  “But why on earth should you pick on me?” asked Hal, looking decidedly unfriendly. “There must be hundreds of Latimers to choose from. Unless you’ve been going through them all one by one.”

  His sarcasm wasn’t helpful, but Bernard could understand how the young man felt. “I’m really sorry, but I understand you visited a clairvoyant about ten years ago, saying you were having bad dreams about a woman falling from a Big Wheel. Is that right?”

  “How d’you know about that?” Hal’s tone wasn’t any friendlier.

  Bernard explained as best he could about Dorothy Plunkett and how he knew her and how she remembered Latimer’s visit.

  “But what’s all the interest in this?” he asked when Bernard had finished his embarrassed explanation.

  “First of all, can you confirm you are Richard Latimer’s relative?”

  Hal looked all around him, at Albert, at Bernard, at Robbie and, most of all, at that very pretty girl who was obviously in love with Albert.

  “Yes, I’m his grandson. And I know he didn’t do it!”

  Albert was staring at him now. “Are you still getting those awful dreams?” he asked.

  “Sometimes,” said Hal.

  It took a lot of explaining by both Bernard and Robbie before Hal seemed to accept the reason they had wanted to see him. He even smiled at them, especially at Faith. Bernard poured him a whisky and at last the young man seemed to relax.

  “Tell me,” said Robbie, “why are you so sure your grandfather didn’t push this lady off the Wheel?”

  “Because my father told me.”

  Albert took up the conversation. “It’s more than my father ever told me,” he said. “I had to find out from old newspapers with the help of my good friends here. You were lucky your father confided in you.”

  “But why was your father so sure your grandfather didn’t do it?” interposed Robbie.

  “My grandmother was certain of it. She died when my father was only twelve or thirteen. She had always been delicate. But before she died, she told him that her husband could never hurt anyone. He was the gentlest of souls; that was how she put it, at least according to my father.”

  “Did your father ever try to clear his name?”

  “I think he went to the police when he was a bit older, but there was no new evidence, you see.”

  “No, of course.” Robbie looked thoughtful. “It seems our Olivia is dead but won’t lie down, and now I think I know the reason why.”

  “Why?” asked Hal.

  “You’ve given us the answer,” he replied. “She is trying to communicate to us that your grandfather, Richard Latimer, was hanged for a murder he didn’t commit.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  June 1959

  “See you tomorrow, darling,” called Albert, as he watched his future bride let herself into her home from the gate.

  Beside him was Hal Latimer, still in a bit of a daze from his meeting at the vicarage. The moon was full, and the night was almost as light as the day. It was still very warm too. However, he shivered as both he and Albert turned to make their way homewards.

  “Where d’you live, Hal?” asked Albert as they turned onto the High Street.

  “Not far,” he replied absently. “It’s about a threepenny bus ride from here.”

  They stopped at the bus stop as he said this.

  “Oh, right,” said Albert. “What number?”

  “44. Should be one along in about five minutes, although you can never tell.”

  “That’s true. Faith was only telling me the other day she had to wait three-quarters of an hour for one.”

  “Not usual,” observed Hal, wondering how long they would be able to keep up this small talk about buses.

  “Look, Hal,” said Albert at last. “It seems we have something very important in common. As well …” He paused.

  “As well as what?”

  “As well as being somehow related – fairly removed of course. Second or third cousins.”

  “How d’you work that out?”

  Albert thought for a moment. “Well, your grandfather was my grandfather’s brother-in-law. I think.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s right.”

  “I don’t blame you for what happened if that’s what you think.”

  “I don’t – well, not really. But, according to the police at the time, my grandfather was responsible for killing your grandmother…”

  “That doesn’t make you responsible,” said Albert. “I’d like to think we could be friends.”

  Hal looked closely at him. “Friends?”

  “Yes, why not?”

  Hal shrugged. “I’d like to think we could be, but – ”

  “But nothing,” smiled Albert. “We can help each other over this business.”

  “I don’t believe my grandfather killed your grandmother,” said Hal. “Dad told me his mother was sure of it.”

  “Do you want to try and prove it?”

  “Yes, I do. But how?”

  “Let’s meet soon and discuss everything,” said Albert eagerly.

  “I – I’m not sure,” said Hal doubtfully.

  A bus was approaching the bus stop, and both young men could see it was a 44.

  “Please, Hal,” insisted Albert. “I’d really like to get to the bottom of my grandmother’s death and who really killed her.”

  “Then you don’t believe it was my grandfather either?”

  “No, not if you say so. Here – this is my card.” He gave Hal one of his business cards. “It’s got my home address and phone number. I’ll leave it to you to call me.”

  “So, you’re a plumber, eh? Could have done with you last Christmas when our boiler broke down.”

  “Well, now you know,” grinned Albert as Hal mounted the bus.

  

  Ernest Williams looked frailer than ever that evening. Albert came into the front room where he was sitting by an empty grate. He looked cold despite the warmth of the June evening. His son gently placed a blanket around his shoulders and, as he did so, felt the sharpness of his bones. He had lost a lot of weight lately.

  “Dad,” he began.

  “Can I have some cocoa?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Albert went into the kitchen and busied himself with the saucepan and milk. The cocoa was soon made, and they sat together for a few moments drinking the comforting beverage in silence. At last Albert began again.

  “Dad,” he said, “I know.”

  “Know?”

  “I know what happened to your mother.”

  “The vicar told you, I suppose?”

  “You could have told me yourself,” said Albert, taking the empty mug from him and placing it on the tray beside him. “Why didn’t you? Did you think I would be so upset by it?”

  Ernest coughed a little, but he obviously didn’t have the energy to continue. His voice came as a croak. “No, not upset you. Me,” he said.

  “You mean you didn’t want to have to think about what happened? You wanted to forget it?”

  “Something like that,” said Ernest.

  “Dad, look, I’m trying to understand, but I don’t know why you kept the secret so long. It was a terrible thing, but I had a right to know. And I’m a big boy now or hadn’t you noticed? Got my own business and everything. And I’m getting married in September.”

  “I’m glad about that,” said Ernest with a weak smile. “Faith’s a lovely girl. You’re very lucky, Son.”

  “I know, Dad, and I want to enjoy my da
y with you there in the church to see it.”

  “I hope I will,” said Ernest. “I do hope I will.”

  “Anyway, Dad, at least I know the truth now and there’s no secrets between us anymore. I do understand why you were reluctant to tell me, but I wish I hadn’t heard it from a stranger.”

  “The vicar’s hardly a stranger,” his father pointed out. “At least he wouldn’t be if you went to church more often.”

  “I intend to go every Sunday from now on, Dad,” smiled Albert. “I’ll pray for you – for us all. I’m glad we have no secrets anymore.”

  Ernest looked away.

  “Eh, Dad? No more secrets, eh?”

  “If you say so, Son. If you say so.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  June 1959

  A few days later, Ernest Williams made a startling suggestion to his son. “Why don’t we go to the fair today?”

  “Really? You want to go to the fair? But you never want to go to the fair, Dad. Besides, you’re not really well enough.”

  “Fiddlesticks! We’ve got the wheelchair from the clinic. You can push me. Unless you’ve got better things to do, of course.” Ernest gave him a meaningful look, before giving in to a fit of coughing.

  “I’d be glad to take you, but why now? Why, after all this time?”

  “To lay the ghost, maybe.”

  That was an interesting choice of expression thought Albert, after what he had learnt from Robbie about his visions. And that little boy, too. And some old biddy, apparently. They had all seen a lady fall from the Big Wheel, a lady who wasn’t there. A lady that he was sure was his grandmother. And he firmly believed them; they couldn’t all be lying. And, what was more to the point, why would they?

  He hadn’t told his father what they had seen, although he had toyed with the idea for a while. In the end, he had decided he was too frail to take a shock of that kind. Now he wondered if he should tell him. What if his father had the same vision when they got to the fair? The Big Wheel was bound to be there, it was always the star attraction. No, he decided, you had to be psychic. Only those with the gift would see her, he was sure. His father wasn’t psychic, far from it. A more pragmatic, down-to-earth individual it would be hard to find.